Faye Kellerman’s Sanctuary read by Mitch Greenberg

Marge’s first homicide begins with an Israeli real estate agent and an empty house. .. Yalom, “whose name means diamond” calls the L.A. police to tell them that her sister has disappeared. There are clothes in the closet, three cars in the three car garage, but no people. Decker, converted Jew and police detective, notices that the mezuzah is attached to the inside of the doorway, and it secrets nothing — no holy scroll blessing a Jewish home.

The Mr. and Mrs. are found buried, their two boys are missing, and a bank safe filled with papers points to an unholy war with the largest South African diamond company in the world. Rena and Decker are off to South Africa….

Robert K. Tanenbaum: Gotham

Remember once upon at time when you watched BATMAN because the last episode had Batman hanging by his toes over a vat of melted rubber hoses? And you had to tune in to the same Bat time, same Bat station to find out what happened? And even though you knew (sort of) that Batman would be OK, there was always the possibility that the music would end, and after a few WHAMs and KAZOOMs  the bad guys would win?

Well bad things happen in Karpland — Islamic terrorists try to

  • 1. bomb the  Brooklyn Bridge
  • 2. crash the New York  Stock Market
  • 3. assassinate an Honest Senator
  • 4. take over St. Patricks Cathedral and do evil to its holy hostages
  • 5. drive suicide bread trucks filled with bombs through Borough Park
  • 6. Dress up as Chassidic Jews
  • 7. Pour money into Mosques in Harlem in order to train black Muslims to join the Jihad against the U.S. Constitution

And the law is alive….

The Fifth Vial by Michael Palmer read by J. Charles

Natalie is an arrogant medical student with a Portuguese speaking mother. She gets into trouble in one of her clinical classes and is suspended for four months. When she travels to Brazil, she is hijacked and surgically assaulted. A down and out private detective is hired by a watch-dog organization dedicated to putting an end to trafficking in human organs.

Death in a Wine-Dark Sea by Lisa King

A nympho wine reviewer with a boyfriend who doesn’t like to fuck on boats looks for a killer in San Francisco. But there are no localized mappings, detailing the city or its’ neighborhoods, except for traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge. Likewise, don’t expect any happy wine tasting menu — there’s nothing here except for a wine bottle used to knock out a bad guy. Jeanne has silver hair — since she was 18 — and toddler type temper tantrums which are described as emotions. She uses her anger to dominate and seduce, and turns up one clue after another in her first detective gig. She hates high heels, but can dress up for parties and to tease out suspects. An interesting but unlikable character, not feminine but feminized, and tall.

Switchback by Mathew Klein read by Chris Patton

Timothy Van Bender’s beautiful, disappointed wife signed a pre-nuptial agreement which protected Timothy’s inherited wealth from the contingency of her (slightly embarrassing) lower class. When she commits suicide, Timothy is left with a failing hedge fund, a not-yet redecorated house in Silicon Valley, his membership at the Menlo Circus Club, where executives indicted for securities fraud bring their second wives, and a lot of disinformation about his twenty year marriage. Alcohol and a hunger for capital ‘incentivizes’ lots of confused and desperate beliefs: Timothy invests in a biogenetic engineer who promises him a new body, alongside a new version of his old wife. Timothy stops off at a bar, just before committing suicide and discovers that things are not at all as they seem to be. Fast, twisted, well told morality tale.

J.M. Gregson: The Inspector Lambert Series

Deliciously understated English murder mysteries against a background of Hereford cows and curmudgeonly coppers. Here’s a taste:

Bastard, bastard, bloody stupid game! He beat the turf with his five iron and considered dispatching it after his golf ball into the undergrowth. Then he trudged on morosely, feeling the blood pounding in his head. A balanced equable man reduced by the trials of this slow quiet game to a murderous lunatic.

One taste might be enough, though.

