Thrillers & Suspense
![Jonathan Kellerman - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B00MB9JKC2.jpg)
City of the Dead: An Alex Delaware Novel
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • The past comes back to haunt psychologist Alex Delaware and Detective Milo Sturgis when they investigate a grisly double homicide and uncover an even more unspeakable motive in this riveting thriller from the bestselling master of suspense.
Los Angeles is a city of sunlight, celebrity, and possibility. The L.A. often experienced by Homicide Lt. Detective Milo Sturgis and psychologist Alex Delaware, is a city of the dead.
Early one morning, the two of them find themselves in a neighborhood of pretty houses, pretty cars, and pretty people. The scene they encounter is anything but. A naked young man lies dead in the street, the apparent victim of a collision with a moving van hurtling through suburbia in the darkness. But any thoughts of accidental death vanish when a blood trail leads to a nearby home.
Inside, a young woman lies butchered. The identity of the male victim and his role in the horror remain elusive, but that of the woman creates additional questions. And adding to the shock, Alex has met her while working a convoluted child custody case. Cordelia Gannett was a self-styled internet influencer who'd gotten into legal troubles by palming herself off as a psychologist. Even after promising to desist, she's found a loophole and has continued her online career, aiming to amass clicks and ads by cyber-coaching and cyber-counseling people plagued with relationship issues.
But upon closer examination, Alex and Milo discover that her own relationships are troublesome, including a tortured family history and a dubious personal past. Has that come back to haunt her in the worst way? Is the mystery man out in the street collateral damage or will he turn out to be the key to solving a grisly double homicide? As the psychologist and the detective explore L.A.'s meanest streets, they peel back layer after layer of secrets and encounter a savage, psychologically twisted, almost unthinkable motive for violence and bloodshed.
This is classic Delaware: Alex, a man Milo has come to see as irreplaceable, at his most insightful and brilliant.
Los Angeles is a city of sunlight, celebrity, and possibility. The L.A. often experienced by Homicide Lt. Detective Milo Sturgis and psychologist Alex Delaware, is a city of the dead.
Early one morning, the two of them find themselves in a neighborhood of pretty houses, pretty cars, and pretty people. The scene they encounter is anything but. A naked young man lies dead in the street, the apparent victim of a collision with a moving van hurtling through suburbia in the darkness. But any thoughts of accidental death vanish when a blood trail leads to a nearby home.
Inside, a young woman lies butchered. The identity of the male victim and his role in the horror remain elusive, but that of the woman creates additional questions. And adding to the shock, Alex has met her while working a convoluted child custody case. Cordelia Gannett was a self-styled internet influencer who'd gotten into legal troubles by palming herself off as a psychologist. Even after promising to desist, she's found a loophole and has continued her online career, aiming to amass clicks and ads by cyber-coaching and cyber-counseling people plagued with relationship issues.
But upon closer examination, Alex and Milo discover that her own relationships are troublesome, including a tortured family history and a dubious personal past. Has that come back to haunt her in the worst way? Is the mystery man out in the street collateral damage or will he turn out to be the key to solving a grisly double homicide? As the psychologist and the detective explore L.A.'s meanest streets, they peel back layer after layer of secrets and encounter a savage, psychologically twisted, almost unthinkable motive for violence and bloodshed.
This is classic Delaware: Alex, a man Milo has come to see as irreplaceable, at his most insightful and brilliant.
Editorial Reviews
"One of [Kellerman's] best."-Mystery & Suspense
"As always, Kellerman provides fascinating insight into the motivations of his damaged characters."-Publishers Weekly
"A gripping, readable thriller that combines elements of the police procedural, murder mystery, and psychological thriller genres."-Booklist
"Kellerman at his best . . . [He] uses his training as a psychologist to construct a crime and perpetrator that will have readers turning pages and guessing until the very end."-Library Journal
"As always, Kellerman provides fascinating insight into the motivations of his damaged characters."-Publishers Weekly
"A gripping, readable thriller that combines elements of the police procedural, murder mystery, and psychological thriller genres."-Booklist
"Kellerman at his best . . . [He] uses his training as a psychologist to construct a crime and perpetrator that will have readers turning pages and guessing until the very end."-Library Journal
Readers Top Reviews
Nichole SRichard
Love this series!! It’s been a favorite for 30+ years. I have not been disappointed with any of the books in the series, and this one is no different.
