A killer is out for blood, and it’s up to Detective Steve Carella to bring him in ― but a shocking surprise awaits when a survivor fingers the suspect in a lineup.

Two women have gone missing, and LAPD Detective Harry Bosch has a strong suspicion that an avid fisherman named Denninger is the culprit. Bosch needs something stronger than a suspicion to bring Denninger in, but all he has are a handful of photos — prior mug shots and pictures of Denninger posing with his prize fish. It’s not much to go on, and Bosch is running out of time, which is why he calls in FBI agent Rachel Walling. What she sees in these photos could blow his case wide open. The story was first published in the 2010 anthology Hook, Line & Sinister.

Bénin en apparence, l'inspecteur Katz possède du félidé homonyme une détente sournoise et implacable. À pattes veloutées, il tourne autour de grands truands qui, après avoir volé un tas de bijoux, se le disputent sans pitié. Katz attend son heure pour lancer ses griffes. Mais dans la police, Katz est parrainé — et surveillé — par son frère aîné, le commissaire principal Lantier, un vieux matou pelé mais sagace…«Hugues Pagan se livre ici à une démystification de la police à papa, non point burlesque comme dans les Ripoux, mais saumâtre et quelque peu nihiliste, du style dans une société pourrie, pourquoi les flics ne le seraient-ils pas.»Michel Lebrun, L'Année du Polar

Bérurier, ex-interne des hôpitaux de Paris ?

Ça vous la coupe, hein ?

Et pourtant vous allez voir que le Gros sait aussi bien manier le stéthoscope que le saucisson à l’ail.

Surtout quand il a comme vieille bonne une sémillante donzelle nommée Pinaud.

Et si ce bouquin vous détraque la rate, vous savez maintenant par qui vous faire soigner !

It was a miserable day in August in the 87th Precinct. Detective Steve Carella was hot and tired and his shirt was sticking to his back, and now this dumpy little man named Roger Grimm was sitting across from him in the squadroom demanding to know if they were going to catch the arsonist who had burned down his warehouse.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Carella sighed.

In the next few days Carella and his partner, Cotton Hawes, find themselves in the middle of an astonishing case, one which quickly proves to contain not one, but two arsons — and two murders. Assisted by a rather unfortunate personality named “Fat Ollie” Weeks of the 83rd precinct coarse, bigoted, and given to terrible W.C. Fields imitations, but, they have to admit, first-rate cop — Carella and Hawes roam across the city from the waterfront to the heart of the black ghetto, following a deadly trail of greed and violence. Their path leads them directly to a gallery of very unpleasant suspects and to a most unusual afternoon poker game,complete with high stakes, fast company — and a wild card.

Chanson de salle de garde :Non, non, non, Bérurier n'est pas mortNon, non, non, Bérurier n'est pas mortCar il bande encoreCar il bande encore.Et pourtant ! Oui, pourtant !Il a bel et bien trépassé à l'ombredes montagnes Rocheuses, notrehéroique Buffalo Bide.Il aura donné sa vie à la France.Et son vit à Cupidon.Qu'il repose en pets.Amen.