The Night Watcher
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From bestselling author John Lutz comes a lightning-paced thriller of a city gripped by a killer's savage reign of terror. . .
Someone is killing wealthy Manhattanites. One by one, the victims are discovered in luxurious high-rise apartments. Bound, gagged--brutally murdered in the "safety" of their own homes, by someone whose modus operandi is as horrifying as anything NYPD Detectives Ben Stack and Rica Lopez have ever seen.
As Stack and Lopez investigate the cruel deaths, they have no idea that they are being watched from the shadows--observed by a cunning murderer picking up all the clues necessary to stay one step ahead of the police while perfecting a deadly craft. And when a pattern slowly emerges, the detectives realize that the killings aren't the random acts of a maniac, but the personal campaign of someone bent on retribution. . .someone who's been watching closely and knows their case too well.
Someone whose vengeance will burn forever.
quitter. Nobody ever accused her of that. It was just that they were going in circles on this Danner thing. “My gut tells me we should move on,” she added. He lowered his coffee cup from his lips and glanced over at her, obviously a bit surprised and pleased. “Are our guts in sync?” she asked. “In sync,” he said, starting the car with his free hand. “Let’s cut Helen Sampson loose and concentrate our efforts somewhere else while we wait for any new developments.” “O’Reilly might not like it,”
heard? The six-year-old Wilson girl, Eden, died from her bum wounds late last night.” Rica felt herself tighten up inside. Six years old…“The bastard has to feel bad about that. Feel guilty.” “Why?” O’Reilly asked. “Because you would?” “Because anyone human would.” “Not a sociopath firebug.” “So who or what should be the focal point?” Stack asked. O’Reilly looked at him as if the question were absurd. “Why, the victims. What I want you and Rica to do is stay on the victims, talk to people
trouble to show up and let them grill you, I might have been rejected. It couldn’t have been fun for you.” “They could give the police lessons in interrogation,” Stack said. “You’re not moving in with nice people, Laura.” “They don’t actually represent everyone in the building. The ones who want the power take over those boards quite often, and discourage prospective board members who want to serve in a reasonable way. You wouldn’t believe some of the interviews I’ve had the past few weeks.
his smoothness, the pink glow of his skin after a close shave, the primitive jungle of black hairs on his bare forearms, the suave perfection of even his casual clothes, the courtroom manner the bastard probably slept with and no longer even had to practice before a mirror. Whoever he really was—and she was finding out who—he was lost inside the facade he’d built for himself. She understood that about him, probably better than anyone he’d ever met. “And the judge will owe you a favor,” she said
thinks the conversation might be recorded. Doesn’t trust the police. Can you imagine?” “After last night,” Rica said, “I can imagine all sorts of things. In fact, I can’t stop imagining. You ever experience flashbacks after sex, Stack?” “She’s spooked,” Stack said, staring somewhere beyond Rica’s right shoulder. “Me?” “No. Gertrude Kreiger.” He stood up from his desk chair and made sure his shirt was tucked in tight and there were no twists in his shoulder holster strap. “Let’s go talk to her