Ten Plus One (87th Precinct Mystery)

Ten Plus One (87th Precinct Mystery)

Ed McBain

Language: English

Pages: 176

ISBN: 0451163672

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Here is the 87th Precinct in all its gritty, glory--rough cops, arrogant criminals and the unrelenting pressure of a city of murder and deceit. An expanded republishing program provides the best of the McBain backlist repackaged. Reissue.

Red Knife (Cork O'Connor, Book 8)

De Cock en De Dartele Weduwe (De Cock, Book 65)

Concluding (British Literature)

Zip Gun Boogie (Nick Sharman, Book 6)

Vodka Doesn't Freeze (Detective Jill Jackson Mysteries, Book 1)

In the Heat of the Night (Virgil Tibbs, Book 1)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the white sign that read detective division and climbed the iron-runged steps to the second floor of the building, coming out onto a narrow corridor. She followed the corridor past a man in a purple sports shirt who was handcuffed to a bench, and then paused at the slatted wood railing, standing on tiptoes, searching. When she spotted Carella rising from his desk to come to her, she impulsively raised her arm and waved at him. “Hello, Miss Forrest,” he said, smiling. “Come on in.” He held open

portfolio,” Wallach said. “What is in your portfolio?” “I don’t remember offhand.” “Do you have a broker?” “Yes.” “What’s his name?” “He’s in Miami right now on vacation.” “We didn’t ask you where he was, we asked you what his name is.” “Dave.” “Dave what?” “Dave Milias.” “Where’s he staying in Miami?” “Search me,” Wallach said. “All right, Wallach,” Meyer said, “what do you know about this woman Blanche Lettiger?” “Blanche who?” Wallach said. “Oh, you want to play this one cool,

new tax bill to Congress, the blue-headline tabloid started the story something like this: These ancient halls were still with contemplation today. There was a paper to be considered, a decision to be made. The paper had come down to them from above, a document that could change the lives of everyone in the nation, a document that…and so on. Somewhere toward the end of the news story, the reporter usually revealed what the hell he was talking about. Up to that time, he was writing for atmosphere

Redfield,” Carella said evenly, “we know everything that happened that night at Randy Norden’s. Everything. Helen Struthers told us about it, and so did Cohen.” “I didn’t do anything. They did it.” “Who?” “The…the others.” “What others?” “Helen and Blanche. Not me. Not me.” “What did they do?” “They couldn’t get me to do it,” Margaret said. “I wouldn’t, and they couldn’t force me. I knew what was right. I was only seventeen, but I certainly knew what was right and what was wrong. It was

Redfield said, “when Dr. Fidio told me about Margaret, I…I was shocked, of course, I thought…I don’t know what I thought…” “Miscolo! Goddamnit!” “Coming, coming!” Miscolo shouted, and he ran into the squadroom and began taking the confession himself, his open pad poised on his lap. “Sadness, I suppose,” Redfield said. “I wanted a family, you see. I’m not a young man. I wanted a family before it was too late.” He shrugged. “Then…as I…as I began thinking about it, I guess I…I began to get…angry.

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