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The Sundown Speech: An Amos Walker Mystery (Amos Walker Novels) Hardcover – November 10, 2015
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The Sundown Speech, a hot new Amos Walker mystery by Loren D. Estleman, the master of the hard-boiled detective novel.
Amos Walker is hired by Helen and Dante Gunner, a bohemian Ann Arbor couple, to find Jerry Marcus, a film director who has disappeared with their investment money. It's one of Walker's easiest jobs to date. In just a few short hours, Walker locates Marcus in his bedroom...murdered, his body shoved into a cupboard, a bullet through his head.
This case is opened and shut quickly, but Walker can't quite let it go. When Dante is arrested for the murder Walker finds himself again in Helen's employ, this time trying to prove that Dante didn't do it.
When Walker interviews Holly Zacharias, a college student who was the last person to see Marcus alive, things get interesting. Because if Marcus is dead, and Dante is his killer, then who is driving by in the Crown Vic, shooting at Walker and Holly?
Jerry Marcus just might still be alive, and his plans may be worse than anything Walker can imagine.
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About the Author
- Publisher : Forge Books; First edition (November 10, 2015)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 240 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0765337363
- ISBN-13 : 978-0765337368
- Item Weight : 13.6 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.8 x 0.92 x 8.45 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,886,350 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- Customer Reviews:
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CHANDLER, HAMMETT, ROSS AND JOHN D. MACDONALD, HE IS SO WONDERFUL. THIS STORY IS A BIT OF A DEPARTURE AS IT TAKES PLACE IN THE ART CAPITAL OF ANN ARBOR, WHERE PEOPLE SAY HELLO TO EACH OTHER DAILY. AMOS IS HIRED TO FIND A
MAN WHO HAS SWINDLED MONEY FROM A COUPLE, AS WELL AS SEVERAL OTHER PEOPLE. NATURALLY, AS SOON AS HE FINDS A PLACE TO SLEEP, HE IS INVOLVED IN A MURDER, WHICH LEADS UP TO A VERY BREATHTAKING ENCOUNTER WITH A MAD BOMBER. HE OF COURSE HAS HIS USUAL TROUBLES WITH THE POLICE. WHAT IS SO GREAT ABOUT AMOS WALKER IS HIS THROW AWAY ONE
LINERS AND METAPHORS , ESTLEMAN HAS A WICKED SENSE OF HUMOR AND PASSES IT ON TO AMOS. YOU MAY BEGIN THE
SERIES WITH THIS OR ANY BOOK, INCLUDING NUMBER ONE. THE OLDER ONES ARE SOLD AT A GREAT PRICE BY AMAZON.
IF YOU LIKED MY REVIEW PLEASE CLICK ON THE HELPFUL BOX
This dialogue was witty as usual but story was choppy and semi boring.
He’s good, but maybe it was me. No more! At least for now.
“Yeah?” I growled, after spearing the receiver on the second ring.The caller identified himself and I relaxed.
“Sorry,” I said, “I was overdue for my daily cold-call from the Church of The Eviscerated Wallet.”
My caller, a well-known, syndicated jounalist who bought his shoes one at a time, laughed on his end of the line.
“What is it about you P.I.s and your aphorisms? Walker's like that all the time - can barely function without a cynical wisecrack.”
“We all get hit on the head with the Collected Works of Chandler at some point,” I told him, not looking at the leather-bound tome on top of the filing cabinet. Sometimes I use it for inspiration, sometimes for a paperweight – Chandler is multi-purpose.
“But speaking of Walker – what's he been up to lately?” I asked, not having heard from my friend in a while.
“He's good – had a missing persons case recently that turned into more – got hired by a couple out in Ann Arbor who put money into some movie producer's project - “
“Don't tell me – the movie guy vanished with the money and the investors didn't want to involve the police.”
“Something like that. And get this – Walker finds the guy in a day, a bullet in his head and no sign of the money.”
“Cops like anybody for it?”
“The husband of the couple who hired Walker. Simple enough, yeah?”
“Knowing Amos, probably not,” I suggested. Another laugh at the end of the phone.
“The guy's wife and attorney hire him a second time to prove the husband's innocence, and while Walker's out doing his thing, someone takes a shot at him – while the suspect's still in a cell.”
“Sounds like the husband was set up,” I mused. “Walker get hit?” I was a little concerned, given his recent past – lately he seemed to attract bullets like an electromagnet.
“No, he's fine – I don't even think anyone had to bail him out of a hospital this time.”
“That's a first – how's he doing with the Vicodin thing?”
“No mention of it to me – and you know, when he gave me the story, there was a clarity in the details that reminded me of some of his early cases. Like he went out into sunlight for once, I don't know how to describe it.”
“And you a prize-winning journalist? For shame,” I laughed, shifting in my chair.
My foot caught something under the desk and it fell over with a bottle-falling-over sound.
“In any case, I'm not worried about the guy,” said the reporter, “it seems like he's back on form, so no doubt he'll be back in trouble in short order.”
I didn't doubt it. It was good to know Walker was back; there's not many guys like us left, and fewer like him. I said goodbye to the reporter and hung up. It hadn't occurred to either of us to ask why he'd called.
I reached under the desk and retrieved the bottle I had kicked over. Looked like I'd misjudged the cleaner after all.
I poured a shot and held the glass up to the light, watching the golden liquid swirl gently. Offering a silent toast to the gods of distant friends and orphan P.I.s, I knocked it back, then grabbed my hat and headed out into the night.