A Thin Dark Line

Vigilantism can be swift and lethal, but it does not always carry the banner of justice. For Deputy Sheriff Annie Broussard, an attempt to honor the law traps her between the prime suspect in a vicious crime and her own colleagues on the force. And she's unsure which side, if either, is to be trusted. Set in the bayou country of Louisiana, A Thin Dark Line explores dark psychological territory while weaving through a complex plot rife with sordid characters and unlikely heroes. As the author of Night Sins and Guilty as Sin, Tami Hoag lives up to her reputation as a master of suspense. From Library Journal Coming off her best-selling hit, Guilty As Sin (LJ 2/1/96), Hoag sets her latest in Bayou Breaux, a fictional Cajun town. A woman is brutally murdered, and everyone, from cops to citizenry, is convinced that the deed was done by Marcus Renard, a fellow she charged with stalking shortly before her death. Renard is set free on a technicality only to be beaten insensible by the chief detective on the case, Nick Fourcade, a patois-speaking recluse with a dark past. Fourcade is arrested by Annie Broussard, an idealistic young sheriff's deputy and the only woman on the force. Because she stands up for what she believes is right, Annie is hounded from her job by the good-ol'-boy cop network. She then joins forces with Fourcade to solve the murder and a series of rapes. Hoag almost scuttles her own story by making the first 200 pages dull and repetitive before finally settling down to let the characters evolve and the story take its own dark, satisfying turns. This doesn't work completely, but her fans won't mind. For popular collections. -?Laurel A. Wilson, Alexandrian P.L, Mount Vernon, Ind. Copyright 1997 Reed Business Information, Inc. From Booklist Following her New York Times best-sellers Night Sins (1994) and Guilty as Sin , Hoag returns to the Louisiana French Triangle, a favorite setting for past novels. In her latest, she asks, How far would you go to see justice done? Deputy Annie Broussard is haunted by the brutal slaying of a young mother whose accused killer is set free on a technicality. When she comes across drunken Detective Nick Fourcade beating the suspected murderer to a pulp, she pushes aside personal feelings to follow the letter of the law and arrests Fourcade. But her attempt at preventing a crime alienates her fellow police officers, and she becomes persona non grata within the department and a target for increasingly vicious pranks. Ironically, her actions win her the respect of Fourcade, who solicits her aid in piecing together clues to find the killer who is now playing cat-and-mouse with Broussard. With a flair for dialect and regional atmosphere, Hoag captures the essence of the Cajun family and working relationships while injecting suspense and heart-pounding terror into a violent tangle of justice, innocence, treachery, and public opinion. A thoroughly engrossing read for all collections. Melanie Duncan From Kirkus Reviews Hoag finishes her crossover from sexy soft-cover romance to psychosexual thriller with this tale of tough Cajun loners looking for love in unlikely places. Heroine Annie Broussard is a deputy with the sheriff's office in Partout Parish in southern Louisiana. An orphan who's working hard to make detective, she's also devoted to getting rid of the sexual predators who victimize women. But just as her career seems to be looking up, Annie breaks an unwritten police law: She arrests a fellow officer, Nick Fourcade, when she finds him beating up a murder suspect. Annie should have let Fourcade kill him, say both her colleagues and the bayou parish citizens. After all, the suspect, Marcus Renard, had supposedly stalked Pam Bichon, a single mother. He'd driven stakes through her hands, raped her, killed her, eviscerated her, then left her wearing only a feathered Mardi Gras mask in a deserted cottage on Pony Bayou. Why not kill him? Switching his obsession from Pam to Annie, he maintains that he's innocent and begs Annie to help him. Working with Fourcade, who's suspended but still obsessed with the case, she seeks evidence to put the troubled Marcus legally behind bars. Meanwhile, someone's raping Louisiana women, and Marcus is too injured to be the perp. Is it Annie's lazy, mean-spirited colleague Stokes? Or Pam's husband, involved with a New Orleans racketeer from Fourcade's past? As Mardi Gras approaches, Annie, a cute kid who does 50 chin-ups a day and has an addiction to candy bars, wrestles with Fourcade's dangerous sexuality--fortunately a losing battle--and with the evil presence of deranged male predators that haunts so many recent suspense novels. Hoag (Guilty as Sin, 1996, etc.) is always a good gritty read, but this time a lack of sustained emotional tension makes the novel a long ride on soft tires. (Author tour) -- Copyright ©1997, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved. Even on its own romantic terms, the writing is as mushy as a swamp bottom. -- The New York Times Book Review, Marilyn Stasio From the Publisher "Chilling [and] atmospheric." --US Magazine "Patricia Cornwell, eat your heart out! Tami Hoag's bestselling new murder mystery sets a standard in suspense." --Atlanta Journal "Hoag deftly demonstrates that the search for truth