Meg Gardiner - The Liars Lullaby
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- Book:The Liars Lullaby
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- Publisher:Dutton Adult
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- Year:2010
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The Liars Lullaby: summary, description and annotation
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Edgar Award winner Meg Gardiner returns with a third propulsive, groundbreaking thriller about forensic psychiatrist Jo Beckett and the lies that are even more dangerous than fame. Tasia McFarland is a washed-up country-pop singer desperate for the break that will get her topping the charts again. The tabloids have raked over every part of Tasias rocky life, following every high and low, her addictions, her breakdowns, her increasingly erratic behavior-and every broken relationship. The highlight of this lowlight reel: her failed marriage to an ambitious Army officer whose political talents earned him a spot in the nations highest office. Tasia McFarland is the ex-wife of the President of the United States. So when Tasia writes a song with politically-charged lyrics, people take note and her star begins to rise anew. In the spectacle-driven opener of her comeback tour, she is lowered into a stadium on a zip line and as helicopters fly overhead she fires her prop Colt 45 at the fireworks-filled stage. Tasia is riding high. Until shes killed by a bullet to the neck, before the shocked crowd of 40,000. When video cant prove that the shot came from Tasias own Colt .45 and the ballistics report comes up empty, the authorities call on forensic psychiatrist Jo Beckett to do a psychological autopsy and clean up the potential political disaster. But as Jo sifts through the facts, she only finds more questions. Was Tasias gun loaded? Did she kill herself in one last cry for attention? Were her politically-charged lyrics the rantings of a paranoid woman losing her grip? Or warnings from a woman afraid and in danger? For Jo, pouring over Tasias past quickly becomes a race to extinguish the conspiracy rumor mill before it incites a level of violence that reaches Americas highest corridors of power-and tears apart the very fabric of our nation.
Meg Gardiner: author's other books
Who wrote The Liars Lullaby? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.
David Ellis
Juliet Gardiner
Samuel Rawson Gardiner
Gardiner
KT McFarland
Chuck Palahniuk
Gardiner
Stephen M. Gardiner
Chuck Palahniuk
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Table of Contents
Also by Meg Gardiner
JO BECKETT NOVELS
The Memory Collector
The Dirty Secrets Club
The Memory Collector
The Dirty Secrets Club
EVAN DELANEY NOVELS
China Lake
Mission Canyon
Jericho Point
Crosscut
Kill Chain
China Lake
Mission Canyon
Jericho Point
Crosscut
Kill Chain
For Eleanor
HACK SHIRAZI BRACED HIMSELF IN THE OPEN DOOR OF THE HELICOPTER and gazed across San Francisco Bay at the crowded ballpark. Wind and engine noise buffeted him. The evening sun bisected his field of vision. The check had cleared, so he was going to deliver the Rambo. But they were running late, which put the failing gold light square in his eyes.
He shoved the banana clip into the Kalashnikov. On my mark.
In the helicopter flying alongside them, the second team positioned themselves in the doorway. They swept over the bay toward the city. Whitecaps foamed on the surface of the water, five hundred feet below. In the pilots seat, Andreyev held tight to the controls.
The Giants ballpark was filled to capacity. People jammed the stands and covered the field from home plate to the centerfield stage. The two Bell 212 choppers would fly beyond it, circle back, and make their run at the target from out of the sun.
Andreyev radioed their man on the ground. Rock and roll.
IN THESTANDSBELOW, Rez Shirazi put a hand to his radio earpiece. I hear you.
Rock and roll was just about all he could hear. It echoed from the bleachers along the foul line, where beer- marinated rednecks whooped to the beat. From the teeming field, where sunburned college girls sang along with the saccharine lyrics. From the corporate hospitality suites on either side of him, where venture capitalists sipped mojitos and dipped five-dollar tortilla chips in mango chutney salsa.
Shirazi shook his head. Ersatz rock and rolldrowned in country-western cheese sauce. Tasteless, drippy American cheese.
Through his earpiece, he heard his brother Hack. Four minutes. Mark.
Rez clicked the timer on his watch. Mark.
On the stage, near towering speakers that amplified their cornpone accent, a choir of backup patriots was woo-wooing, while a singer in two-thousand-dollar cowboy boots wailed about the trials of the common man.
You can take my work, you can take my cash... but if you wont shake my hand, Ill light a fire up your
Ass, Shirazi said.
