Murder on the Left Bank

Murder on the Left Bank

Large Print - 2018
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The eighteenth mystery in the New York Times bestselling Parisian detective series

A dying man drags his oxygen machine into the office of ric Besson, a lawyer in Paris's 13th arrondissement. The old man, an accountant, is carrying a dilapidated notebook full of meticulous investment records. For decades, he has been helping a cadre of dirty cops launder stolen money. The notebook contains his full confession--he's waited 50 years to make it, and now it can't wait another day. He is adamant that Besson get the notebook into the hands of La Proc, Paris's chief prosecuting attorney, so the corruption can finally be brought to light. But en route to La Proc, Besson's courier--his assistant and nephew--is murdered, and the notebook disappears.

Grief-stricken ric Besson tries to hire private investigator Aim e Leduc to find the notebook, but she is reluctant to get involved. Her father was a cop and was murdered by the same dirty syndicate the notebook implicates. She's not sure which she's more afraid of, the dangerous men who would kill for the notebook or the idea that her father's name might be among the dirty cops listed within it. Ultimately that's the reason she must take the case, which leads her across the Left Bank, from the Cambodian enclave of Khmer Rouge refugees to the ancient royal tapestry factories to the modern art galleries.

Publisher: Waterville, ME :, Thorndike Press, a part of Gale, a Cengage Company,, 2018
Edition: Large print edition
ISBN: 9781432853747
Branch Call Number: LP MYS BLA
Characteristics: 387 pages (large print) : illustrations ; 23 cm
large print.,rda


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Mar 30, 2019

An okay murder mystery. I enjoyed the main character, a single mom, who works for a detective agency specializing in computer issues.

" The body, now a mound under a blue foil cover, had been lifted onto a gurney. A tech stepped on a pedal, and the gurney jerked up. The woman's thin wrist flapped out over the railing. Her fingernails were broken, grimy and smudged with clotted blood." / " Miles Davis's pink tongue licked her ankles. She leaned down, stroked his silky back. ' Missed you, fur ball,' she said." / " Serge, whom she'd known since her year of premed, sat at the outdoor table of the TRES MODERNE café, les Docks, a Metro hop from Serge's office at the morgue. The thick black frames on his glasses matched his thick black hair and trimmed beard. He glanced at his watch. ' What's so important, Aimee? Got to pick up the twins.' "

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