When a controversial politician is murdered in cold blood, Baton Rouge Police Detective Wallace Hartman struggles to find the killer amid conspiracies and corruption in River of Secrets, a gripping new mystery from Roger Johns.
Herbert Marioneaux, a Louisiana politician infamous for changing his mind on hot-button issues, has been murdered and his body posed to send a message. Baton Rouge homicide detective Wallace Hartman has to figure out who’s sending that message. DNA points to Eddie Pitkin, a social justice activist who also happens to be the half-brother of Wallace’s childhood best friend. But even with the combative history between Pitkin and Marioneaux, murder seems out of character for Pitkin, whose usual MO is to confront the wealthy and powerful with their inconvenient past. As Wallace digs deeper, she unearths a possible alibi witness, along with evidence of a deeply troubled relationship that points the finger of suspicion at Marioneaux’s son.
While Eddie’s supporters are convinced of his innocence, his enemies are equally certain of his guilt. Under pressure from all directions, Wallace pursues her investigation into the dark heart of the political establishment as Baton Rouge falls under the shadow of escalating violence. When it appears a police department insider may be sabotaging her efforts by leaking information about the case, and after menacing messages are left for her and her loved ones, Wallace is forced to untangle a trail of old and disturbing secrets unaided by those she most needs to trust.
Release date:
August 28, 2018
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
320
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Wallace Hartman didn’t fancy herself a burglar, but when Davis McCone called with larceny in his heart she jumped at the chance—even though she was a Baton Rouge police detective and she would be stealing from her own mother.
Uncle Davis. She had called him that when she was a young girl, although he wasn’t really her uncle, just a good family friend. In fact, Davis was the man her mother had dated, before electing to marry Walter Hartman instead. They had all managed to stay friends, and Davis and his eventual wife, Gail, had been uncle and aunt to the Hartman children.
“Come have dinner with us tomorrow evening,” Davis said.
“Us who?”
“Me and your mother.”
“She didn’t mention the two of you were having dinner.”
“I only managed to talk her into it a little while ago. It’s a birthday shindig.”
“You know she doesn’t like calling attention to her birthday.”
“She enjoys acting like she doesn’t like it.”
“Why do you want me there? I’ll just be a third wheel.”
“Not a wheel … a thief. And bring Mason.”
Mason Cunningham had entered Wallace’s life several months ago as a DEA analyst pursuing an investigation that intertwined with one of her own. He had remained as much more than that. Since Thursday, Mason had been in DC. He was returning this afternoon.
“Okay. We’ll be there,” she said. “And just so I’ve got this straight, you actually want me to steal something for you?”
“You’ll enjoy it. I promise. And your mother will be delighted. I promise that, as well.”
There wasn’t much Wallace wouldn’t do for Davis. When Wallace’s father had been killed, along with her husband and her elder brother, by a man who had made a vocation of drinking and driving, her life had hit a wall. Wallace and her mother, Carol, and surviving brother, Lex, had all hit the wall. Carol had gone almost mute with terror, confessing to Wallace that she’d become afraid of her own shadow. That if so much could be taken so quickly, then nothing was safe.
Instead of becoming afraid, Wallace had become angry. Angry that the killer was given a slap on the wrist and put back on the street. Angry that those who killed with a bullet the size of a fingertip could be imprisoned for life, even executed, but those who killed with a bullet the size of a Buick were often dealt with as if they were the victims.
Davis and Gail had worked hard to provide a sense of stability for the remnants of Wallace’s family. But it was Davis who had helped the most. He made sure friends and relatives came around to lift the burden of the day-to-day when necessary. He took time away from his law practice to make sure things that needed to be done got done.
Eventually, from somewhere deep inside, Carol found a way to cope. At first, she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying hard to impose some distance between herself and the devastating events. Then, one day, the dam broke and she began a period of proper grieving.
It had been painful to see, but Wallace took it as a sign that it was okay to begin the process of repairing and getting on with her own life. She considered herself to still be a work in progress, and she credited Davis and his wife with helping to make that progress possible.
Sitting on the back steps of her Garden District bungalow, a half-finished cup of coffee on the concrete step next to her, Wallace watched a pair of squirrels chase each other around the trunk and through the branches of the giant pecan tree that dominated the back of her lot. She marveled at the speed and agility of the chittering creatures as they made gravity-defying jumps through the leafy canopy.
As she reached for the book that lay next to her cup of coffee her phone buzzed again. It was Chief of Detectives Jason Burley, her boss. She felt sure he wasn’t calling to invite her to a birthday dinner.
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