Cinq filles, trois cadavres mais plus de volant by Andrea H. Japp

By Andrea H. Japp

Cinq copines partagent depuis toujours leurs déboires professionnels et sentimentaux : Emma los angeles blonde pulpeuse en mal d'enfant, Nathalie los angeles mère au lobby qui vient de se faire plaquer, Hélène l. a. tête chercheuse qui a fait de son absence de diplomatie une arme redoutable, Charlotte l. a. psy qui finit toujours par coucher avec le plus gratiné de ses sufferers, et enfin Juliette, l'esthéticienne qui dorlote une clientèle masculine triée sur le volet.

Le jour où Charlotte découvre un cadavre enchaîné au volant de sa voiture, elle panique et appelle immédiatement ses amies à los angeles rescousse. Les cadavres s'accumulent …

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Tell Mrs. Darien I’m on my way,” Scarpetta said. “I need about fifteen minutes to check a few things and look at the paperwork. ” Off the lobby to the left was the administrative wing she shared with Dr. Edison, two executive assistants, and the chief of staff, who was on her honeymoon until after the New Year. In a building half a century old with no space to spare, there was no place to put Scarpetta on the third floor, where the full-time forensic pathologists had their offices. When she was in the city, she parked herself in what was formerly the chief’s conference room on the ground level, with a view of the OCME’s turquoise-blue brick entrance on First Avenue.

The sink was empty and clean, a sponge and bottle of Dawn liquid detergent, no crumbs on the counter, no food stains, the hardwood floor spotless. Marino opened the cabinet under the sink, finding a small garbage can lined with a white plastic bag. Inside were a banana peel that was brown and smelled pungent, a few withered blueberries, a soy milk carton, coffee grounds, a lot of paper towels. He shook open a few of them, detecting what smelled like honey and citrus, like lemon-scented ammonia, maybe furniture and glass cleaners.

Mother wants a burial, but the father wants cremation. ” Touching the dead body again, as if it were part of the conversation. “Then they started blaming each other for everything you can think of. At one point Dr. ” He was the chief medical examiner and Scarpetta’s boss when she worked in the city. It was still a little hard getting used to being supervised, having been either a chief herself or the owner of a private practice for most of her career. But she wouldn’t want to be in charge of the New York OCME, not that she’d been asked or likely ever would be.

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