The creatures I had seen were not men, had never been men. They were animals—humanised animals—triumphs of vivisection.
The Way Some People Die (1951), The Ivory Grin (1952), and The Far Side of the Dollar (1965) are particularly good novels. The Chill (1964)
That's the past for you. Not only does it come back at the most unexpected, and inconvenient, times but it's set in stone.
One said, Nobody paused in front of the house since we’ve been here. I slipped my ID case away. Any out-of-state tags? Didn’t notice any. Different answer from No. One
Now, I regarded my opponent carefully, as if we were sitting across from each other over a chessboard. Zagaev had a round head, a double chin that his beard obscured pretty well and bristly hair that...
Not dying isn’t the same as being alive. You’re only alive when you’re surviving. And you only survive when there’s a risk there’s something you can lose. The more you risk losing, the more you’re ali...
Maree opened her eyes wide. Wait, wait . . . I know you. She regarded me with a frown. I must have blinked in surprise. Had we met? The woman added, You’re on that reality show. The Vacation from Hell...
Love, son, is not manifest in the gift of gadgets or coddling foods or rooms of one’s own. Love shows itself in discipline and example and sacrifice—even giving up one’s life.
I want to say something, I told her. It’s important. Under these circumstances, she said, with a dark grin, one wouldn’t really expect unimportant, now, would one?
I realized finally what the problem was, I told Maree. It wasn’t him. It was my wife. She was treating him like a normal human being. Polite, giving him the benefit of the doubt, humoring him. She was...
I criminalisti adorano i sospetti che soffrono di malattie.
I always carried in my breast or hip pocket a video camera disguised as a pen. It was linked to software whose algorithms alerted me that the body language of a person approaching was consistent with...
His best work bore the stamp of John O’Hara and John P. Marquand.
He tapped his pistol. I’m loaded with Glasers. Safety bullets. Powerful rounds that can kill, but they won’t penetrate Sheetrock and injure bystanders. They’re called suburb slugs.
GPS—whose voice I had decided sounded unnervingly like Chris Teasley’s, Westerfield’s assistant—took me to a storefront off Connecticut Avenue. It was a used-CD store, manned by a few slow-moving cler...
Family is about love and affection but about friction and separation, too. Yet, with work and luck, the distances—geographic and emotional—can be shrunk, even made to vanish.
DuBois’s observations were back. She’d largely recovered from the Graham ignominy.
Doctor, do you read the Harry Potter books? Well, as a matter of fact, yes, I have. The fourth was my favorite. What was yours? Umm, I don’t know really. Is it possible, the prosecutor asked the witne...
Chris Teasley came on. She said, Um, Agent Corte. Officer Corte, I corrected. My organization is an office, not a bureau or an agency. When Congress gave Abe the money that’s what he created.
But, I added, duBois had found no evidence of any malfeasance. She’d spoken to dozens of officers and administrators within the department, armed with her pen and calculator. What Westerfield and Teas...