McBain Ed Скачать все книги 42 Количество книг

Patrolman Richard Genero couldn’t see clearly the driving rain. The man — or perhaps the tall woman — standing at the bus stop was dressed entirely in black. Black raincoat, black slacks, black shoes, black umbrella which hid the head and hair. A bus pulled to the curb, spreading a canopy of water. The door snapped open. The person — man or woman — boarded the bus and the rain-streaked doors closed, hiding the black-shrouded figure from view. The bus pulled away from the curb, spreading another canopy of water which soaked Genero’s trouser legs.

“Hey!” he yelled after the bus. “You forgot your bag!”

Genera picked up the bag — a small, blue overnight bag issued by an airline. He unzipped the bag and reached into it. Then he gripped the bus-stop sign for support.

The bag held... a severed human hand.

The police lab gave both bag and hand a thorough examination and discovered next to nothing. Steve Carella, Cotton Hawes, Meyer Meyer and the other 87th Precinct detectives had a murderer to find, and they had to begin without even knowing who the victim was.

The Missing Persons Bureau files supplied two leads, both of which led nowhere.

Everything that looked even faintly like a clue was checked and double-checked and they all led to the same place — a dead end.

Then, when the break finally came and several clues turned up at once, they neatly contradicted each other. It was the toughest case the 87th Precinct detectives had ever faced.

When Anthony Forrest walked out of the office building, the only thoughts on his mind were of an impending birthday and a meeting with his wife for dinner. And a deadly bullet saw to it that they were the last thoughts on his mind. The problem for Detectives Steve Carella and Meyer Meyer of the 87th Precinct is that Forrest isn’t alone. An anonymous sniper is unofficially holding the city hostage, frustrating the police as one by one the denizens of Isola drop like flies. With fear gripping the citizenry and the pressure on the 87th mounting, finding a killer whose victims are random is the greatest challenge the detectives have ever faced — and the deadliest game the city has ever known. A gritty, relentless pressure cooker of a thriller, is one of bestselling author Ed McBain’s finest, the ultimate addition to the 87th Precinct series where time threatens to stand still and murder rules the day.

Here is an irresistibly charming tale, beautifully packaged in a small, illustrated and slipcased gift book. All’s quiet at the 87th Precinct on Christmas Eve... until Steve Carella’s fellow detectives appear with a kid who’s stolen a sheep, a robber with a bagful of gold, two guys fighting over a sack of frankincense, and a young couple who give birth to a baby boy at midnight!

“And All Through the House” was first published in Playboy in December, 1984.

Three chillers from the files of the 87th Precinct: A young, wealthy woman is found strangled to death in a slum apartment leaving behind only her name, some cancelled checks, and an unknown killer in The Empty Hours ... A big, ugly "J" is painted on the synagogue wall by a killer who had brutally stabbed the rabbi on Passover ... A bright red pool of blood spread into the snow as Cotton Hawes watched his quiet ski weekend turn into a hunt for a ski-slope slayer in Storm.

A cadre of trained men, led by a ruthless former naval officer, succeeds in taking over a small town on the Florida coast and shutting it off completely from all communication with the outside world.

Why?

What is their goal?

As suspenseful as it is frightening, piles excitement on excitement as a group of super-patriots mounts an almost foolproof scheme to force America’s hand in the Cold War and change the course of history.

It is a chilling tale of what could happen tomorrow in today’s balance-of-terror world.

Prudence Ann Markham was as careful as her name. Before heading out to her car in the deserted parking lot she packed up the film she’d been editing, checked the studio gear, set the alarm, and locked the outer door. It was 10:40 P.M. — but Prudence Ann never made it to 10:45.

Carlton Barnaby Markham didn’t know what his wife had been working on at the time of her death. All he knew was that the film was missing...  and that he was in Calusa County Jail, charged with her murder.

For Matthew Hope, the months since he’d decided to switch to criminal law had not been encouraging. He’d lost his first case and refused his second. When Carlton Markham says he is innocent, Hope takes the case. But as he digs into the evidence, it becomes clear that it will take more than claims of innocence to spring his client...

A sunny, quiet, perfectly ordinary school day in autumn turns suddenly dark when sixteen-year-old Rebecca Patton runs down and kills a pedestrian during a driving lesson. It all happens so quickly, so inexplicably, like an accident. The victim — a woman carrying a red handbag — had been stepping off the curb at the corner of Grove and Third. Then she was lying in the street, in critical condition.

When police detective Katie Logan arrives at the station house, she finds a distraught but cooperative Rebecca. Her driving instructor, Andrew Newell, is totally disoriented, however. He appears to be drunk. Or on drugs. Certainly, his apparent incompetence warrants his arrest in what has now become a case of negligent homicide.

