2000, ISBN: 9780099255192

[ED: Taschenbuch], [PU: Arrow Books], Zustand: gut. Forensic anthropologist Kathy Reichs exploded onto bestseller lists worldwide with her phenomenal debut novel Déjà Dead -- and introdu… More...

[ED: Taschenbuch], [PU: Arrow Books], Zustand: gut. Forensic anthropologist Kathy Reichs exploded onto bestseller lists worldwide with her phenomenal debut novel Déjà Dead -- and introduced "[a] brilliant heroine" (Glamour) in league with Patricia Cornwell's Kay Scarpetta. Dr. Temperance Brennan, Quebec's director of forensic anthropology, now returns in a thrilling new investigation into the secrets of the dead. In the bitter cold of a Montreal winter, Tempe Brennan is digging for a corpse buried more than a century ago. Although Tempe thrives on such enigmas from the past, it's a chain of contemporary deaths and disappearances that has seized her attention -- and she alone is ideally placed to make a chilling connection among the seemingly unrelated events. At the crime scene, at the morgue, and in the lab, Tempe probes a mystery that sweeps from a deadly Quebec fire to startling discoveries in the Carolinas, and culminates in Montreal with a terrifying showdown -- a nerve-shattering test of both her forensic expertise and her skills for survival. After one of the more startling crime debuts of recent years, Déjà Dead, Kathy Reichs has found herself, at a stroke, regarded as a possible contender for Patricia Cornwell's crown as queen of forensic detection novels. As the new book opens, her forensic anthropologist heroine Temperance Brennan is doing what she usually does--helping to identify remains about which there is almost nothing suspicious. In this case she is dealing with a 19th-century nun of vast sanctity, for whose beatification her relics and burial site need authenticating. What could be simpler or less menacing? Almost immediately, Tempe is called in on a bad case: arson, which has left remains so damaged that a normal pathologist cannot cope--and the victims that pathologists normally cope with include infants stabbed to death. Something sinister is going on, and whether in Quebec, where she has her practice, or the sleepy South, where she teaches, Tempe is not safe. Reichs' first book was good on the domesticity and friendship to which Tempe retreats--and this time we meet her younger sister, Harriet, who has just got rid of her balloonist lover and is looking for a new interest. Pressestimmen "Atmospheric, suspensefully paced.... a delectable tale of corpus delicti...bone-chilling prime crime." -- People "Brennan is a winner, and so is Reichs." -- Daily News (New York) Werbetext A gripping Temperance Brennan novel from forensic anthropologist and bestselling crime thriller writer Kathy Reichs Synopsis Dr. Temperance Brennan draws on all her forensic skills to investigate a series of seemingly unrelated events, beginning with horrifying deaths in a Quebec fire and some startling discoveries in distant North Carolina. Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende Kathy Reichs, like her character Temperance Brennan, is a forensic anthropologist, formerly for the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in North Carolina and currently for the Laboratoire de sciences judiciaires et de médecine légale for the province of Quebec. Reichs’s first book, Déjà Dead, catapulted her to fame when it became a New York Times bestseller and won the 1997 Ellis Award for Best First Novel. Her latest Temperance Brennan novel, Bones Are Forever, was an instant New York Times bestseller. Kathy Reichs wurde 1950 in Chicago geboren und wuchs dort auch auf. Nachdem sie Archäologie und Soziologie studiert hatte, übernahm sie eine Professur für Soziologie und Anthropologie und für Forensische Anthropologie und arbeitete in der Gerichtsmedizin. Heute unterrichtet sie unter anderem FBI-Agenten im Aufspüren und Identifizieren von Leichen; sie unterstützte als Sachverständige das UN-Tribunal in Ruanda und beteiligte sich an der Identifizierung der Opfer des Terroranschlags auf das World Trade Center. 1987 erschien ihr erster Roman "Tote lügen nicht". Es folgten zahlreiche weitere Romane, von denen alle Spitzenplätze auf internationalen und deutschen Bestsellerlisten erreichten und in Fernsehserien wie "Bones - Die Knochenjägerin" aufgegriffen wurden. Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Chapter 1 If the bodies were there, I couldn't find them. Outside, the wind howled. Inside the old church, just the scrape of my trowel and the hum of a portable generator and heater echoed eerily in the huge space. High above, branches scratched against boarded windows, gnarled fingers on plywood blackboards. The group stood behind me, huddled but not touching, fingers curled tightly in pockets. I could hear the shifting from side to side, the lifting of one foot, then the other. Boots made a crunching sound on the frozen ground. No one spoke. The cold had numbed us into silence. I watched a cone of earth disappear through quarter-inch mesh as I spread it gently with my trowel. The granular subsoil had been a pleasant surprise. Given the surface, I had expected permafrost the entire depth of the excavation. The last two weeks had been unseasonably warm in Quebec, however, allowing snow to melt