SuntannedAndSmili
Great read, finished it in a couple days. Storyline moved along well with compelling twists and turns. Another thrilling ride with Alex and Milo. Highly recommend!
ChooeySuntannedAn
Love the Alex and Milo team, and this novel was no exception. But I can’t get by the ending which seemed, at best, far fetched. No spoilers, but I was waiting for a thoughtful conclusion and it didn’t happen.
Kindle ChooeySun
I did NOT like the point at which the murderer was introduced. To go any further would be a sppiler. 😶
Short Excerpt Teaser
CHAPTER 1
Four fifty-three in the morning was too early for anything. Alfie had said so to Donny back when it was four eighteen and they were still on the freeway. But at least they'd be early, maybe catch a nap before unloading.
Donny, as usual, had smiled and said nothing. Which was fine with Alfie. If you had to be sharing the cab on a long haul with someone, a guy who didn't talk much was a good deal.
They'd spent the last five days together, hauling a big house full of stuff from Pepper Pike, Ohio, to La Jolla, California. Rich doctor moving stuff from one dream palace to another.
In La Jolla, the guy was waiting for them, smiling and waving like they were old friends. Big beach house, looked like a bunch of ice cubes stuck together. Blue spots of ocean at the end of the property and a whole bunch of bright-green palms.
Like living in a postcard.
But a lot of steps.
Dude ran down them. "Hi, guys, I'm James."
"Doctor," said Alfie, because he'd read the papers the company gave him and knew the rules. Someone has a title, you use it. Even if they're pretending to be regular folk.
"Aw," said James. "Okay, if you insist on formality, call me Teach."
Alfie stared at him. Dude looked more like a . . . Alfie didn't know what. Long gray hair and beard, string of beads around his neck, these stupid little glasses with red frames.
But not a hippie or a homeless. Not with the goochy-poochy clothes. Alligator shoes. And a beach house, for God's sake. Almost as big as the humongous place in Ohio they'd moved the stuff from, that one looked like the White House, a maid in a uniform standing around while they worked, suspicious, nasty eyes.
Loading took a full day. The same would go for moving it into this place.
All those steps.
"Teach," said James. "As in teacher."
"Ah," said Alfie. Donny hung back, pretending not to hear.
"I'm a professor," said James.
"Wow," said Alfie, hoping that would cut it short so he could put on his weight belt, scope out the job, and start.
"Virology," said James.
Alfie knew what that meant because his mom had developed a herpes and couple of years ago, he took her to a virologist.
Plus, you could figure it out: virus/virology.
When Alfie didn't say anything, James said, "I specialize in viruses."
I specialize in killing my back to move your shit and your steps aren't going to help.
Dude annoyed him. Why not mess with him?
Alfie made his face innocent. "You do computer cleanup?"
James's lips tightened. So did the rest of his facial muscles, sending little ripples through his beard.
"No, I'm a physician. Infectious diseases and such."
And such. Who says that?
Alfie said, "Wow," with no wow in his voice.
The three of them stood there, then James the Virologist finally regained his smiley attitude and made a big show of running up the stairs.
Reaching the stop, he grinned and stretched. "Glorious day! You guys want something to drink?"
"We're fine."
"Then up and away!"
They'd been driving for a day more than planned due to a brakes thing in Tulsa where they had to spend the night in a motel full of gnats and with what sounded like tweaker lowlifes next door not sleeping and the smell of gasoline everywhere.
Shit trip to California and now they were going to be lifting and hauling and uncrating and moving stuff around all day because people always changed their minds about furniture.
Alfie and Donny trudged up the stairs.
When they got inside the house, music was playing loud, piped in through unseen speakers.
James said, "That okay? The song?"
"Sure."
Then he winked.
That's when Alfie started hating the asshole.
The job took longer than they figured because James's wife, a scarecrow blonde with a mouth as tight as a drawstring purse and some kind of accent, insisted on inspecting every single crystal and porcelain thingie and when you do that you find something and sure enough, there were two broken plates and that meant tears, dirty looks, and paperwork.
