By Jonathan Santlofer
Brilliantly mixing his impressive abilities, world-renowned artist and significantly acclaimed crime novelist Jonathan Santlofer deals a distinct amalgam of invention and terror. the tale starts off with the cranium of a slaughtered "John Doe," burned past popularity. extra our bodies flip up—the corpses of sufferers . . . and their killers. NYPD forensic cartoon artist Nate Rodriguez is sure a typical thread connects the ugly wave of obvious murder-suicides, yet, suffering from the secret of his father's dying years in the past, he needs to quiet his own demons as he searches the shadows for answers—and uncovers a nightmare.
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Additional resources for The Murder Notebook: A Novel of Suspense
And the top, the, how you say, the eyelids, they are sloped. ” “Sí, sí. ” She was getting into it. THE MURDER NOTEBOOK 47 “The nose is straight, but at the bottom is . . a little round. ” I turned the sketch around and she nodded enthusiastian cally. Then she gave me a few ca more directions and I went back m to work. After a few minutes I showed it to her again. sh She nodded, then sank into the chair and closed her eyes. A minute passed, then suddenly she gasped. ” “Another face,” she said. “No, not a face .
I wondered if he knew an hourglass had been turned over; that the countdown to his days on earth had begun. If he did, his Kodacolor eyes did not reveal it. According to my grandmother, by way of Oldumare, the creator and ruler of all creation, we all have a prescribed number of days on earth. But my father’s had been cut short. She came into the room and asked about Terri. I said things were fine, producing a smile on my abuela’s face. She was glad we were still together. When I’d brought Terri to meet her, she asked her if she had any Spanish blood and Terri had said no, but my grandmother was convinced she did—a sure sign that she liked her.
A furrow in it, a cleft, like George Clooney or Cary Grant. ” We went back and forth between specifics and generalities, his short spiky hair and dark heavy eyebrows. She was really seeing 30 JONATHAN SANTLOFER h him now—describing his big eeyes—and I was starting to see him, too. Sometimes I feel as if I h have actually slipped inside a with ness’s head, and that’s when I make n my best sketches. m We were in sync. She’d look at my m drawing, tell me something, and a I’d sketch it. It’s why I believe in the pencil versus the computer.
The Murder Notebook: A Novel of Suspense by Jonathan Santlofer