The Cold Truth
(Julian Palmer #1)
It’s the murder of a young waitress…with twists more chilling than any upper New York State winter.
Female NYPD trainee Julian Palmer has come to a frigid corner of Upstate New York to work alongside legendary police chief Winston "Bear" Edwards-to help solve the brutal murder of a young waitress, and perhaps learn a thing or two along the way.
Julian knows that Edwards, an Old School cop if there ever were one, isn't happy about a female rookie assisting him-or the strange local psychic they've called in to help. Still, she's a bit in awe of the old Bear-he has, after all, solved every murder case he's ever worked on. Except this one.
Now, as Julian and Edwards investigate, they are thrust into a labyrinthine mystery, where endless twists and turns keep the case as compelling as it is elusive. And as the snow continues to fall on rural New York, hiding everything beneath a glistening white blanket, it might also cover up the only thing that will solve this case: The Cold Truth...
“Warning: Don’t pick up this book if you have only a few minutes to read…”
— Tampa Tribune
“A chilling little gem with the ferocious logic of a Beethoven quartet”
— Kirkus (starred review)
“A compelling tale…”
— The Boston Globe
Sample of The Cold Truth
“Christalfucking mighty!” he bellowed, when he finally looked up from the cluttered desk and saw Julian Palmer.
All six foot four and 260 pounds of Canaanville Chief of Police Winston “Bear” Edwards stood up in a rage, scooped up the resume in his bear-paw hands and scowled at it through his bifocals, crumpling the corners aggressively as he read. “Jesus F. Christ. Doesn’t say it on here anywhere, does it?”
Julian had expected something like this.
“Jesus F. Christ.” Winston Edwards collapsed heavily into the scarred and ancient chair, and Julian watched his rage ebb visibly until, stunned and disappointed, even a little forlorn, he cocked his ursine head slightly and checked the incomprehensible fact again. “Julian. Julian Palmer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fooled me, didn’t ya?” he said irritably.
Julian shrugged.
“Fooled me good. How ‘bout that?”
He dangled the resume precariously, waiting for it – hoping for it, it seemed – to slip from between his immense fingers, and disappear somehow.
“Figured if I knew, old coot like me, I’d eliminate you. Even if you were the most qualified. Which you are.”
Julian remained silent.
He shook his head Then slowly, threateningly, leaned his massive torso forward. His face loomed, mottled, craggy. “Pulled this before, have we?”
Julian eyed him evenly. “Never had to.”
Winston Edward regarded Julian silently.
“A woman,” he said finally – flat, factual, expressionless.
“So it would appear.”