This book is somewhat hard to rate, as I think overall it achieved what it's supposed to do (i.e. give you an overview some of the theories on Jack the Ripper) but it could have done it a lot better.The book is divided into three parts. The first gives you just the cold facts based on the police-...
In the tradition of Carroll & Graf's The Mammoth Book of Erotica, The Mammoth Book of International Erotica, The Mammoth Book of New Erotica, and The Mammoth Book of Historical Erotica - which together have sold more than 400,000 copies - comes this provocative new volume in a hot-selling series,...
McGivern Sergeant Burt Moran was a tall man with hard flat features and eyes that were cold and dull, like those of a snake. He was that comparatively rare thing among cops, a man equally hated by crooks and by his fellow officers. Operators on both sides of the law forgot their differences and c...
Across from me to my left, a man and a woman silently stare straight ahead at the white-capped, blonde clerk busy cleaning dishes. The fedora-wearing man negligently nurses a cigarette while the woman, red haired, in her late 30s I guess, peers at her well-manicured nails. There is no juke box, t...
A taxi would have been easier and more relaxed after the seven-hour plane journey, but she knew she had to remain as anonymous as possible. Cab drivers have a bad habit of remembering tall, lanky blondes, particularly so those who did not wish to engage in needless conversation and reveal whether...
He appeared almost by magic, smiling courteously and lifting his hat in greeting. Impeccably well-mannered, Zenith, of course, was incapable of ignoring him. ‘Bonjour, cher cousin!’ The albino raised his own tall grey hat. ‘What a great pleasure to come upon you like this!...
Sharpe Inspired by“The Swing” (1766)Jean-Honoré Fragonard (French, 1732–1806) I can see the painting from my place in the cloakroom. It’s so lovely. When I’m alone, I can’t stop staring at it. I want to find its secret. I’m quite sure there is a message in there for me, hidden in the branches int...
It was November, late in the month and the night air bright with cold that numbed your fingers even as it brought a flush of color to your cheeks. London, the winter of fifty-six, and we were little more than kids then, Patrick, Val and myself, though if anyone had called us that we’d have likely...