and ground to thaw. Typical Tempe luck. Though the tickle of spring had been blown away by another arctic blast, the mild spell had left the dirt soft and easy to dig. Good. Last night the temperature had dropped to seven degrees Fahrenheit. Not good. While the ground had not refrozen, the air was frigid. My fingers were so cold I could hardly bend them. We were digging our second trench. Still nothing but pebbles and rock fragments in the screen. I didn't anticipate much at this depth, but you could never tell. I'd yet to do an exhumation that had gone as planned. I turned to a man in a black parka and a tuque on his head. He wore leather boots laced to the knee, two pairs of socks rolled over the tops. His face was the color of tomato soup. "Just a few more inches." I gave a palm-down gesture, like stroking a cat. Slowly. Go slowly. The man nodded, then thrust his long-handled spade into the shallow trench, grunting like Monica Seles on a first serve. "Par pouces!" I yelped, grabbing the shovel. By inches! I repeated the slicing motion I'd been showing him all morning. "We want to take it down in thin layers." I said it again, in slow, careful French. The man clearly did not share my sentiment. Maybe it was the tediousness of the task, maybe the thought of unearthing the dead. Tomato soup just wanted to be done and gone. "Please, Guy, try again?" said a male voice behind me. "Yes, Father." Mumbled. Guy resumed, shaking his head, but skimming the soil as I'd shown him, then tossing it into the screen. I shifted my gaze from the black dirt to the pit itself, watching for signs that we were nearing a burial. We'd been at it for hours, and I could sense tension behind me. The nuns' rocking had increased in tempo. I turned to give the group what I hoped was a reassuring look. My lips were so stiff it was hard to tell. Six faces looked back at me, pinched from cold and anxiousness. A small cloud of vapor appeared and dissolved in front of each. Six smiles in my direction. I could sense a lot of praying going on. Ninety minutes later we were five feet down. Like the first, this pit had produced only soil. I was certain I had frostbite in every toe, and Guy was ready to bring in a backhoe. Time to regroup. "Father, I think we need to check the burial records again." He hesitated a moment. Then, "Yes. Of course. Of course. And we could all use coffee and a sandwich." The priest started toward a set of wooden doors at the far end of the abandoned church and the nuns followed, heads down, gingerly navigating the lumpy ground. Their white veils spread in identical arcs across the backs of their black wool coats. Penguins. Who'd said that? The Blues Brothers. I turned off the mobile spotlights and fell in step, eyes to the ground, amazed at the fragments of bone embedded in the dirt floor. Great. We'd dug in the one spot in the entire church that didn't contain burials. Father Ménard pushed open one of the doors and, single file, we exited to daylight. Our eyes needed little adjustment. The sky was leaden and seemed to hug the spires and towers of all the buildings in the convent's compound. A raw wind blew off the Laurentians, flapping collars and veils. Our little group bent against the wind and crossed to an adjacent building, gray stone like the church, but smaller. We climbed steps to an ornately carved wooden porch and entered through a side door. Inside, the air was warm and dry, pleasant after the bitter cold. I smelled tea and mothballs and years of fried food. Wordlessly, the women removed their boots, smiled at me one by one, and disappeared through a door-way to the right just as a tiny nun in an enormous ski sweater shuffled into the foyer. Fuzzy brown reindeer leaped across her chest and disappeared beneath her veil. She blinked at me through thick lenses and reached for my parka. I hesitated, afraid its weight would tip her off balance and send her crashing to the tile. She nodded sharply and urged me with upturned fingertips, so I slipped the jacket off, laid it across her arms, and added cap and gloves. She was the oldest woman that I had ever seen still breathing. I followed Father Ménard down a long, poorly lit hallway into a small study. Here the air smelled of old paper and schoolhouse paste. A crucifix loomed over a desk so large I wondered how they'd gotten it through the door. Dark oak paneling rose almost to the ceiling. Statues stared down from the room's upper edge, faces somber as the figure on the crucifix. Father Ménard took one of two wooden chairs facing the desk, gestured me to the other. The swish of his cassock. The click of his beads. For a moment I was back at St. Barnabas. In Father's office. In trouble again. Stop it, Brennan. You're over forty, a professional. A forensic anthropologist. These people called you because they need your expertise. The priest retrieved a leather-bound volume from the desktop, opened it to a page with a green ribbon marker, and positioned the book between us. He took a deep breath, pursed his lips, and exhaled through his nose. I was familiar with the diagram. A grid with rows divided into rectangular plots, some with numbers, some with names. We'd spent hours poring over it the day before, comparing the descriptions and records for the graves with their positions