Lightning (87th Precinct)
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The city can be a strange place, full of odd sights. Sometimes chilling sights. But nothing could prepare the detectives of the 87th Precinct for the sight of a murdered young woman, a member of a local college track team, hanging from a lamppost. Nor could they be ready for the news that the same night, another woman is raped for the third time—by the same man. Two cases, two perpetrators, one chilling evening.
Can the detectives of the 87th, with help from Fat Ollie Weeks and Rape Squad Decoy Eileen Burke, put them behind bars for good? The team doesn’t have much time, because it only takes a moment for lightning to strike again.
One of Ed McBain’s grittiest installments of his famed 87th Precinct series, Lightning is a masterpiece of suspense, brooding intensity, and ingenious plotting that elevates crime fiction to its highest possible plane.
nose, emphasizing the point. “Better give ‘em some gloves,” the second technician said. The first technician produced a pair of white cotton gloves and handed them to Carella. “In case you decide to do any detective work,” he said, and winked at his partner. He handed another pair of gloves to Hawes. Both detectives pulled on the gloves while the technicians watched. “May I have the first dance?” the second technician said, and then they went downstairs to the van, to get all the paraphernalia
Dutch language translated as “a rock that has rolled down from the top of a mountain.” This particular rock, firmly rooted in the earth as it was, did not seem to have rolled down from any mountain, especially since there were no mountains in this part of the city—or in any part of the city, for that matter. On the other hand, the word kei in Dutch meant “a piece of rock or stone on the ground,” which this rock certainly was. This rock, in fact, seemed to be growing right out of the ground. Kei
presumably immune to such idle speculation, put away the shield he had just shown Dorothy, and asked her if Mr. Benson might have a moment to see them. Dorothy, toying with her multiple pearls, informed him that Mr. Benson was out to lunch just now and wasn’t expected back till 3:00. Carella politely asked where Mr. Benson might be lunching. “Oh, gee, I don’t know,” Dorothy said. “Would his secretary know?” “I guess so,” Dorothy said, rolling her eyes, and toying, toying, toying with the
suddenly pumping, the right arm pistoning forward, the left arm thrusting back, the legs pushing simultaneously at both blocks, left leg reaching out to take that first long important step, right leg thrusting hard against the block, and she was off! God, what a glorious runner! He timed her at nine seconds, give or take, for each of the half-dozen sixty-yard sprints, watching as she walked back for recovery after each one. She was drenched with sweat when finally she came back to the bench to
do you?” “I guess not,” Annie said. “Mr. Haines, do you know whether the following names were on the mailing list you received from AIM?” She opened her notebook and began reading. “Lois Carmody, Blanca Diaz, Patricia Ryan…” “No, I don’t know any of those names.” “I didn’t ask you if you knew them, Mr. Haines. I asked if they’re on that list you got from AIM.” “I would have to check the list,” Haines said. “If I can even find it.” “Vivienne Chabrun?” Annie said. “Angela Ferrari? Terry