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John Sandford's introduction of Minnesota Bureau of Criminal
Apprehension investigator Virgil Flowers was an immediate critical and popular
success: "laser-sharp characters and a plot that's fast and surprising"
(Cleveland Plain Dealer); "an idiosyncratic, thoroughly ingratiating
hero" (Booklist). Flowers is only in his late thirties, but he's been
around the block a few times, and he doesn't think much can surprise him
anymore. He's wrong.
It's a hot, humid summer night in Minnesota, and Flowers is in bed with one
of his ex-wives (the second one, if you're keeping count), when the phone rings.
It's Lucas Davenport. There's a body in Stillwater two shots to the head,
found near a veteran's memorial. And the victim has a lemon in his mouth.
Exactly like the body they found last week.
The more Flowers works the murders, the more convinced he is that someone's
keeping a list, and that the list could have a lot more names on it. If he could
only find out what connects them all . . . and then he does, and he's almost
sorry he did.
Because if it's true, then this whole thing leads down a lot more trails
than he thought and every one of them is booby-trapped.
Filled with the audacious plotting, rich characters, and brilliant suspense
that have always made his books "compulsively readable" (Los Angeles
Times), this is vintage Sandford.