By John Sandford
A home demolition presents an uncongenial shock for Minneapolis-the our bodies of 2 ladies, wrapped in plastic. It feels like they've been there many years. Lucas Davenport understands precisely how lengthy.
In 1985, Davenport used to be a tender cop with a name for recklessness, and the girls' disappearance used to be an important deal. His bosses finally declared the case closed, yet he by no means agreed with that. Now that he has an opportunity to enquire all of it yet again, something is changing into more and more transparent: It wasn't simply the our bodies that have been buried. It was once the truth.
Some secrets and techniques simply can't remain buried, within the wonderful new Lucas Davenport mystery from the number-one New York Times-bestselling author.
"One of the best," acknowledged Kirkus Reviews of Storm Prey. "Razor-sharp discussion, a tautly managed velocity and sufficient homicides for a miniseries. What extra may perhaps fanatics want?"
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Additional resources for Buried Prey (Lucas Davenport, Book 21)
There were a good number of ships in the harbour: a few large three-deckers like the Bellerophon and many smaller craft--frigates and schooners and sloops, she guessed. There seemed to be a constant coming and going of small craft to the ships, but now even their boatmen forgot their business and slowed to watch. Arabella could not believe the number of boats that had gathered about the Bellerophon in so short a time. The old warship looked like a great castle rising above the clutter of its dependent village.
The man did not look up; the sound of his pen, scratching over the surface of the paper, continued. Morton rocked back on his heels, trying to calm his impatience. Skelton was an eccentric man, but the Runner had deep respect for his skills and was willing to wait at least a short while to find out why he'd been summoned. Around Bow Street Skelton had acquired the moniker "Skeleton," and one look at the ungainly surgeon was all the explanation this required. Morton had never seen a man of apparent good health so bony and angular.
A shake of the head. "No one. " Morton looked at the poor woman standing before him, so braced for bad news. He took a deep breath, feeling sadness settle over him like a grey winter day. " For the briefest moment the woman leaned her forehead against the door, which she still held partially open. A moan escaped her, and she pressed her eyes tightly closed. With a visible effort she pulled herself upright, squaring her narrow shoulders and composing her face. It was a remarkable act of will, as though she had not a moment more to give over to grief.