Ice (87th Precinct)
Snow whips through the city’s streets like lethal daggers when a young actress leaves the theater after her latest performance. She walks home instead of taking the subway, and soon the snow on the ground is stained red with her blood. A cold, hard winter is blowing in, and it’s bringing greed and murder.
For Detectives Carella, Kling, Meyer, and Brown, the sudden storm that has covered the city in a suffocating sheet of ice is only the beginning of their problems. From a multimillion-dollar showbiz scam and diamonds spilling out of a dead man’s vest to a cold-hearted rapist prowling the streets and a stone-cold murderer on the loose, the frozen grip of fear is strangling the city. It is up to the men of the 87th to bring the heat.
Bestselling author Ed McBain pulls out all the stops in Ice, a classic installment of his famed 87th Precinct series that blends intense plotting, biting dialogue, and gripping suspense. The New Yorker hails Ice as “a real stunner!”
that crossed her face. She wanted to know if she’d been right in assuming that the trapper and the girl moonshiner had had an affair years ago, and that this was the first time they’d seen each other since? No? Then what was all that hugging and kissing about? Carella explained, responding with his voice so that she could read his lips, accompanying his voice with hand signals (and always there were the fascinated observers in the crowd, nudging each other—Hey, take a look, Charlie, see the grown
said as she carved up her former playmate’s arm, Kling snapped his fingers. He was down here today—even though it was his day off— because: (a) he lived only six blocks away, in a small apartment in the shadow of the Calm’s Point Bridge, and (b) he could not question Marvin Edelman’s widow until tomorrow because she was on her way home from the Caribbean after receiving a call from her daughter informing her that Edelman had been shot and killed last night, and (c) there was not much more he
said. They had been standing in the lobby for close to forty minutes, after having been advised by Tina’s doorman that Miss Wong was “out for her run.” “Sure,” Tina said, and gestured toward an array of furniture clustered around an imitation fireplace. The lobby was very hot. Tina’s face was flushed red from the cold outside and the energetic jogging she had done. She yanked off the woolen hat and shook out her hair. All three sat in chairs around the fake fireplace. At the switchboard across
‘Usually, you can get a pretty good idea of who’s doing what when you’re working in a show.’ Isn’t that what you said?” “I don’t remember my exact words.” “But that’s what you meant, isn’t it?” “I suppose so.” “Okay. If you have a pretty good idea of who’s doing what, we’d like you to share it with us.” “What for? So I can get decent people in trouble for no reason at all?” “Which decent people?” Carella asked. “I don’t know anybody who was involved with drugs, okay?” “That’s not what you
say?” the girl asked. “Canella.” The girl shrugged. They opened the door to Carter’s office. He was sitting behind a huge desk littered with what Carella assumed were scripts. Three walls of the office were covered with posters advertising his shows before Fatback, none of which Carella recognized. The fourth wall was a window wall streaming early-morning sunlight. Carter rose when they came into the room, indicated a sofa facing the desk, and said, “Sit down, won’t you?” The detectives sat.