By Jonathon King
Together with his first novel The Blue fringe of middle of the night, Jonathon King used to be praised for his "powerful storytelling" (San Diego Union-Tribune), for his "stunning" and "superb" writing (Pittsburgh Tribune), and for including "new dimensions to the fashionable crime novel" (Michael Connelly). And, in a starred assessment, Publishers Weekly in comparison King to James corridor, Robert Parker, and James Lee Burke. Now, in a visual Darkness, King offers one other gripping, unforgettable tale. Max Freeman is looking for safe haven from the primary demons of his former existence as a Philadelphia police officer, in his secluded shack deep within the Everglades. yet his self-imposed isolation is inter-rupted while he gets a determined name from his ally, lawyer Billy Manchester. there was a contemporary string of suspicious deaths-all aged ladies, all from a terrible local, and all with giant and lately sold-off coverage policies-which the police were not able, or unwilling, to enquire. Billy believes whatever sinister will be at paintings, and so, to aid his buddy, Max needs to reluctantly pry the place he isn't sought after, and act just like the cop he is attempting to omit he used to be. to find an unseen killer, Max will confront not just the risks of a forgotten Florida cityscape, however the unforeseen and darkish corners of his personal previous in addition. packed with twists, turns, and a wide ranging evocation of a not often glimpsed underside of recent the United States, a visual Darkness confirms Jonathon King's position on the vanguard of a brand new iteration of crime novelists.
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Extra resources for A Visible Darkness (Max Freeman Novels)
He is in no hurry, and even the paramedics seem to be unable to speak. We all watch him walk back toward the suspect and past him to the chrome handgun. He stares at it a full minute and then bends to pick it up and place it carefully in the bag. He stands and seals it. “OK. ” All four of us walk over to the black man and grab a piece. I’m left with the bloodied shoulder but I don’t care. When we pull him off the curb a low keening of pain rises in his throat and he is heavy and nearly limp. Someone grabs his belt and we drag him across the street to the open van doors and the keening becomes a wail.
I went to the coffee first and then searched for the phone. ” I answered. “Max,” said Billy, his voice straight and efficient. “Max. ” 3 In the morning I packed a gym bag with civilized clothes and a shaving kit and loaded my canoe. The sun was just beginning to streak through the high cypress cover, spackling the leaves and slowly igniting the greenness of the place. I untied and pushed off toward the river. The water was high from the rain. Dry ground was rare here, and the effect of the omnipresent water gave one a constant sense of floating.
Inside the single room it was dim, but I have so memorized its simple layout and content that I can find a matchbox with my eyes closed. I lit a single kerosene lantern and the glow grew just as fat raindrops start pinging off the tin roof. When I first moved to this isolated place the rattling noise of showered tin had kept me awake for hours, but over the months the sound had turned somehow natural and sometimes I welcomed its heavy noise, if only to break the silence. At my potbellied wood stove I stirred some coals, started some kindling, and set a fresh pot of coffee to boil.