By Fred Vargas
Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg isn't like different policemen. His tools look unorthodox within the severe: he doesn't look for clues; he ignores noticeable suspects and arrests individuals with iron-clad alibis; he seems to be completely distracted.
The Chalk Circle guy is the 1st ebook that includes Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg, probably the most attractive characters in modern detective fiction.
When unusual, blue chalk circles begin showing in a single day at the pavements of Paris, the click absorb the tale with entertainment and psychiatrists trot out their theories. Adamsberg is by myself in pondering this isn't a video game and much from a laugh. He insists on being stored proficient of latest circles and the more and more extraordinary items which they include: empty beer cans, 4 trombones, a pigeon's foot, 4 cigarette lighters, a badge proclaiming "I Love Elvis," a hat, a doll's head. Adamsberg senses the cruelty that lies at the back of those possible random occurrences. quickly a circle with decidedly much less banal contents is came upon: the physique of a girl together with her throat savagely lower. Adamsberg understands that different murders will stick to.
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Additional info for The Chalk Circle Man (Commissaire Adamsberg, Book 1)
He missed a meeting with me this morning and did not answer his page. ” Langdon felt a sudden chill realizing that he was about to see a dead body. His stomach had never been particularly stalwart. It was a weakness he’d discovered as an art student when the teacher informed the class that Leonardo da Vinci had gained his expertise in the human form by exhuming corpses and dissecting their musculature. Kohler led the way to the far end of the hallway. There was a single door. “The Penthouse, as you would say,” Kohler announced, dabbing a bead of perspiration from his forehead.
Although his people did not celebrate Christmas, he imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a Christian child, sitting before a stack of Christmas presents, about to discover the miracles inside. He opened the album and examined the photos. A lifetime of sexual fantasies stared back at him. Marisa. An Italian goddess. Fiery. A young Sophia Loren. Sachiko. A Japanese geisha. Lithe. No doubt skilled. Kanara. A stunning black vision. Muscular. Exotic. He examined the entire album twice and made his choice.
6 Sixty-four minutes had passed when an incredulous and slightly air-sick Robert Langdon stepped down the gangplank onto the sun-drenched runway. A crisp breeze rustled the lapels of his tweed jacket. The open space felt wonderful. He squinted out at the lush green valley rising to snowcapped peaks all around them. I’m dreaming, he told himself. Any minute now I’ll be waking up. “Welcome to Switzerland,” the pilot said, yelling over the roar of the X-33’s misted-fuel HEDM engines winding down behind them.