By Frank Wynne, Pierre Lemaitre
Author note: Frank Wynne (Translator)
For Commandant Verhoeven existence is gorgeous: he's fortunately married, anticipating his first baby with the stunning Irène.
But his pleased life is punctured through a homicide of unparalleled savagery. Worse nonetheless, the click appear to have it in for him—his each movement is headline information. while he discovers that the killer has killed before—that every one homicide is a homage to a vintage crime novel—the fourth property are speedy to coin a nickname... The Novelist...
With either males within the public eye, the case develops right into a own duel, every one hell-bent on outsmarting the opposite. There can in simple terms be one winner—whoever has the least to lose...
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Extra resources for Irene (The Commandant Camille Verhoeven Trilogy, Book 2)
The mount captain laughed heartily beneath his steel hel met, elbowing the sailor sitting next to him, then said in a deep voice, “You ain’t no newbie, sir. Don’t let Mr. Tremain fool you here, boys. ” “Maybe. ” The mount captain raised an open palm. “I know all about it. You submariners can’t talk about nothing. You’ve probably sunk more ships than Smitty here’s ever set eyes on, but you can’t tell us a lick about it. I know, I know, the silent service and all that hoo-hah! Well, don’t you worry none, Commander.
Blinking signal lamps ﬂashed from their superstructures as signalmen on the darkened bridges translated and relayed messages back and forth between ships. “The situation seems pretty cut-and-dry,” McCandles con tinued. “The Japanese are going to try to pull their troops off Vella LaVella tonight. I guess they’re ﬁnally going to give up that little scrap of an island. They’re all set to abandon it, but you know what that means, don’t you, Jack? It means they’ll leave Vella LaVella tonight and tomorrow we’ll ﬁnd them burrowed in on the next island up the Slot.
All obstruc tions had been long since cleared away, all potential obstacles to damage control parties stowed away, all watertight and ﬂood control doors fastened shut. Her three-hundred-odd sailors—some bedecked in bulky salt-stained life vests, some in cumbersome steel gray helmets, some shirtless—assembled SINK THE SHIGURE 31 at their various battle stations inside and out of the destroyer’s 376-foot hull, waiting anxiously for the inevitable encounter with the as yet unseen enemy. Like her two cohorts, the Chevalier was made for war, with nearly every piece of equipment above her waterline devoted to that end.