is rarely straightforward. Important clues are cunningly buried, and the book's tension is as sustained as it is palpable." --Chicago Tribune "This mystery defies you to put it down, and when you're done you're damn glad you didn't." --Detroit News and Free Press "Hoag's tale, with plenty of twists and turns, is a great way to spend a quiet weekend." --The Orlando Sentinel "Hoag tells her story masterfully." --Mostly Murder From the Inside Flap tic act of violence leaves a woman dead...When a tainted piece of evidence lets her killer walk...How far would you go to see justice done?From New York Times bestselling author Tami Hoag comes a taut, terrifying thriller as chilling as Night Sins , as nerve-shattering as Guilty as Sin . When murder erupts in a small Southern town, Tami Hoag leads readers on a frightening journey to the shadowy boundary between attraction and obsession, law and justice--and exposes the rage that lures people over... Pamela Bichon's killer is free, the case against him dismissed on a technicality. In the eyes of the law it doesn't matter that the prosecutor's key piece of evidence proves Marcus Renard's guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt.xa0xa0All that matters is that the evidence was never listed on a search warrant and it was seized by a detective with a questionable past and a nasty reputation.But the Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Her body lay on the floor.xa0xa0Her slender arms outflung, palms up.xa0xa0Death. Cold and brutal, strangely intimate. The people rose in unison as the judge emerged from his chambers.xa0xa0The Honorable Franklin Monahan.xa0xa0The figurehead of justice.xa0xa0The decision would be his. Black pools of blood in the silver moonlight.xa0xa0Her life drained from her to puddle on the hard cypress floor. Richard Kudrow, the defense attorney.xa0xa0Thin, gray, and stoop-shouldered, as if the fervor for justice had burned away all excess within him and had begun to consume muscle mass.xa0xa0Sharp eyes and the strength of his voice belied the image of frailty. Her naked body inscribed with the point of a knife.xa0xa0A work of violent art. Smith Pritchett, the district attorney.xa0xa0Sturdy and aristocratic.xa0xa0The gold of his cuff links catching the light as he raised his hands in supplication. Cries for mercy smothered by the cold shadow of death. Chaos and outrage rolled through the crowd in a wave of sound as Monahan pronounced his ruling.xa0xa0The small amethyst ring had not been listed on the search warrant of the defendant's home and was, therefore, beyond the scope of the warrant and not legally subject to seizure. Pamela Bichon, thirty-seven, separated, mother of a nine-year-old girl. Brutally murdered.xa0xa0Eviscerated.xa0xa0Her naked body found in a vacant house on Pony Bayou, spikes driven through the palms of her hands into the wood floor; her sightless eyes staring up at nothing through the slits of a feather Mardi Gras mask. Case dismissed.The crowd spilled from the Partout Parish Courthouse, past the thick Doric columns and down the broad steps, a buzzing swarm of humanity centering on the key figures of the drama that had played out in Judge Monahan's courtroom.Smith Pritchett focused his narrow gaze on the navy blue Lincoln that awaited him at the curb and snapped off a staccato line of "no comments" to the frenzied press.xa0xa0Richard Kudrow, however, stopped his descent dead center on the steps. Trouble was the word that came immediately to Annie Broussard as the press began to circle the defense attorney and his client.xa0xa0Like every other deputy in the sheriff's office, she had hoped against hope that Kudrow would fail in his attempt to get the ring thrown out as evidence.xa0xa0They had all hoped Smith Pritchett would be the one crowing on the courthouse steps.Sergeant Hooker's voice crackled over the portable radio.xa0xa0"Savoy, Mullen, Prejean, Broussard, move in front of those goddamn reporters.xa0xa0Establish some distance between the crowd and Kudrow and Renard before this turns into a goddamn cluster fuck."Annie edged her way between bodies, her hand resting on the butt of her baton, her eyes on Marcus Renard as Kudrow began to speak.xa0xa0He stood beside his attorney, looking uncomfortable with the attention being focused on him.xa0xa0He wasn't a man to draw notice.xa0xa0Quiet, unassuming, an architect in the firm of Bowen & Briggs.xa0xa0Not ugly, not handsome.xa0xa0Thinning brown hair neatly combed and hazel eyes that seemed a little too big for their sockets.xa0xa0He stood with his shoulders stooped and his chest sunken, a younger shadow of his attorney.xa0xa0His mother stood on the step above him, a thin woman with a startled expression and a mouth as tight and straight as a hyphen."Some people will call this ruling a travesty of justice," Kudrow said loudly. "The only travesty of justice here has been perpetrated by the Partout Parish Sheriff's Department.xa0xa0Their investigation of my client has been nothing short of harassment.xa0xa0Two prior searches of Mr.xa0xa0Renard's home produced nothing that might tie him to the murder of Pamela Bichon.""Are you suggesting the sheriff's department manipulated evidence?" a reporter called out."Mr. Renard has been the victim of a narrow and fanatical investigation