Crescent City Connection (formerly Crescent City Kill) is the SEVENTH book in the Edgar Award-winning Skip Langdon series by Julie Smith.
"Sizzles with action, making this the most memorable of the Skip Langdon series." -The Monterey Herald
"...characteristically Smith, full of surprises." -The Santa Barbara News-Press
SPICY SUSPENSE, DELICIOUS SURPRISES, AND GRITTY REALISM IN A POWERFUL TALE OF JUSTICE GONE AWRY…
Sure, New Orleans is known for corruption, but suddenly the good guys get a break—an honest police chief. And then someone guns him down. When a terrifying organization called The Jury takes out the cop-killer, Detective Skip Langdon’s on the case. But no one cares! After all, the guy was a cop-killer.
Skip cares really a lot—because she suspects The Jury’s the brainchild of her old nemesis, self-described preacher Errol Jacomine. And because other lives are at stake—those of Jacomine's granddaughter Lovelace and his younger son Isaac. Eager to add Lovelace to his maniacal fold, Jacomine has Lovelace kidnapped, but she escapes and flees to the bohemian home of her Uncle Isaac, an artist and true eccentric known as The White Monk. Isaac’s taken a vow of silence, but uncle and niece manage to communicate and form a bond that could save both their lives. And Langdon comes up with a plan so clever even the FBI can’t shout her down.
"A superbly written piece of drama, even by Smith's high standards ... plenty of subplots to keep things moving...(and) a wonderful description of the city's bizarre Easter parades" -The State (Columbia, SC)
“Serious suspense… Smith’s colorful characterizations and the showdown with Jacomine make this an excellent addition to the series.” -Publishers Weekly
“If it’s gritty realism you’re craving, gently simmered with spicy suspense and marvelously memorable characters, Smith is the perfect New Orleans tour guide.” —The Clarion-Ledger
For fans of twisty, psychologically astute, heavily atmospheric stories by authors like Nevada Barr, Laura Lippmann, Ace Atkins, and Randy Wayne White.
When she visited the first time, Aunt Alice had talked candidly about a relative she thought was dangerous, though everyone else in the family had decided to find him amusing—Earl Jackson, aka Errol Jacomine.
Skip came and sat down. She was presented with a writing pad—Aunt Alice could talk to you, but you had to write to her.
“Did you get my letter?”
Skip nodded. She wrote, “Thank you. That was sweet of you.”
Skip’s encounter with Jacomine was national news. Aunt Alice had written to say she knew Skip was just doing her job even though Earl Jackson was a blood relative, and she, for one, not only applauded, she was real sorry the bastard got away.
“It’s good to see you again, honey. What can I do for you this time?”
“I know it’s stupid to ask,” Skip wrote, “but has Jacomine been in touch with anyone in the family?”
“Now, honey, you know I would have let you know.”
“Just thought I’d ask,” she wrote, and pulled out a list of the things she’d already done to trace Jacomine: looked for his wife, looked for his son, badgered the Christian Community. “Can you think of anything else I could do?”
Aunt Alice’s index finger, under a layer of ladylike pink nail polish, flicked at the list. “Didn’t even know he’d married again.”
Skip’s stomach flipped over. Blood pounded in her ears: this was something. She wrote, “Again? You mean this wasn’t his first marriage?”
“Oh, lordy, lordy. How would you know? Yes, ma’am, he was married, and thereby hangs a tale. Now where’d I put that thing?” She got up and left the room. Skip wanted to chase her, grabbing at the flapping folds of her purple windsuit.
But there was nothing to do but wait, drumming her fingers, swinging her leg, all but biting her nails.