The situation in this adroitly told tale by a master at the top of his form grows far more sinister, though, when Logan learns that the victim’s handbag has been recovered. It identifies the dead woman as Andrew Newell’s wife.

Eighty-six-year-old George Lasser was the superintendent of a building in the 87th Precinct until just recently. Unfortunately his tenure ended in the building’s basement with a sharp, heavy blade of an ax in his head… There are no witnesses, no suspects, and no clues. The wife and son? They’re both a little off-kilter, but they have alibis. Just when Carella and Hawes are about to put the case on the shelf, the killer strikes again. Now the detectives are hot on the trail of a man crazy enough to murder with an ax. One of the 87th Precinct series’ finest installments, is a sharp, intense crime thriller that is classic Ed McBain. hails it as “the best of today’s police stories—lively, inventive, convincing, suspenseful, and wholly satisfactory.

When the affable owner of a checkered-tablecloth restaurant in Little Italy is cut down by the bullets of a pair of ski-masked thugs, Fifth Precinct Police Detective Reardon has his hands too full to give a damn about some odd things going on uptown. For instance, why does a noted Madison Avenue art lover suddenly decide to sell his entire collection in an effort to raise a cool million? And why was a well-known Arab oil magnate assassinated?

Almost too late, Reardon sees the connection between the deaths of a multi-millionaire and a smalltime restaurateur, and the fluctuations in the international markets for crude oil, fine art, and precious metals. And now that he knows the truth, just how long has he got to live?

ANOTHER PART OF THE CITY is a brilliant, hard-hitting foray into Manhattan’s tangled web of twisting downtown streets and crooked uptown lives.

A killer is out for blood, and it’s up to Detective Steve Carella to bring him in ― but a shocking surprise awaits when a survivor fingers the suspect in a lineup.

Goldilocks... The Other Woman

Goldilocks-stealing into someone else’s house, with no particular interest in the chairs or the porridge, but with more than a passing fascination with Poppa Bear’s bed.

On the steamy west coast of Florida, in the quiet of their home, a woman and her two little girls have been brutally murdered. None of the alibis add up. The one person who couldn’t possibly have a motive for the crime is the only one confessing to it, and he insists on Matthew Hope for his defense. Now Matt finds himself tangled in the unravelling threads of three heartless killings in which every half-sister, stepson, and first wife could have had a hand.

Somebody’s lying.

Maybe everybody.

Stan Gifford is the ultimate comedian. A pro through and through, when Stan’s act dies, so does he—in front of forty million viewers from coast to coast, including the 87th Precinct’s Steve Carella. But what seemed to be death by natural causes quickly turns into a case of murder, and Carella must unravel the motivations behind the comedian’s final act. Meanwhile, Cindy Forrest has been working to put herself through college since the sniper who held the city hostage three years ago murdered her father. But now she’s in the crosshairs, and the only thing standing between her and a killer is Detective Bert Kling of the 87th Precinct.

They were dead, the husband and wife. Both were shot in the face at close range with a shotgun. The husband, in fact, still had his finger on the trigger, the barrel pointing toward what used to be a significant portion of his head. It was clearly a suicide — or did it just look that way? For Detectives Steve Carella and Bert Kling, what seems to be the truth on the surface often reveals something far different underneath.

A killer is murdering married women and their husbands. But setting up shop in the 87th Precinct was the wrong move. Carella and Kling don’t buy the suicide theory, and soon enough they are on the killer’s trail. The only trouble is the murderous crime wave ripping through the city has gathered momentum.

The fiftieth is pure gold: from the author The New York Times calls "the man with the golden ear" comes the fiftieth novel in the th Precinct series. In this city, you can get anything done for a price. If you want someone's eyeglasses smashed, it'll cost you a subway token. You want his fingernails pulled out? His legs broken? You want him more seriously injured? You want him hurt so he's an invalid his whole life? You want him skinned, you want him burned, you want him — don't even mention it in a whisper — killed? It can be done. Let me talk to someone. It can be done. The hanging death of a nondescript old man in a shabby little apartment in a meager section of the th Precinct was nothing much in this city, especially to detectives Carella and Meyer. But everyone has a story, and this old man's story stood to make some people a lot of money. His story takes Carella, Meyer, Brown, and Weeks on a search through Isola's seedy strip clubs and to the bright lights of the theater district. There they discover an upcoming musical with ties to a mysterious drug and a killer who stays until . is 's fiftieth novel of the th Precinct and certainly one of his best. The series began in with Cop Hater and proves him to be the man who has been called "so good he should be arrested."

Savvy, sexy, and very bad, these are the ladies that plague the 87th precinct. Pregnant hookers, brunettes with bombs, and the fat lady lead the hit parade of femme fatales.