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A Darker Place [Format Kindle]

Laurie R. King

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The woman at the focal point of the tiered rows of red and blue seats in the lecture hall did not at first glance seem the type to hold the attention of two hundred and fifty undergraduates at the slump time of three in the afternoon. She was small and her hair was going gray, and her figure, though slim, was long past the litheness of youth. Her voice was quiet and deliberate, which in another speaker would have lulled the back rows to sleep, and the subject of her lecture was more cerebral than kept the average twenty-year-old on the edge of his chair.

The number of sleepers was few, however, and the percentage of spines inclined forward over the tiny writing surfaces attached to the chairs was high. There was an intensity in her that proved contagious, a vivid urgency in her voice and her body that overcame her undistinguished appearance and the torpor of the unseasonably early warmth of the day, transforming her limp into the stately pace of a sage and the wooden cane she leaned on into the staff of a prophetess.

In the eyes of her undergraduates, at any rate.

"What the hell is she talking about?" whispered the woman standing high up at the back of the hall, speaking to the man at her side. The two were not undergraduates; even if their age had not disqualified them, her skirt and blazer and his gray suit made them stand out in the denim-clad crowd.

The man gestured for her to be quiet, but it was too late; they had been noticed. A nearby girl glanced over her shoulder at them, then openly stared, and turned to nudge the boy next to her. The woman saw the girl's mouth form the word "narcs," and then she felt her temporary partner's hand on her elbow, pulling her out the door and out of the lecture hall. Professor Anne Waverly's voice followed them, saying, "In fourth-century Israel this concept of a personal experience of God came together with the political--" before her words were cut off by the doors, and then the police officer and the FBI agent were back out in the watery sunlight.

In truth, neither was a narcotics officer, although both had worked narcotics cases in the past. Glen McCarthy made for a bench just outside the building and dropped into it. Birdsong came, and voices of students walking past; in the distance the freeway growled to itself.

"Did you understand what she was talking about?" Gillian Farmer asked idly, examining the bench closely before she committed the back of her skirt to it.

"Merkabah mysticism as one of the bases for early Christian heresies," Glen answered absently.

She shot him a dubious glance and settled onto the edge of the bench.

"And what is mer-whatever mysticism?" she asked, although she was less interested in the question than in the underlying one of how he came by his easy familiarity with the subject of Professor Anne Waverly's arcane lecture. She listened with half an ear as he explained about the Jewish idea of the merkabah, or chariot, mystical experience, the "lifting up" of the devotee to the divine presence. The scattering of early flowers and one lethargic bee held more of her attention than his words, and he either saw this or had little to say on the subject, because he kept the lecture brief.

After a moment's silence, the bee stumbled off and the subject Gillian really wanted to talk about worked its way to the surface.

"This whole thing has got to be unconventional, at least," she said finally.

"I suppose it looks that way."

The mildness of his answer irritated her. "You don't think that hauling a middle-aged professor of religion out of her ivory tower and into the field to investigate a cult is a little unusual?"

"I wouldn't use the word "cult' in her hearing if I were you," Glen suggested. "Not unless you're interested in a twenty-minute lecture on the difference between cult, sect, and new religious movement."

Gillian Farmer was not to be diverted. "It still sounds like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, not at all like a setup the FBI would come within a mile of."

"The bureau has changed since the days of J. Edgar. Now we do whatever works."

"And you think this will work?"

"It has three times before."

"And, as I understand it, once it didn't. People died."

"We were too late there--the final stages were already in motion before Anne could work her way in. I don't think even she can still feel much guilt about that one."

"Why on earth does she do it?" Gillian asked after a while. "Undercover work has got to be the most nerve-racking job in the world, and she's not even a cop."

But the man from the FBI was not yet ready to answer that question.

Seven minutes later, the double doors burst open and the first students tumbled out into the spring air, heading for the coffeehouse. After a pause, they were followed by the main body of participants, walking more thoughtfully and talking among themselves. When this larger group began to thin out, Glen got to his feet and turned to face the hall, pausing to run his palms over his hair and straighten his necktie. This was the first sign of nerves Gillian had seen in him, and it surprised her; since they had met ten days before, she had found McCarthy more idiosyncratic than the caricature of the FBI man, but every bit as cold and competent as the most stiff-necked of them.

Agent and police detective walked back through the double glass doors and down the hallway to the big lecture hall, where they again took up positions on the flat walkway that circled the top tier of seats. Gillian was seething with impatience; she did not at all like the feeling of being kept in the dark. McCarthy had his hands in his pockets, his feet set apart and his head drooping as he gazed down the length of the hall at Anne Waverly, who was now discussing papers, projects, and reading material with the six or eight remaining students.

She put off noticing the intruders for as long as she could--until, in fact, one of the students touched her arm and leaned forward to speak into her ear. She stood very still for three long seconds, then with great deliberation pulled off her reading glasses and slowly raised her eyes to the two figures on the high ground at the back of her lecture hall.