Combine how much stuff there was, the house being on three levels, plus their mandated lunch and dinner breaks and they didn't finish until six p.m. Meaning they had to spend the night before taking the last haul-a smaller bunch they were taking to another professor in the Westwood neighborhood of L.A. Professors all over the place; company had some kind of deal with Case Western.
GPS said Westwood was a hundred and thirty miles north, meaning at least two and a half hours if they were lucky, a lot more if they weren't, L.A. traffic suc...
Four fifty-three in the morning was too early for anything. Alfie had said so to Donny back when it was four eighteen and they were still on the freeway. But at least they'd be early, maybe catch a nap before unloading.
Donny, as usual, had smiled and said nothing. Which was fine with Alfie. If you had to be sharing the cab on a long haul with someone, a guy who didn't talk much was a good deal.
They'd spent the last five days together, hauling a big house full of stuff from Pepper Pike, Ohio, to La Jolla, California. Rich doctor moving stuff from one dream palace to another.
In La Jolla, the guy was waiting for them, smiling and waving like they were old friends. Big beach house, looked like a bunch of ice cubes stuck together. Blue spots of ocean at the end of the property and a whole bunch of bright-green palms.
Like living in a postcard.
But a lot of steps.
Dude ran down them. "Hi, guys, I'm James."
"Doctor," said Alfie, because he'd read the papers the company gave him and knew the rules. Someone has a title, you use it. Even if they're pretending to be regular folk.
"Aw," said James. "Okay, if you insist on formality, call me Teach."
Alfie stared at him. Dude looked more like a . . . Alfie didn't know what. Long gray hair and beard, string of beads around his neck, these stupid little glasses with red frames.
But not a hippie or a homeless. Not with the goochy-poochy clothes. Alligator shoes. And a beach house, for God's sake. Almost as big as the humongous place in Ohio they'd moved the stuff from, that one looked like the White House, a maid in a uniform standing around while they worked, suspicious, nasty eyes.
Loading took a full day. The same would go for moving it into this place.
All those steps.
"Teach," said James. "As in teacher."
"Ah," said Alfie. Donny hung back, pretending not to hear.
"I'm a professor," said James.
"Wow," said Alfie, hoping that would cut it short so he could put on his weight belt, scope out the job, and start.
"Virology," said James.
Alfie knew what that meant because his mom had developed a herpes and couple of years ago, he took her to a virologist.
Plus, you could figure it out: virus/virology.
When Alfie didn't say anything, James said, "I specialize in viruses."
I specialize in killing my back to move your shit and your steps aren't going to help.
Dude annoyed him. Why not mess with him?
Alfie made his face innocent. "You do computer cleanup?"
James's lips tightened. So did the rest of his facial muscles, sending little ripples through his beard.
"No, I'm a physician. Infectious diseases and such."
And such. Who says that?
Alfie said, "Wow," with no wow in his voice.
The three of them stood there, then James the Virologist finally regained his smiley attitude and made a big show of running up the stairs.
Reaching the stop, he grinned and stretched. "Glorious day! You guys want something to drink?"
"We're fine."
"Then up and away!"
They'd been driving for a day more than planned due to a brakes thing in Tulsa where they had to spend the night in a motel full of gnats and with what sounded like tweaker lowlifes next door not sleeping and the smell of gasoline everywhere.
Shit trip to California and now they were going to be lifting and hauling and uncrating and moving stuff around all day because people always changed their minds about furniture.
Alfie and Donny trudged up the stairs.
When they got inside the house, music was playing loud, piped in through unseen speakers.
James said, "That okay? The song?"
"Sure."
Then he winked.
That's when Alfie started hating the asshole.
The job took longer than they figured because James's wife, a scarecrow blonde with a mouth as tight as a drawstring purse and some kind of accent, insisted on inspecting every single crystal and porcelain thingie and when you do that you find something and sure enough, there were two broken plates and that meant tears, dirty looks, and paperwork.
Combine how much stuff there was, the house being on three levels, plus their mandated lunch and dinner breaks and they didn't finish until six p.m. Meaning they had to spend the night before taking the last haul-a smaller bunch they were taking to another professor in the Westwood neighborhood of L.A. Professors all over the place; company had some kind of deal with Case Western.
GPS said Westwood was a hundred and thirty miles north, meaning at least two and a half hours if they were lucky, a lot more if they weren't, L.A. traffic suc...