Vino Veritas, A Good Walk Spoiled, An Academic Death. It is the same story over and over again, populated by the same types: the murdered man is a lecherous and successful jerk, unloved by his wife, his workers, or his women. He leaves a trail of immoralities behind him, which the plodding Gloucester policemen unearth and convert into sharp shiny clues.

Blood in the Water by Jane Haddam read by David Collacci

A delightful, witty murder mystery about a small-town gated-community studded with the usual sociopathic suspects, albeit wealthy, and gorgeous social commentary. Waldorf Pines is an exclusive ex-1920’s ex-golf-course on which marbled kitchens and bathrooms have been built, bricked over with Tudorish frontage and populated by odd, classless, moneyed characters badly acting out their reality-tv-prototypes.

She’d once thought that all that mattered to them was money, but this wasn’t true. All that mattered to them was to be seen by other people to have money. They had not learned- if they were lucky they would never learn — that money is never enough if that is all you have.

And then there is Gregor Demarkian. A retired FBI officer hired by police departments to help them with their inquiries…..

Watergate by Thomas Mallon read by Joe Barrett

Imagine yourself in every drawing room of mature Washingtonian society, amidst the pouffy hair, the polka dot dresses, the over-used jokes, and the starchy  defensive hawkishishness of 1973. The wives, too, are overused. Pat Nixon is brittle; Dorothy, wife of the ex CIA agent and Watergate burgler E. Howard Hunt, is venomous, and Alice Longworth, the grand dame of political salons, is too old to fail, having known everything and outlived everyone.

Indeed, in a Washington where the only thing that glitters are Mrs. Longworth’s yellow teeth, “like the ruins of the ripples at twilight”, the political plotting is staged as a vague shadow dance of female opinion. Nixon’s confidante, Nixon’s wife, Nixon’s secretary position the dark, vague heavies surrounding the President along their personal moral continuum.

Nixon is, for Alice Longworth, “the darkest of dark horses”, a

…misanthrope in a flesh-presser’s profession, able to succeed from cunning and a talent for denying reality at close range.

For Rose Mary Woods, who never wanted anything but “what Ann Whitman, Ike’s head girl, had once had,” Nixon’s downfall began in the elevator of the Waldorf the morning after the ’68 election.

Riding down to his press conference, the boss had told her that Haldeman would control all access to him after the inauguration. She’d practically seen stars when he said it, ….he never budged from the structure Haldeman had sold him on, a chain of command that made sure he never had to hurt anyone’s feelings at least face-to-face…

This is why by 1972, the White House is

crawling with a second generation of admen and junior executives… good-looking dumb-bunnies like Magruder who provided Richard Nixon with a whole new cloud of insulation, like those little Styrofoam peanuts Rose’s mail-order knick-knacks came packed in.

Ah, Treachery! by Ross Thomas read by Frank Muller

The salad dressing was the only one Partain ever used: “9 parts olive oil, one part red wine vinegar, vinegar soaked salt, ground black pepper and more garlic than most people liked.” Write this down. Ross Thomas’ recipes are rare, legendary and authoritative. As are his stories, his characters, and his dialogue.

‘What did you do in the army for fun when you weren’t soldiering?
‘I read a lot.’
‘What?’
‘European history. When I got to World War I, I always stopped.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I already knew how it would end  in 1945.’
‘That was the end of World War II, not I.’
‘Was it?’

Not only authoritative but establishing authority, establishing themselves as authorities.

When he was soldiering, Edd (“Two-Dees”) was Infantry in Vietnam, then the States, then Germany, then Central America (“…not dangerous for an observer.”).  After 19 years he beat up his superior officer and was discharged for the good of the service without a pension or PX privileges. The loss of PX privileges was annoying.

Now Two-Dees is staying in a condo on Wiltshire Boulevard, where he is observing the pretty daughter of Millicent Altford in between jobs and/or lovers. Ask any political geographer to map out D.C. in L.A, and he’ll draw you the route to the 86 volumes of Who’s Who in Millicent Altford’s study, in a luxury building named after a failed British prime minister.