led by Detective Nick Fourcade.xa0xa0Y'all are aware of Fourcade's record with the New Orleans Police Department, of the reputation he brought with him to this parish.xa0xa0Detective Fourcade allegedly found that ring in my client's home.xa0xa0Draw your own conclusions."As she elbowed past a television cameraman, Annie could see Fourcade turning around, half a dozen steps down from Kudrow.xa0xa0The cameras focused on him hastily.xa0xa0His expression was a stone mask, his eyes hidden by a pair of mirrored sunglasses.xa0xa0A cigarette smoldered between his lips.xa0xa0His temper was a thing of legend.xa0xa0Rumors abounded throughout the department that he was not quite sane.He said nothing in answer to Kudrow's insinuation, and yet the air between them seemed to thicken.xa0xa0Anticipation held the crowd's breath.xa0xa0Fourcade pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flung it down, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.xa0xa0Annie took a half step toward Kudrow, her fingers curling around the grip of her baton.xa0xa0In the next heartbeat Fourcade was bounding up the steps straight at Renard, shouting, "NO!""He'll kill him!" someone shrieked."Fourcade!" Hooker's voice boomed as the fat sergeant lunged after him, grabbing at and missing the back of his shirt."You killed her! You killed my baby girl!"The anguished shouts tore from the throat of Hunter Davidson, Pamela Bichon's father, as he hurled himself down the steps at Renard, his eyes rolling, one arm swinging wildly, the other hand clutching a .45.Fourcade knocked Renard aside with a beefy shoulder, grabbed Davidson's wrist, and shoved it skyward as the .45 barked out a shot and screams went up all around.xa0xa0Annie hit Davidson from the right side, her much smaller body colliding with his just as Fourcade threw his weight against the man from the left.xa0xa0Davidson's knees buckled and they all went down in a tangle of arms and legs, grunting and shouting, bouncing hard down the steps, Annie at the bottom of the heap.xa0xa0Her breath was pounded out of her as she hit the concrete steps with four hundred pounds of men on top of her."He killed her!" Hunter Davidson sobbed, his big body going limp.xa0xa0"He butchered my girl!"Annie wriggled out from under him and sat up, grimacing.xa0xa0All she could think was that no physical pain could compare with what this man must have been enduring.Swiping back the strands of dark hair that had pulled loose from her ponytail, she gingerly brushed over the throbbing knot on the back of her head.xa0xa0Her fingertips came away sticky with blood."Take this," Fourcade ordered in a low voice, thrusting Davidson's gun at Annie butt-first.xa0xa0Frowning, he leaned down over Davidson and put a hand on the man's shoulder even as Prejean snapped the cuffs on him.xa0xa0"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I wish I coulda let you kill him."Annie pushed to her feet and tried to straighten the bulletproof vest she wore beneath her shirt.xa0xa0Hunter Davidson was a good man.xa0xa0An honest, hardworking planter who had put his daughter through college and walked her down the aisle the day she married Donnie Bichon.xa0xa0Her murder had shattered him, and the subsequent lack of justice had driven him to this desperate edge.xa0xa0And tonight Hunter Davidson would be the man sitting in jail while Marcus Renard slept in his own bed."Broussard!" Hooker snapped irritably, suddenly looming over her, porcine and ugly.xa0xa0"Gimme that gun.xa0xa0Don't just stand there gawking.xa0xa0Get down to that cruiser and open the goddamn doors.""Yes, sir." Not quite steady on her feet, she started around the back side of the crowd.With the danger past, the press was in full cry again, more frenzied than before.xa0xa0Renard's entourage had been hustled off the steps.xa0xa0The focus was on Davidson now.xa0xa0Cameramen jostled one another for shots of the despondent father.xa0xa0Microphones were thrust at Smith Pritchett."Will you file charges, Mr. Pritchett?""Will charges be filed, Mr. Pritchett?""Mr. Pritchett, what kind of charges will you file?"Pritchett glared at them.xa0xa0"That remains to be seen.xa0xa0Please back away and let the officers do their job.""Davidson couldn't get justice in court, so he sought to take it himself.xa0xa0Do you feel responsible, Mr. Pritchett?""We did the best we could with the evidence we had.""Tainted evidence?""I didn't gather it," he snapped, starting back up the steps toward the courthouse, his face as pink as a new sunburn.Limping, Annie descended the last of the steps and opened the back door of the blue and white cruiser sitting at the curb.xa0xa0Fourcade escorted the sobbing Davidson to the car, with Savoy and Hooker just behind them, and Mullen and Prejean flanking them.xa0xa0The crowd rushed along behind them and beside them like guests at a wedding seeing off the happy couple."You gonna book him in, Fourcade?" Hooker asked as Davidson disappeared into the back seat."The hell," Fourcade growled, slamming the door.xa0xa0"He didn't commit the worst crime here today.xa0xa0Not even if he'd'a killed the son of a bitch.xa0xa0Book him yourself."The belligerence brought a rise of color to Hooker's face, but he said nothing as Fourcade crossed the street to a battered bla... Read more