Black Light (Bob Lee Swagger)
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Only one thing stands between a son and his father's killer: forty years of lies..
On a remote Arizona ranch, a man who has known loss, fear, and war weeps for the first time since he was a child. His tears are for the father taken from him four decades before in a deadly shoot-out. And his grief will lead him back to the place where he was born, where his father died, and where a brutal conspiracy is about to explode.
For Bob Lee Swagger, the world changed on that hot day in Blue Eye, Arkansas, when two local boys rode armed and wild in a '55 Fairlane convertible. Swagger's father, Earl, a state trooper, was investigating the brutal murder of a young woman that day. By midnight Earl Swagger lay dead in a deserted cornfield.
Now Bob Lee wants answers. He wants to know the truth behind the shoot -out that took his father's life, a mystery buried in forty years of lies. Because for Bob Lee Swagger, the killing didn't end that day in Blue Eye, Arkansas. The killing had just begun...
Weaving together characters from his national bestsellers Point of Impact and Dirty White Boys, Stephen Hunter's gripping thriller builds to an exhilarating climax--and an explosion of gunfire that blasts open the secrets of two generations.
Russ; they seemed just to be wandering through the heavy woods in the heat, the bugs biting, the birds singing. He was hopelessly lost. “You know where we’re going?” “Yep.” “You can get us out of here?” “Yep.” “We must have come miles.” “We’ve walked about three, yeah. By beeline, we’ve come less than one, however. In the jungle you don’t go nowheres in a straight line, ’less you want to be taken down.” Russ thought: he’s been here before. He’s taken men down before. Look at him, he
say. It just said he bled to death. The latter, I guess.” “It would be nice to know the mechanism. It would tell us a lot. You write that down in your book under things to find out.” “Where would we go to find that?” Bob ignored him, just standing there, looking about. He tried to read the land, or what little of it was left. This was a hunter’s gift, a sniper’s gift: to look at the folds and drops and rises in a piece of earth and derive meanings from them, understand in some instinctual way
of your life on night shift. Do you know who I am?” “Everybody knows who you are, Mr. Sam. Sir, I guess you can go on now, but I am going to follow you, so there ain’t no problems, all right? You make sure you obey them traffic lights, do you hear?” Sam muttered something black but Peck had already headed back to his car. Arrogant sumbitch! Sam remembered when all deputies treated him like a Caesar. Peck finally pulled away and Sam started up again. He was very careful not to drive fast and to
you solve a crime? What Columbo does.” “Columbo is a made-up man. Investigation. You call it investigation.” “You never did no investigation. You found your shirt, you found your blood and you electrocuted your nigger boy.” “He was guilty. Who would go to so much trouble to frame a boy like that?” “The man what killed my baby Shirelle and has been walking around laughing about it all these years.” “Madam: think about what you’re saying. A man would have to find Reggie, break into his house,
turned to her hand and gently opened it. He bent and looked at her nails: under each of the four fingers was a half-moon of what might have been blood but looked more like the same red dust he’d found on her shoulder. The forensics people would have to make that determination. Red dust? Red clay, possibly? It hung in his mind, reminiscent of something. Then he had it: about ten minutes outside Blue Eye, out Route 88 near a wide spot in the road called Ink, was an abandoned quarry noted for its