Carsten Stroud - Close Pursuit

ITS AN ODDITY OF LIFE that most people who fantasize about working on a big-city homicide squad dont seem to realize that at the heart of every homicide investigation is a dead body, and the essence of the job is to be able to confront that body in all its grim carnality. Every cop maintains that detachment is the key, but the truth is that he gives up a section of his soul to every corpse and he dies a little death at the beginning of every case.

CLOSE PURSUIT

Like New York City itself, Close Pursuit is an assault on the senses. And it shines a pitiless light on the street cops perceived enemiesfrom the homicidal scum in the streets to the timid slicks at One Police Plaza to the ambitious suits roaming the halls of justice. THIS REMARKABLE BOOK IS AS CLOSE AS YOU WILL COME TO PEERING INTO THE SOUL OF A SQUAD ROOM, AND A CITY, WITHOUT JOINING UP YOURSELF AND TAKING YOUR CHANCES ON THE MEAN STREETS.

Nicholas Proffitt

Rings with authenticity Its the world of homicide detective Eddie Kennedy, a world of often senseless violence, racism, petty politics, gutter language and gutter morals. And its a world thats vividly and dramatically brought to life by Stroud MAY VERY WELL PROVE TO BE THE DEFINITIVE BOOK ABOUT BIG-CITY POLICE.

Philadelphia Inquirer

THERES A RULE CALLED 24/24 IN THE HOMICIDE LEXICON. It means that the most important hours in the investigation of any murder are the last 24 hours in the victims life and the first 24 hours after the body has been discovered. The secret of the killing lies in this time zone. Go back beyond that and the forces that led to his death are too diffuse, and after the first 24 hours the witnesses are starting to forget things; the tissues are drying out; the weapons are being destroyed. Clothes are being burned and stories are being agreed upon. Sometimes, Kennedy felt a sense of urgency. The trick was to ignore that. Kennedys first partner used to say, The stiff will still be dead in the morning. The one thing a homicide cop has that no other cop can count on is the time to do it right. But he gets no second chance.

CLOSE PURSUIT

RANKS WITH THE BEST OF WAMBAUGH.

Kirkus Reviews

IF YOU SEE THIS BOOK, ARREST IT ON SIGHT AND SENTENCE IT TO 12 HOURS OF UNINTERRUPTED READING Close Pursuit is extremely well crafted and written with a masterly flair for the capturing of language and the relentless passing of time during this week in the life of a cop. As a portrait of a cop and a police department in trouble, it is honest, unbiased and extremely well documented.

Detroit News

KRUSH AND JIMMY SAW THE CROWDS AS A STREAM OF SWATCH WATCHES, Calvin Klein jeans, Guess? jackets, satin and black leather, fourteen-karat gold chains in endless loops around slender necks, marks and vics staggering along the street dazzled by the lights, heavy with cash, cash, cash and none of it for them. Krush could tell you the price of any car on the street; he knew logos and brand names at 50 yards. He could smell a woman from up the block and he could read her scent and know if it was Opium or Tuxedo or Charlie. It told him what shed have on under the dress and which card shed carry. Opium and Tuxedo meant black and lacy and a gold American Express. Charlie meant Calvin Klein jockey shorts with cutaway thighs and a Citibank Visa.

CLOSE PURSUIT

A GRITTY SLICE-OF-LIFE LOOK AT A NEW YORK CITY HOMICIDE DETECTIVE ON AND OFF DUTY It rings true throughout.

Kirkus Reviews

THE MOMENTUM OF TOP-FLIGHT CRIME FICTION.

Toronto Globe and Mail

BRILLIANTLY CAPTURED Carsten Stroud has written a book that for insight, understanding and colorful and full-blooded evocation of the specialized world of the homicide detective takes its place on the short list of superb police books.

Cleveland Plain Dealer

CLOSE PURSUIT
A Bantam Book
Bantam hardcover edition published March 1987
Bantam paperback edition / April 1988

Get Happy by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler copyright 1929 (Renewed)
WARNER BROS. INC. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

Only You (And You Alone). Words and Music by Buck Ram and Ande Rand TRO
copyright 1955 and renewed 1983 Hollis Music, Inc., New York, N.Y. Used by permission.

All rights reserved.
Copyright 1987 by Carsten Stroud.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 8622155.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.

eISBN: 978-0-307-81524-8

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words Bantam Books and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103.

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Early in the research for this book I was spending a lot of time sitting around in my apartment on East 38th Street, going quietly bonkers waiting for various New York Police Department detectives to return my calls. I got into the habit of cruising through the boroughs in a rented Plymouth, drinking black coffee and listening to the cross-talk on my police radio. One Friday night I was pushing my way through the standard traffic jam on 42nd Street, trying to guess how many neon lights there were between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. It was a dense and humid night, early in the spring but showing some real heat down on street level, the air thick enough to slide on, reeking of diesel oil and popcorn, the way midtown does on a Friday night. A call came over my radio for the foot patrol officersthey call them Portables in the NYPD. There was a fight going on in a porno theater at Eighth and 43rd. To my right I could see four of these officers, three solid-looking guys and a wiry female cop who looked a little like Patti LuPone. They were jogging west along the block, answering the call. The woman was talking into her handset and I could hear her voice on my radio, a little breathless, talking as she ran, saying that she and three other Portables were on their way. It seemed a couple of squad cars were also responding. Well, this was nothing special for a midtown Friday night, but, as I said, it was either do this or go home and talk to Elmore, my house plant, so I decided to follow them over in the Plymouth.

In the night, in the right light, I look a bit like a plainclothes cop, just under six feet and a little on the beefy side, hard-case moustache and I dont smile a lot, so when the Portables met up with six other uniform cops outside the porno theater, I just eased myself into the group and went inside with them. For kicks, more or less. Which, as it turned out, was exactly what I got.

The theater was massive and packed with people, and black as a dragons colon except for the screen, where the film was still running. The place smelled like a dragons colon too. My feet stuck to the floor as I ran along the back row behind the cops. They split up and went both ways down the aisles toward what looked like a small riot going on in the front row. People were screaming and shouting. Somebody was getting the better of somebody else and being pretty noisy about it. Whatever was going on in the film had something to do with sex but it looked more like a full-color close-up of a car accident. Over the screams and the shouts from a crowd of people fighting each other down in the first row, just black outlines against the screen, you could hear the heavy breathing and the sighs of the couple making love in the film, and the crackle of police radios and heavy feet pounding down the aisles and the jingle of police gear on their belts. I was still at the top of the aisle, holding the radio, when a big black guy came racing up out of the dark. Behind him I could just make out a couple of coplike figures chasing him. It dawned on me that this was not a good place to be standing, looking vaguely official and holding a portable police radio, so I decided to get out of the guys way. I was still trying to do that, shoving at the crowd behind me, when he flew right into me and we both went down.