Her expression did not change, but even from on high Gillian Farmer could feel the impact their presence had on her. When the woman bent her head again and slid the glasses back onto her nose, she still looked strong, but she seemed older, somewhat flattened, and her uncharacteristic distraction from the words of her students was obvious. The young men and women knew that something was up and grew taut with a curiosity that verged on alarm; however, when eventually she wished them a good week, they could only disperse, reluctantly, and make their slow and suspicious way up the stairs and past the two intruders.

One boy, however, found retreat more than he could bear. He scowled at Glen as he went by, and then turned back to the podium to ask loudly, "Do you want some help, Dr. W?" His stance even more than his words made it obvious that he was offering an assistance considerably more physical than merely carrying her books, but McCarthy was careful not to smile, and Gillian Farmer merely glanced at the boy.

The woman he had called "Dr. W" did smile. "Thank you, Josh, I'll be fine."

Their protests unvoiced, the students left, with a furtive rush of low conversation that was cut off when the glass doors shut behind them. The lecturer turned her back on McCarthy and Farmer, gathering up her papers from the table and pushing them into an old leather briefcase. She buckled the case, took it up in her right hand and the cane in her left, and started for the steps, her very posture vibrating with displeasure.

Each stair was deep enough for two short footsteps, which was how she took them, leading with her right, bringing her left foot up, and taking another step with her right foot. She seemed to depend on the cane more for balance than sheer support, Gillian decided while watching the professor's slow approach. And it was the knee, she thought, rather than the hip, that was weak. Other than that, she was in good shape for a woman in her mid-forties, perhaps a vigorous fifty. Her back was straight, her graying hair worn as loose as that of her students, curling softly down on her shoulders. Her clothing, though, was far from a student's uniform of jeans and T-shirt. She was dressed in the sort of professional clothing a woman wears who does not care for dresses: khaki trousers, sturdy shoes that were almost boots, a light green linen shirt that seemed remarkably free of creases for the tail end of a day, and a dark green blazer shot through with blue threads. The clothes seemed a great deal more formal than those
of the other adult women on the campus, Gillian thought, and found herself wondering about the professor's status in the tenure stakes.

At the top of the stairs, the woman neither paused nor looked up, but merely said to the carpeting, "Come to my office, please."

They followed obediently, submitting to the hard looks of the handful of students who hovered in the distance to be quite sure their professor did not need assistance. She ignored them, as did McCarthy. Farmer tried to avoid looking as though she was escorting a prisoner, with limited success.

They went down the paved path through some winter-bare trees and past a small patch of lawn, and into another building designed by the same architect as the hall. The lecturer unlocked a door and they followed her in, and Gillian revised her speculations: If her recollection of academia was correct, this was not the office of a woman with reason to fear a lack of tenure. The room looked, in fact, like that of a high administrator or department chair, a corner office complete with Oriental carpet and wooden desk--although surely an administrator would not be surrounded by shelves sagging under the weight of books and piled high with untidy heaps of journals and loose manuscripts. The professor slammed her briefcase on the desk, dropped the keys she had just used into her jacket pocket, hooked her cane over the edge of the desk, and sat down.

"Close the door, Glen."

McCarthy shut the door and settled into one of the three chairs arrayed in front of the desk. Gillian Farmer tucked the strap of her shoulder bag over the back of one of the other chairs, hesitated, and took a step forward with her hand out.

"Gillian Farmer," she said. "San Francisco Police Department."

The professor looked at the hand for a moment before reaching out to take it with her own. "Anne Waverly, Duncan Point University. And occasionally FBI. Glen, what are you doing here? I thought I was finished with you."

He did not say a word, but without taking his eyes from hers he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a thick, oversized manila envelope. This he laid softly on the wooden surface between them, allowing his fingers to remain for some seconds on the buff paper before he pulled his hand back. Anne Waverly tore her gaze away from his and stared at the envelope as if it might sprout scaly skin and rear up to strike her. When eventually she looked back at him, for the first time since she had seen them standing at the back of her lecture hall she gave them an expression, one that lay somewhere between exhaustion and loathing.

"Get out of here, Glen."

He immediately stood up. "My cell phone number's in there. Don't wait too long to call--Farmer here has to get back to her caseload."

The two intruders left the office. McCarthy closed the door quietly behind them and strode off down the hallway.

"So much for "whatever works,'" Gillian Farmer said when she caught up to him. Her mind was already moving toward what she could do next, now that Anne Waverly had turned them down. She did not have many options left: The thought of being forced to do nothing filled her with deep apprehension.

"She'll do it." McCarthy sounded completely sure of himself.

"For Christ sake, Glen, she threw us out of her office."

"She won't be able to keep away."

"Oh, right," she said sarcastically. "She sounded so enthusiastic."

"I didn't say she'd want to do it. I said she wouldn't be able to help herself."