on the grid. Then we'd paced it all off, marking exact locations. Sister Élisabeth Nicolet was supposed to be in the second row from the church's north wall, third plot from the west end. Right next to Mother Aurélie. But she wasn't. Nor was Aurélie where she should have been. I pointed to a grave in the same quadrant, but several rows down and to the right. "O.K. Raphael seems to be there." Then down the row. "And Agathe, Véronique, Clément, Marthe, and Eléonore. Those are the burials from the 1840s, right?" "C'est ça." I moved my finger to the portion of the diagram corresponding to the southwest corner of the church. "And these are the most recent graves. The markers we found are consistent with your records." "Yes. Those were the last, just before the church was abandoned." "It was closed in 1914." "Nineteen fourteen. Yes, 1914." He had an odd way of repeating words and phrases. "Élisabeth died in 1888?" "C'est ça, 1888. Mère Aurélie in 1894." It didn't make sense. Evidence of the graves should be there. It was clear that artifacts from the 1840 burials remained. A test in that area had produced wood fragments and bits of coffin hardware. In the protected environment inside the church, with that type of soil, I thought the skeletons should be in pretty good shape. So where were Élisabeth and Aurélie? The old nun shuffled in with a tray of coffee and sandwiches.... Rezensionen: I've read one ridiculous, boring, outlandish, improbably plotted, terrible book by Patricia Cornwell. I vowed never to read anything by her again. Then I found Kathy Reichs' Deja Dead. I couldn't put it down! Since then, I've been eagerly awaiting her next book and was not disappointed by Death Du Jour. The characters are believable, the plot complex. I thought for sure I knew who the bad guy would turn out to be and I was pleasantly surprised to be wrong! I can understand the comparisons between Reichs and Cornwell, but there really is no comparison. Tempe Brennan kicks Kay Scarpetta's butt! === In a church graveyard, Montreal forensic anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan diligently digs up the remains of a nun who died in 1888. The church plans to bestow sainthood on Sister Elisabeth Nicolet. However, the marked site fails to contain the sister''s bones as for some mysterious reason they were moved to another locale. When she finds the remains, Tempe begins to feel that the good nun succumbed to foul play. At the same time, modern deaths due to arson and a teaching assistant disappearance have Tempe overworked. Still, the Tarheel native plows ahead to solve the century old mystery of Sister Elisabeth while helping with the current case load even as it draws her back to Beaufort, North Carolina. DEATH DU JOUR, the second Tempe tale, is as terrific as the award winning debut novel (see DEJA DEAD). Tempe remains a serene, warm (in spite of her always being cold) character and the support cast adds Canadian and Carolinian depths to the crisp story line. The subplots cleverly merge together, but it is Kathy Reich's' ability to describe in depth forensic tools and results (autopsies, etc.) without goring the reader with plot drifting that makes this work a winner. Instead, these graphic passages augment the entertaining tale with a ring of authenticity. Sub-genre fans will demand more Tempe tales. === In diesem Buch bekommt es Temperance Brennan mit fürchterlichen Ritualmorden an kleinen Kindern zu tun. Und dazu noch ein paar weitere Leichen. Und diese in Kanada begangenen Morde scheinen sogar irgendwie mit welchen in den USA in Verbindung zu stehen. Dazu kommt ein merkwürdiger Kult und Tempe's durchgeknallte Schwester, die sich neuerdings für Esoterik und spirituelle Verbesserung interessiert. Das Buch ist so witzig und geistreich, wie man es von Kathy Reichs kennt, und außerdem sehr, sehr spannend. Ich möchte nicht zu viel verraten, deswegen muss ich mich kurz halten. Aber ich kann noch sagen, dass einem bei Kathy Reichs zügigem Erzählstil nie langweilig wird. Und es gibt ganz viele Leichen! Toll! So muss ein Krimi sein! === Wow, this is definitely my thriller of this summer, forget Stephen King - this one will give you the creeps. Wonderful authentic and good researched - a definite page turner. === === === === === After reading Kathleens first book I marked on my calander when this book would be out. I was not disappointed, another page turner and all night read. My husband also enjoyed reading both books. === , DE, [SC: 3.00], leichte Gebrauchsspuren, privates Angebot, 446, [GW: 450g], [PU: London], Banküberweisung, PayPal, Internationaler Versand, [CT: Englischsprachige Bücher / Krimi/Thriller (englisch)]<

2006, ISBN: 9780099255192

Arrow Books, 2003-01-22. Mass Market Paperback. Very Good. Mass Market Paperback. Very Good. Dr. Tempe Brennan mystery #2. 2006 reprint.FREE Media Mail Shipping on all U.S. orders ove… More...

Arrow Books, 2003-01-22. Mass Market Paperback. Very Good. Mass Market Paperback. Very Good. Dr. Tempe Brennan mystery #2. 2006 reprint.FREE Media Mail Shipping on all U.S. orders over $ 25.00, Arrow Books, 2003-01-22, 3<

2000, ISBN: 9780099255192

Arrow, 2000-04-06. Paperback. Good. Cover differs to the one shown. Book is in good condition. Slight discolouration to the pages., Arrow, 2000-04-06, 2.5