PI Jared McKean is 30-something, ex-Nashville cop, divorced, one son with Down Syndrome, still carrying the torch for his ex-wife. We meet him on a hot June night when he's nursing a drink and his aching heart.
He picks up a woman named Heather for sex in a cheap motel, and wakes up a day and a half later to a newspaper story about the murder of a woman named Amy in his motel room. Heather is long gone. The cops are looking for him. There's a strange gun in his truck, and his keys are missing.
This gritty novel sets up the perfect nightmare. The cops have plenty of evidence -- his fingerprints, his semen, his voice on threatening phone calls - all of it in the wrong setting and some of it fake - but how to prove it?
The dead woman apparently led a perfect life in a semi-upscale neighborhood: wife of a successful businessman, mother of two young daughters, and faithful member of the Road to Glory Church of the Reclamation.
Jared relies on his belief that a murder victim is chosen for a reason, and begins a methodical investigation of who Amy was and why someone wanted her dead. His step-by-step journey leads him into the worlds of pedophilia, identity theft, women's lib, a teenage Goth gang, and horse breeding and training. There are more murders. He gets involved with a couple of truly despicable characters, and the ending is a shocker.
RACING THE DEVIL is well plotted and well written. The author has a gift for bringing characters to life on the page. Jared is likeable, even when he spends too much time mourning his failed marriage to the beautiful Maria. At times I wanted to slap him smartly, like Cher in "Moonstruck," and say, Get over it. But he's a stand-up guy, and he has a good support system.
His ex-wife still cares for him; her new husband tolerates him. His brother has problems of his own but when push comes to shove, he's there. His ex-partner at Metro Homicide unofficially gives him a little wiggle room while he tries to figure out why and how someone fitted him with a frame. For backup he calls on Billy Mean, an old friend, Viet Nam vet and ex-con, now running a shelter for homeless men, and always ready to knock heads together if need be.
In a book full of memorable characters, three will remain with me for a long time: Jared's young son, Paulie, who has Down Syndrome; his housemate, Jay, a gay man with full-blown AIDS; and Birdie, the chipper old woman who serves him lemonade while filling him in on the victim and the victim's family.
PAULIE. We get an indelible image of Paulie talking to Jared on the phone: "`Hi, Daddy. Mama crying.' The gravelly little voice made my heart twist. I could see him perched there, maybe on Maria's lap, his stubby fingers curled around the receiver, his slanted eyes crinkling. A little Buddha with Down Syndrome, happy to hear from me, worried about his mama."
JAY. He's a longtime friend, a kind soul who takes 20 or 30 pills a day and a variety of supplements to keep his weight up, shares his house with Jared and fusses over him: "It was a good trade. I got cheap room and board, a place to board my horses--a palomino quarter horse named Tex and a black Tennessee Walker called Crockett--and unlimited use of Jay's swimming pool. He got someone to take care of him. The boy friends came and went but I was family."
BIRDIE. Jared chides her for being so trusting, opening the door for him even though he's a murder suspect: "`What if I'd really been a murderer? I could have forced my way inside and had my way with you before you had even had a chance to scream.'"
"She smiled a beatific smile. `I'm too old for you to have your way with, and I don't need a chance to scream.' She untucked her billowed blouse to reveal a little silver-plated, snub-nosed .38. `All I have to do is stay in close and pull the trigger.'"