Revue de presse

"A nail-biter thriller."
--The New York Times Book Review

"Laurie R. King once again astonishes with her skills in A Darker Place....Superb."
--The Washington Times

"Casts a spell of psychological terror more visceral than any serial killer melodrama and that, for the thoughtful reader, offers intellectual rewards as well."
--The San Diego Union-Tribune

"A literary thriller to end all literary thrillers."
--Booknews from The Poisoned Pen

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 4096 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 512 pages
  • Pagination - ISBN de l'édition imprimée de référence : 0553578243
  • Editeur : Bantam (10 octobre 2009)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B002SE64CO
  • Synthèse vocale : Non activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Word Wise: Non activé
  • Composition améliorée: Non activé
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°53.287 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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Amazon.com: 3.5 étoiles sur 5  87 commentaires
20 internautes sur 20 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Laurie R. King is an amazing writer 16 août 2001
Par JulieS - Publié sur Amazon.com
Not only has Laurie R. King created two amazing original series, the Kate Martinelli and Mary Russell books, but she has written this riveting book as well. She is a master at creating suspense, not in a cheesy John Grisham way, but deliberately leaving you hanging at the end of the chapter so you can't wait to turn the page and find out what happens. This book has a lot of interesting psychological discussions of people involved in cults and shows the mentality of the leaders, and the followers. I think King is a very fair and balanced leader and doesn't make the mistake some writers would make with this subject by showing all cult leaders as amoral, or all cults as harmful. The book keeps you hanging until the ending, which is concise bordering on abrupt. I could see how some people were dissapointed with the ending because it was so curt, but in a way, that's more interesting than books with a long drawn out conclusion and typical "happy ending." King leaves it ambiguous and more up to the reader's imagination (or maybe open to a sequel, I'm not sure). Once again, Laurie R. King shines in the world of shallow popular fiction, outstanding among her peers.
12 internautes sur 12 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 dark, sinister, with great character development and build 9 mars 1999
Par Un client - Publié sur Amazon.com
Laurie King has been one of my favorites, both for her tortured policewoman and of course for Mary Russell. Such chutzpah - to give Holmes a wife at his age! But the stories have a wonderful plot and sinister rise with anticipation. Thus, I started this book with grave (get it?) anticipation. The characterizations and character development is incredibly excellent. Ana is wonderfully drawn and executed and very believeable as is her FBI contact. The children, too. I kept wondering if I had missed a book of LKing's. Had she written one with these characters before? And it is not yet published? The flashbacks were too substantial and yet too wispy. If there was no previous book there needed more explanation. The plot was very suspenseful and I quivered with anticipation. I read very slowly as the evil got worse and worse. I did not understand why they had to go to England, I guess it is as good as Montana, but I think people are less likely to be left alone in cults there. I have reread the ending 4 times and still don't understand it. It just sort of fell apart. I need an epilogue, not just a pulse at the end. Something between Ana and Jason or the FBI man something. I will read it again, but will write my own ending.
15 internautes sur 17 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
1.0 étoiles sur 5 A Darker Place is right... 30 mai 2000
Par Un client - Publié sur Amazon.com
I have read every book by this author and enjoyed them all, with a particular affinity for the Mary Russell series. This book insulted me. There were 100 pages or more of setting up the characters, mostly unnecessary. We knew as little about character motivation by the time the book really started in chapter 8 as we did on page 1. I think the author had worked so hard thinking it all up, she couldn't bear to tighten up the story by dropping enough of the blather to help us love her characters.
I dislike books that try to impress with wordiness--did Anne really "fossick" through papers on page 53 and does anyone even know what that means or care? I love intelligent mysteries, but the mystery was sacrificed in this one for too much intellect.
I hung on for dear life, hoping for good things to come, and the book did get better, keeping me turning pages instead of tossing it away. Then came that terrible ending. What happened to Stephen, why was it necessary to have separate locations for this cult that seemed so unconnected, was greed the motivation or the desire for transcendence, if the latter, to what were they transcending? Why include references to coming events and then never speak of them again? And what happened at the end? It just ended with no satisfying conclusion. After all those unnecessary words at the beginning, surely the author could have spared a few for the ending.
Anne was a great character in a very bad story. I was so disappointed, I am writing my first ever review to rid myself of the lingering bad aftertaste.
8 internautes sur 9 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Anne Waverly might be Laurie King's next best series! 19 mai 1999
Par Un client - Publié sur Amazon.com
When I noticed that Laurie King had a new book out, I bought it without even checking to see if it was a Kate Martinelli or Mary Russell story. Both of those heroines are so satisfying that it really didn't matter which it concerned. Imagine my delight to meet a new friend-Anne Waverly. I hope that this is the first of many in a long line of Waverly books. King is an adept writer who can take you through the back streets of London with Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes, modern day police matters with Kate Martinelli and her crippled, female lover, or - now - penetrate religious cults with Anne Waverly. Far from being a stuffy theologian, Anne is all too vulnerable to the task at hand. Male readers, don't be afraid to try this, or any of King's books. This is not a "chick" writer. I've read some of her other works to my husband, and he is as spell bound as I am. "A Darker Place" had me up until 2:00am several nights until I finished the last page.
5 internautes sur 5 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Engrossing thriller with an extreemly unsatisfying ending 21 juin 1999
Par Un client - Publié sur Amazon.com
I've enjoyed all of Ms King's previous works and A Darker Place looked to be another 5 star treat until the last chapter. The book ends as if the writer just got tired of writing. There are enough loose ends to weave a carpet. I understand that a sequel is in the works. This book absolutely requires it. My recomendation: wait for the sequel and read them as a two book set.
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