By G.M. Ford
Underneath the rotting floorboards of an deserted shed are human bones -- plenty of them -- the final issues a runaway rogue true-crime author and his photojournalist ex-lover anticipated to discover after they took preserve from a vicious Wisconsin snow fall. The grisly nightmare Frank Corso and Meg Dougherty have exposed is not anything they could flip a blind eye to. The hideous slaughter of a relatives, undetected for fifteen years, needs to be avenged, because the hunt for a killer includes Corso midway around the nation, and during a chilling historical past of violence, terror, and bloodshed. yet turning into an software of justice has made him a aim of a rage-driven maniac -- and it really is resulting in ashocking fact hidden in an remoted position the place loss of life lives ... and the place no legislations protects the blameless.
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Additional info for A Blind Eye: A Novel
You can make it. Get the people. ” Instead he boosted her upward with his knee and again began staggering forward down the road. His ragged, frozen breath burst out before him as he fought his way forward. They were at the driveway now. All she could see was a single light and the shape of a house through the swirling snow and ice. “Put me down. Go get the people,” she was pleading, but instead he lifted her higher and began to trudge through the knee-deep snow of the driveway. Every step was an exercise in agony.
Being sheriff is all I know. I just can’t see myself—” She caught herself. Stopped. Brought a hand to her mouth and walked around in a tight circle. ” Corso lifted his hands from the sheet and then let them fall. “I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said. She nodded. “And then there’s your friend Ms. ” Corso’s eyes narrowed. His tone was brittle. ” “Nobody in these parts has ever seen anything like A B L I N D E Y E 51 that before. The only way I could keep medical staff from making up reasons to go in her room for a peek was to post a guard on the door.
His nose had begun to bleed again, sending an intermittent drizzle of blood down onto his shoes. He dropped the rim to the floor and was bent at the waist, waiting for his vision to clear, when he first heard the sound. An engine. The blat of a diesel maybe. Carefully he picked his way across the maze of broken floor and made his way outside. Shading his eyes from the glare, he scanned the horizon. Nothing. He stood still and listened, but the sound did not repeat itself. After several moments he heaved a sigh, stepped back inside the shed, and continued tearing up the shattered pieces of wood, throwing them outside onto the pile.