Indemnity Only

Zusatztext Praise for Sara Paretsky and Her Detective Series Featuring V.I. Warshawski The best on the beat? V.I. Warshawski [is] the top of the line. Chicago Tribune Who is America's most convincing and engaging professional female private eye? V.I. Warshawski, the star of Sara Paretsky's series about white-collar crime and wall-to-wall corruption in Chicago, now clearly leads the growing field. Entertainment Weekly What really continues to amaze and impress about this series is V.I. herself, undoubtedly one of the best-written characters in mystery fiction. The Baltimore Sun Parentsky's work does more than turn a genre upside down: Her books are beautifully paced and plotted. . . . The dialogue is fresh and smart. Newsweek Informationen zum Autor Sara Paretsky is the author of many novels, including her V. I. Warshawski series, which began with Indemnity Only . She lives in Chicago. Klappentext Meeting an anonymous client late on a sizzling summer night is asking for trouble. But trouble is Chicago private eye V.I. Warshwski's specialty. Her client says he's the prominent banker, John Thayer. Turns out he's not. He says his son's girlfriend, Anita Hill, is missing. Turns out that's not her real name. V.I.'s search turns up someone soon enough -- the real John Thayer's son, and he's dead. Who's V.I.'s client? Why has she been set up and sent out on a wild-goose chase? By the time she's got it figured, things are hotter -- and deadlier -- than Chicago in July. V.I.'s in a desperate race against time. At stake: a young woman's life. Zusammenfassung The first V.I. Warshawski novel! • [V.I. Warshawski] is . . . wonderful company and a rich discovery awaiting those who have yet to meet her. Los Angeles Times Meeting an anonymous client late on a sizzling summer night is asking for trouble. But trouble is Chicago private eye V.I. Warshwski's specialty. Her client says he's the prominent banker John Thayer. Turns out he's not. He says his son's girlfriend, Anita Hill, is missing. Turns out that's not her real name. V.I.'s search turns up someone soon enoughthe real John Thayer's son, and he's dead. Who's V.I.'s client? Why has she been set up and sent out on a wild-goose chase? By the time she's got it figured, things are hotterand deadlierthan Chicago in July. V.I.'s in a desperate race against time. At stake: a young woman's life....

Praise for Sara Paretsky and Her Detective Series Featuring V.I. Warshawski

“The best on the beat? V.I. Warshawski [is] the top of the line.”—Chicago Tribune

“Who is America’s most convincing and engaging professional female private eye? V.I. Warshawski, the star of Sara Paretsky’s series about white-collar crime and wall-to-wall corruption in Chicago, now clearly leads the growing field.”—Entertainment Weekly

“What really continues to amaze and impress about this series is V.I. herself, undoubtedly one of the best-written characters in mystery fiction.”—The Baltimore Sun

“Parentsky’s work does more than turn a genre upside down: Her books are beautifully paced and plotted. . . . The dialogue is fresh and smart.”—Newsweek

Auteur

Sara Paretsky is the author of many novels, including her V. I. Warshawski series, which began with Indemnity Only. She lives in Chicago.

Texte du rabat

Meeting an anonymous client late on a sizzling summer night is asking for trouble. But trouble is Chicago private eye V.I. Warshwski's specialty. Her client says he's the prominent banker, John Thayer. Turns out he's not. He says his son's girlfriend, Anita Hill, is missing. Turns out that's not her real name. V.I.'s search turns up someone soon enough -- the real John Thayer's son, and he's dead. Who's V.I.'s client? Why has she been set up and sent out on a wild-goose chase? By the time she's got it figured, things are hotter -- and deadlier -- than Chicago in July. V.I.'s in a desperate race against time. At stake: a young woman's life.

Résumé
The first V.I. Warshawski novel! • “[V.I. Warshawski] is . . . wonderful company and a rich discovery awaiting those who have yet to meet her.”—Los Angeles Times*

• Meeting an anonymous client late on a sizzling summer night is asking for trouble. But trouble is Chicago private eye V.I. Warshwski’s specialty. Her client says he’s the prominent banker John Thayer. Turns out he’s not. He says his son’s girlfriend, Anita Hill, is missing. Turns out that’s not her real name. V.I.’s search turns up someone soon enough—the real John Thayer’s son, and he’s dead.

Who’s V.I.'s client? Why has she been set up and sent out on a wild-goose chase? By the time she's got it figured, things are hotter—and deadlier—than Chicago in July. V.I.’s in a  desperate race against time. At stake: a young woman’s life.

Échantillon de lecture
1
 
 
Summertime
 
The night air was thick and damp. As I drove south along Lake Michigan, I could smell rotting alewives like a faint perfume on the heavy air. Little fires shone here and there from late-night barbecues in the park. On the water a host of green and red running lights showed people seeking relief from the sultry air. On shore traffic was heavy, the city moving restlessly, trying to breathe. It was July in Chicago.
 
I got off Lake Shore Drive at Randolph Street and swung down Wabash under the iron arches of the elevated tracks, At Monroe I stopped the car and got out.
 
Away from the lake the city was quieter. The South Loop, with no entertainment beyond a few peep-shows and the city lockup, was deserted—a drunk weaving uncertainly down the street was my only companion. I crossed Wabash and went into the Pulteney Building next to the Monroe Street Tobacco Store. At night it looked like a terrible place to have an office. The hall’s mosaic-tiled walls were chipped and dirty. I wondered if anyone ever washed the scuffed linoleum floor. The lobby must create a reassuring impression on potential clients.
 
I pushed the elevator button. No response. I tried again. Again no response. I shoved open the heavy stairwell door, climbing slowly to the fourth floor. It was cool in the stairwell and I lingered there a few minutes before moving on down the badly lit hallway to the east end, the end where rents are cheaper because all the offices look out on the Wabash el. In the dim light I could read the inscription on the door: “V. I. Warshawski. Private Investigator.”
I had called my answering service from a filling station on the North Side, just a routine check on my way home to a shower, air conditioning, and a late supper. I was surprised when they told me I had a caller, and unhappy when they said he’d refused to give a name. Anonymous callers are a pain. They usually have something to hide, often something criminal, and they don’t leave their names just so you can’t find out what they’re hiding ahead of time.
 
This guy was coming at 9:15, which didn’t even give me time to eat. I’d spent a frustrating afternoon in the ozone-laden heat trying to track down a printer who owed me fifteen hundred dollars. I’d saved his firm from being muscled out by a national chain last spring and now I was sorry I’d done it. If my checking account hadn’t been so damned anemic, I’d have ignored this phone call. As it was, I squared my shoulders and unlocked the door.
 
With the lights on my office looked Spartan but not unpleasant and I cheered up slightly. Unlike my apartment, which is always in mild disarray, my office is usually tidy. I’d bought the big wooden…