The surrounding suites were jammed. People crowded the interiors and filled rows of seats on the balcony. But Rezs suite was empty: no food, absolutely no drink, no loiterers. He stepped onto the balcony and checked their gear. The CO2 canisters were in place. The zip line was secure. It was a stainless steel aircraft cable, clamped through a forged eyebolt and anchored to the girders that supported the upper deck of the stadium. He glanced at the video camera, then over the edge of the balcony. The drop was substantial.
Andreyevs voice crackled through the radio. I cant see her on video. Is she there?
ON CUE, the door to the suite opened. Noise flowed in from the hallway outside. Tasia McFarland stormed in.
Rez, theyre following me. Get rid of them. I cant do this with all these people harassing me.
His nerves fired at the sight of her. Shes here. For a millisecond his skin itched and his ears thundered. Oh, brother.
In his ear, Hack sounded sharp. Whats wrong?
Tasia already had the climbing harness cinched around her hips. That was no mean feat. She was wearing a magenta corset, which trailed back into ruffles that dragged on the floor. Beneath it she wore ripped jeans and turquoise cowboy boots. The top half of her looked like Scarlett OHara halfway through a striptease. The bottom half looked like shed escaped a cage fight with a rabid badger.
Behind her, people streamed through the door. Stadium security men. A makeup artist. A wardrobe assistant. The soundman.
She spun on them. Stop hounding me. Youre turning my head into a beehive. I cant think. Get out. Rez, get them out.
Rez put up his hands. Okay. Chill.
Her eyes gleamed, jade bright. Chill? This is an event. This is a supernova. Im at the shore of the Rubicon. And theseshe waved at the entouragethese vampires are filling my head with static. Theyre filling the score with noise and I wont be able to hear what I need to hear to protect myself out there. Get them out.
In his ear, Rez heard the director in the control booth. Crap. Is she melting down?
You got it. Rez gestured the entourage back. You heard the lady. Everybody out.
The makeup girl pointed at Tasia in dismay. Look at her. Shes been playing in the crayon box.
Rez pushed the girl toward the door.
The security men glowered. This breaches protocol.
Its not a problem, Rez said. Weve done the stunt a dozen times.
The soundman shook his head. Her radio mike, she
I got this. Rez ushered the last of the crowd from the suite.
The soundman shouted over his shoulder. Its on your head, man.
Im the stunt coordinator. Its always on my head. Rez shut the door.
Lock it, Tasia said.
Rez flipped the bolt. Tasia stalked around the room, glancing at corners and the ceiling, examining the shadows. Her ruffles trailed behind her like a peacocks plumage.
I used to think fame was a shield. But it wont protect me. Its only made me a target, she said.
Rez glanced at his watch. Celebritys tough.
Tough? Its a life sentence. And lifes a bitch, and Im a bitch, and then you die. Like Princess Di.
Over the radio, Andreyev said, Three minutes. We are inbound, beginning our run.
Roger, Rez said.
In three minutes a computer program would set the special effects sequence in motion, and Tasia would make her grand entrance as the helicopters overflew the ballpark. And she was blowing a damned cylinder.
And Im not camera shy. But theres an eye in the sky, watching me. Satellites, NSA, paparazzi. On TV, online, whenever I turn my back. Im in their sights. Fawn in the headlights. Doe in the brights. Do, re, mi, fa, so long, suckers.
She stalked out the plate-glass doors onto the balcony and stared down at the forty thousand people who filled the ballpark. The music bounced off the glass, distorted echoes of the Star-Spangled chorus.
Rez followed her outside. Lets get you rigged. Its going to be fine. Its just a stunt.
The breeze off the bay lifted her hair from her neck like swirls of caramel smoke. It was a stunt in the movie. But in the movie, the star didnt do this. You know why?
Because shes sane. Because shes not you.
Because the star wasnt as ravenous for stage time as Tasia McFarland. Because the star wasnt brave or wild enough to hook herself to a zip line and fly forty feet over the heads of the crowd as fireworks went off from the scoreboard, singing the title song from the movie.
Bulls-eye was the latest in a series of action films that featured guns and slinky women. Long Barrel. Pump Action. The stuntmen had their own names for these movies. Handguns and Hand Jobs. Planes, Trains, and Blown Brains.
But the flick was a hit, and so was Bulls-eye, the song. Tasia McFarland was top of the charts. And she wanted to stay there.
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