The very femdom, very wily, not so old political rainmaker Millicent Altford is however hiding out in her own ‘significant money salon’ in the extravagantly elegant wing of the exclusive “Olympia” Hospital a few blocks east of Century City, for which she herself raised the seed money. Gourmet meals  and a French menu every morning.

Partain entered Millicent Altford’s hospital room and found her sitting in an armchair, wearing a smoke-grey silk suit, herlong legs tucked back to the left and crossed at the ankles. On her feet were black suede pumps with two inch heels that matched her purse. Next to her feet was a worn black leather suitcase with silver fittings that looked both old and expensive.

Edd Twodees gets shot just before they’re scheduled to fly from LAX. Millicent buys him something temporary to wear at the airport; he takes off the nice blue suit with the bullet holes and says:

‘What I do with my shirt, tie and coat?’
‘I’ll take care of them.’
He handed them over and watched with dismay as she dropped all three into a nearby trash container.
‘That coat could have been re-woven,’ he said when she returned.
‘I told you; we’ll buy you new stuff in Washington. A nice top coat from Burberry’s, some suits and a couple of jackets and pants from Brooks Brothers or Niemann’s.’
‘You ever been inside a J.C. Penny’s?’
‘Not in 42 years,’ she said.

When she is not giving orders, putting together “soft money” and “bundling”, Millicent Altford gives congressmen lectures in the ancient history of campaign financing.

It was a typical campaign office for the times. One big room, lots of desks, typewriters, ringing phones, hot as hell, noisy… and then there was this 50 year old slob sitting behind one of the desks..and a red headed guy. I tell the slob my name and that I want to help out in the campaign and he tells me that they aren’t hiring…The red head of course is Joey Sizemore. He takes me outside where we catch a cab and head for the old Morrison Hotel that they tore down years ago. We ride up to the 11th floor and go into a big room that has two desks, two phones on each desk, a secretary called Norma who’s at least 60, and nothing else. Joey introduces me to Norma. Tells me that she used to be a senior long distance telephone operator with SouthWestern Bell, uses a key to open a desk drawer and hands me a typewritten list of names with addresses and phone numbers thats about an inch thick. It was the fat cat list. Every Democrat in the country who had an estimated net worth of $100,000 or more.. which would be around a million today… All I had to do was call each name and talk whoever answered into contributing a minimum of $1000 to the Stevenson campaign. Norma had this sexy contralto voice and placed each call person to person working east to west — all operator assisted then, no touch tone, no direct dialing.. ancient times. I asked Sizemore what to say. He said since I was in the ad business I’d think up something. There were almost 2000 names on that list and we called every damn one of ’em. A lot of ’em twice.
‘What was your batting average?’, the congressman asked.
‘.593′ That’s when I learned what makes people give money to politicians.
The congressman smiled: “is it a secret?’
She shook her head, “Fear. And Flattery.”
Still smiling, the congressman said: “What about hope for a better tomorrow?”
“Forget hope,” she said.

 

Robert Tanenbaum Malice read by Mel Foster

A girl detective who can speak a thousand languages, with her own personal Saint,  New York City’s District Attorney as her father, and an ex Viet-Cong guerrilla as a nanny — only Robert Tanenbaum (and the City itself) could conjure up the sad, inscrutable Lucy Karp. As always when we step into Karpland we are stepping into the heart of  Law,  which is not only the territory of language, but the inherited traditions of men and the relationships these traditions imply.

Where men talk privately, they sit; where they sit, they eat and drink and cross identities. Over Marlene Chiampi’s kitchen table, we find lawyers, detectives, Indians and journalists…A student of Karp’s comes to him for help in defending a coach who has been debunked by his Association, robbed of the liberty to ply his trade. And as always in a Christian kitchen,  food and tragedy mix. At the end of the second bottle of Chianti, the phone rings with news that Ariadne Stupenegel is injured in the bombing of a restaurant — where she was mixing food and words, food and information, food and secrets.