By Jonathan Kellerman
They name the traditional hills of Jerusalem the butcher's theater. the following, upon this bloodstained stage, a faceless killer plays his violent specialty: The first to die brutally is a fifteen-year-old girl. She is tired of blood, then conscientiously bathed and shrouded in white. accurately one week later, a second sufferer is located. From the sacred Wailing Wall to the monasteries the place darkish secrets are cloistered, from black-clad bedouin enclaves to labyrinthine dead night alleys, veteran police inspector Daniel Sharavi and his crack crew plunge deep right into a urban simmering with non secular and political passions to seek for a assassin whos insatiable style for younger ladies may possibly damage the delicate stability on which Jerusalem's very survival depends.
an excellent novel by means of a grasp of the style, a vibrant examine the tortured complexities of a psychopath's brain, a wealthy evocation of a city steeped in heritage -- this, and extra, is The Butcher's Theater.
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Extra resources for The Butcher's Theater
He pointed past the edge of the umbrella at the eaves of the mansion. If the wind comes too fast from the south, it whistles in the eaves. It can keep you awake nights. The explanation should have quieted her nerves, but it did not. That cry seemed too filled with emotion to be made by something inanimate. Suddenly, she remembered things that she should have asked Richard. Why had he been late? Why did Catherine, the waitress, fear him so? What was this curse that Aunt Cora talked about and which he called a psychiatric problem"?
He was watching her over the rim of his cup as he sipped his coffee. Unexplainably, she remembered that he had opened her suitcases upon placing them in her room. She had still not been able to decide whether or not he had been snooping, whether such a gesture was only meant as a final courtesy. But this very direct gaze of his seemed to pry at her own eyes, to peel back her brain and seek for secrets. She didn't like that at all. �My room is wonderful, she said. I'm anxious to explore the grounds and do some riding.
Later that night, Cora came to Jenny's room. She was dressed in a lovely yellow lounging robe which contrasted with her dark beauty and her cultured dignity to make both those qualities even more evident. Jenny secretly hoped that, when she was Cora's age, she would look as feminine and sophisticated as her aunt. If I reach her age, she amended. And immediately, she wondered why she always had to have such negative thoughts. �I'd like to talk to you about Freya, Cora Brucker said. She sat on the edge of the bed.