I couldn't sleep last night because my sore throat is back so I read KISSED A SAD GOODBYE by Deborah Crombie for a bit. I think I'm halfway through now ... eh, maybe a third.
Jumping the queue, however, I think will be the new Anne Perry, EXECUTION DOCK. This is one of her William Monk books, an amnesiac police inspector in Victorian London, and Hester, a Crimean War nurse. This book is 16th of 16 in series. This is my favorite of all her series and it has been three years I think since the last one, hence my anticipation to read it. Here's a description:
Set in 1864, finds Monk superintendent of the Thames River Police Force. Monk is on the verge of closing the books on Jericho Phillips, a particularly nasty villain who specializes in child pornography. Monk and his team catch Phillips, but what appears to be an airtight murder case springs leaks and ends with the accused's acquittal. Many in authority view the judgment as a rebuke to the river police, whose existence as a separate force is threatened. Convinced that he got the right man, despite the jury's verdict, Monk devotes himself to setting the record straight. Hester, who runs a free clinic for abused women, draws a highly unusual guerrilla force to Monk's cause–a canny ratcatcher, a retired brothel keeper, a fearless street urchin, and a rebellious society lady. To one as criminally minded as Phillips, these folks are mere mosquitoes, to be sure. But as he will soon discover, some mosquitoes can have a deadly sting.
The man balanced on the stern of the flat-bottomed lighter, his wild figure outlined against the glittering water of the Thames, hair whipped in the wind, face sharp, lips drawn back. Then, at the last moment, when the other lighter was almost past him, he crouched and sprang. He only just reached the deck, scrambling to secure his footing. He swayed for a moment, then regained his balance and turned. He waved once in grotesque jubilation, then dropped to his knees out of sight behind the close-packed bales of wool.
Monk smiled grimly as the oarsmen strained to bring the police boat around against the outgoing tide and the wash from barges on their way up to the Pool of London. He would not have given orders to shoot, even were he certain of not hitting anyone else in the teeming river traffic. He wanted Jericho Phillips alive, so he could see him tried and hanged.
In the prow of the boat, Orme swore under his breath. He was a grizzled man in his late fifties, a decade older than the lean and elegant Monk, who had been in the Thames River Police Force only half a year. It was very different from the force ashore, where his experience lay, but more difficult for him was taking over the leadership of men to whom he was an outsider. He had a reputation for brilliance in detection, but also for a nature ruthless and hard to know, or to like.
Monk had changed since then. The accident eight years ago in 1856, which had wiped out his memory, had also given him a chance to begin again. He had learned to know himself through the eyes of others, and it had been bitterly enlightening. Not that he could explain that to anyone else.
They were gaining on the lighter, where Phillips was crouching out of sight, ignored by the man at the helm. Another hundred feet and they would draw level. There were five of them in the police boat. That was more than usual, but a man like Phillips might require the extra strength to take him down. He was wanted for the murder of a boy of thirteen or fourteen, Walter Figgis, known as Fig. He was thin and undersized, which might have been what had kept him alive so long. Phillips's trade was in boys from the age of four or five up to the time when their voices changed and they began to assume some of the physical characteristics of adults, and they were thus of no use in his particular market of pornography.
The police boat's bow sliced through the choppy water. Fifty yards away a pleasure boat went lazily upstream, perhaps eventually towards Kew Gardens. Colored streamers blew in the wind, and there was the sound of laughter mixed with music. Ahead of them nearly a hundred ships from coal barges to tea clippers were anchored in the Upper Pool. Lighters plied back and forth, and stevedores unloaded cargoes brought in from every corner of the earth.
Monk leaned forward a little, drawing in breath to urge the oarsmen to even greater effort, then changed his mind. It would look as if he did not trust them to do their best anyway. But they could not possibly want to catch Phillips as much as he did. It was Monk, not they, who had involved Durban in the Louvain case that had eventually cost him his life. And it was Monk whom Durban had recommended to take his place when he knew he was dying.
Orme had served with Durban for years, but if he resented Monk's command he had never once shown it. He was loyal, diligent, even helpful, but for the most part, impossible to read. However, the longer Monk watched him, the more he realized Orme's respect was necessary to his success, and more than that, he actually wanted it. The thought jarred inside him. He could not remember ever before having cared what a junior thought of him.
The lighter was only twenty feet ahead of them now and slowing as it made way for another lighter crossing its bow, which was laden with casks of raw sugar from a schooner moored fifty yards away. The ship was riding high now with its load almost gone, its huge canvases furled, spars bare and circling gently as it rocked.
The police boat plunged forward and to port as the other lighter crossed to starboard. The first man leapt aboard, then the second, pistols drawn.
When this series first came out in 1990, it was wonderfully different from anything out there. Yes, it was a historical set in Victorian times, but the main character, Monk, woke up with amnesia. A complete blank, he's had to rediscover himself -- not all things to be proud of in himself -- and to reinvent himself. A good series, but start at the beginning and read in order.
Today's Blog/Website of the Day is Classic Mysteries found at http://www.classicmysteries.net/. This features "podcasts and conversations about fine detective stories worth reading and re-reading." Sometimes we get caught up in finding out and getting the latest new thing when there are crime fiction treasures already waiting for us. This could be a source to bookmark to discover some good reads.
Had to pick up Quantum of Solace out on DVD today. I've had a crush on Pierce Brosnan since before Remington Steele (ahhhh, but that's for another post), and wasn't about to like this new blond James Bond. With Casino Royale, I'm a fan of Daniel Craig and love the direction it is now going.
I'm having lunch with JodyO tomorrow at her house. She's going to do a 20 minute reiki session on me; maybe it will help me sleep better. Many have heard of it, but reiki is a Japanese technique for stress reduction and relaxation that also promotes healing. It is administered by "laying on hands" and is based on the idea that an unseen "life force energy" flows through us and is what causes us to be alive. JodyO is a certified Reiki master though she hasn't practiced in four years. Now that she's free of the museum, she's getting back to thinks she loves. Maybe it will help rid me of this cold. THAT would be lovely.
Nothing on tv but I have some reading for class to do before the fun stuff. Bah.
Much love,
PK the Bookeemonster
