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Über dieses Produkt
- KurzbeschreibungIn 1939, Dr. Lotty Herschel, V. I. Warshawki's closest friend in Chicago, escaped the Holocaust in Vienna with her childhood playmate, Kitty Saginor Binder. Though the two drifted and animosities grew between them over the years, when Kitty's daughter finds her life in danger, she turns to Lotty for help. In turn, Lotty summons V.I. to take the case.<br>The threats on the daughter's life at first seem a simple case of bad drug dealings, but V.I. soon discovers that they are just the tip of an iceberg of lies, secrets, and silence whose origins trace back to the deadly race among America, Germany, Japan, and England to develop the atomic bomb. And while the secrets may be old, the people who continue to guard them will do anything to make sure they stay buried....<br>
- AutorSara Paretsky
- VerlagPenguin LCC US
- Seiten432 Seiten
- Gewicht203 g
- LeseprobeThis excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof.<br>HELL'S KITCHEN<br>THE SUN SCORCHED my back through my thin shirt. It was September, but out on the prairie, the heat still held a mid-summer ferocity. I tried the gate in the cyclone fence, but it was heavily padlocked; when I pushed hard to see if it would open enough for me to slide through, the metal burned my fingers. A camera and a microphone were mounted on top of the gatepost, but both had been shot out.<br>I backed away and looked around the empty landscape. Mine had been the only car on the gravel county road as I bumped my way down from the turnoff in Palfry. Except for the crows circling and diving into the brown cornstalks across the road, I was completely alone. I felt tiny and vulnerable under the blue bowl of the sky. It closed over the earth in all directions, seeming to shut out air, to let in nothing but light and heat.<br>Despite dark glasses and a visored cap, my eyes throbbed from the glare. As I walked around the house, looking for a break in the fence, purple smoke rings danced in front of me.<br>The house was old and falling down. Glass had broken out, or been shot out, of most of the windows. Someone had nailed slabs of ply wood over them, but hadn't put much effort into the job: in several places the wood swung free, secured by only a couple of nails. Behind the plywood, someone had stuffed pieces of cardboard or tatty cloth around the broken panes.<br>The steel fence had revolving spikes on top to discourage trespassers like me. Signs warned of guard dogs, but I didn't hear any barking or snuffling as I walked the perimeter.<br>In front, the house was close to the fence and to the road, but in the back the fence enclosed a large stretch of land. An old shed had col lapsed in one corner. A giant pit, filled with refuse and stinking of chemicals, had been dug near the shed. Jugs, spray cans of solvent, and all the other fixings of a meth operation fought with coffee grounds and chicken bones for top stench.<br>It was behind the shed that I found the opening I needed. Someone had been before me with heavy steel cutters, taking out a piece of fence wide enough for a car to drive through. The cuts were recent, the steel along the pointed ends shiny, unlike the dull gray of the rest of the metal. As I passed between the cuts, the skin on my neck prickled with something more than heat. I wished I'd brought my gun with me, but I hadn't known I was coming to a drug house when I left Chicago.<br>Whoever cut the fence had dealt with the back door in a similarly economic way, kicking it in so that it hung on one hinge. The smell that rolled out the open door-metallic, like iron, mixed with rotting meat-was all too easy to recognize.
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