Private detective Michael Kelly returns in a lightning-paced, intricately woven mystery. When Kelly is hired by an old girlfriend to tail her abusive husband, he expects trouble of a domestic rather than a historical nature. Life, however, is not so simple.
The trail leads to a dead body in an abandoned house on Chicago's North Side and then to places Kelly would rather not go: specifically, City Hall's fabled fifth floor, where the mayor is feeling the heat. Kelly becomes embroiled in a scam that stretches from current politics back to the night Chicago burned to the ground. Along the way, he finds himself framed for murder, before finally facing a killer bent on rewriting history.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of Mystery & Detective eBook: The Fifth Floor|
|Release Date: 08-26-2008|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||The Fifth Floor|
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The Fifth Floor
I pushed the slim volume of poetry across my desk and into her lap. The woman with auburn hair, perfect posture, and a broken life picked it up.
"I can't read this," she said, and lifted her head.
"That's because it's in Latin," I said. "Why don't you take off the sunglasses?"
"Why don't you translate for me?"
"Take off the glasses."
The woman slid the dark frames up and off her face. Her left eye was brown and watering. Her right was black and swollen shut. The cheekbone below it offered a study in shades of purple, blue, and yellow.
"You get the picture?" she said.
"The poem is by Catullus. First line reads Odi et amo. Translates as I hate and I love."
"And this is my life?"
"People say it's a love poem, but they're wrong. It's about abuse, about not being able to get out, even when the door is wide open and the whole world is yelling that very thing in your ear."
"I can't just leave. It's not that simple."
"It never is. Let me ask you something. How do you think this ends?"
The woman dropped her eyes back to her lap.
"You're a smart woman, Janet. You can figure it out. You wind up hurt real bad. Maybe dead. Or . . ."
She raised her head again. "Or what?"
"Or he winds up dead. Either way, it's not good."
She thinned her lips and set a hard edge at the corners of her mouth. There'd never been anything soft about Janet Woods' face. Beautiful, yes. Even through the bruises. But never soft.
"What do you want?" she said.