Cover image for The killing game
The killing game
Johansen, Iris.
Personal Author:
Publication Information:
New York : Bantam Books, 1999.
Physical Description:
355 pages ; 25 cm
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Central Library X Adult Fiction Central Closed Stacks
Angola Public Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Collins Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Grand Island Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Lancaster Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Marilla Free Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Orchard Park Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
Williamsville Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf

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The killer knows Eve Duncan all too well. He knows the pain she still feels for her murdered daughter, Bonnie, whose body has never been found. He knows that as one of the nation's top forensic sculptors, she will insist on identifying nine skeletons unearthed on a bluff near Georgia's Talladega Falls. And he knows that she will want to believe that the skeleton belonging to a young girl is Bonnie's.So begins the killer's sadistic game. Soon the phone calls to Eve begin. Sly, insinuating, chilling. Whoever is on the other end of the line is watching every move she makes. He savors her pain. He could strike at any time. But that's not what he wants -- not yet.In a heartbeat, Eve's life is turned upside down, and no one can help her. Because the killer wants her alone. Now Eve must match wits with the most dangerous of psychopaths. A man for whom life and death is little more than a game. A killing game. And he won't stop playing until he's gotten the one thing he wants the most: Eve's life.

Author Notes

Iris Johansen was born on April 7, 1938. She started writing when her two children were in college. A year later she finished her first novel, a contemporary romance. After writing many best-selling historical romances and fantasies, including the Sedikhan and Clanad series, she turned to suspense fiction. Her works include And Then You Die, The Ugly Duckling, Pandora's Daughter, Killer Dreams, Dead Aim, No One to Trust, The Perfect Witness, Night Watch, the Eve Duncan series, the Catherine Ling series, and the Kendra Michaels series.

(Bowker Author Biography) Iris Johansen is the bestselling author of "The Ugly Duckling", "Long After Midnight", "And Then You Die", "The Face of Deception", "The Killing Game", & "The Search". She lives near Atlanta, Georgia.

(Publisher Provided)

Reviews 3

Booklist Review

Forensic sculptor Eve Duncan was raised in poverty, with an absentee dad and a cocaine-addicted mother. She overcame all odds, escaped her past, and became successful, only to have her eight-year-old daughter, Bonnie, abducted and murdered. Although Bonnie's body was never found, her accused killer was eventually put to death. Now Eve's friend, cop Joe Quinn, is involved in the discovery of a mass grave, and one of the skeletons is that of an eight-year-old child who could be Bonnie. But before the skeleton can be identified, Eve finds herself stalked by a terrifying killer who calls himself Dom, claims he murdered Bonnie, and gleefully threatens to kill Eve in the most gruesome way imaginable. Clearly, Dom is insane, but he knows enough about Eve to be able to push all her buttons. Dom's cat-and-mouse tactics terrify Eve, but they also make her furious--and determined to fight back. She vows to play Dom's fiendish game, offering herself as the "willing" victim to catch the killer. A cross between King's nightmarish chillers and Cornwell's forensic thrillers, Johansen's novel of psychological suspense features a hair-raising plot, a fiendish killer, a brave heroine, and dozens of heart-stopping plot twists. A certain winner. --Emily Melton

Publisher's Weekly Review

Johansen is at the top of her game with this sinuous thriller. Emotionally damaged and self-contained forensic sculptor Eve Duncan (The Face of Deception) makes a return appearance, along with her old friend, the cynical, coolly smart cop Joe Quinn. At the start of the book, EveÄdevoted to forensic reconstruction since her eight-year-old daughter was murdered in Johansen's previous novel, her body never foundÄhas abandoned the day-to-day world for life on a Tahitian island. Eve's tropical exile is interrupted, however, when Joe shows up to tell her that a pile of bodies has been discovered in the Georgia woods, including that of a young girl he believes may be Eve's daughter. Determined to reconstruct the skull and hoping to lay her daughter to rest, Eve returns to the U.S. Her arrival draws the attention of Dom, the psychotic serial killer responsible for the Georgia murders. Random attacks on social outcasts don't produce the rush they once did for Dom, and now he needs to up the ante, by stalking and murdering more prominent people and interacting with his victims before he attacks. Eve, whose story he has long followed in newspaper accounts, becomes his next target. Delaying their confrontation until he feels it will have full impact, he interrupts her reconstruction work, plants doubts in her mind about the details of her daughter's death and threatens to kill a young foundlingÄa redheaded girl like her daughterÄwhom she befriends. An enthralling cat-and-mouse game ensues, throughout which Johansen maintains perfect pacing, always revealing just enough to keep the reader turning the pages. Aided by smart and realistic dialogue, the suspense holds until the very end. Major ad/promo; BDD audio. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Library Journal Review

In her newest thriller featuring forensic sculptor Eve Duncan, Johansen pits Eve against a serial killer who claims to have her long-lost daughter's body and who wants Eve to be his next victim. He further draws her into his game by hatching a plot to kill ten-year-old Jane MacGuire. Before long, Eve and Jane are on the run, barely steps ahead of the killer, and it seems that even the ever-faithful detective Joe Quinn and business tycoon John Logan can't save them. Reader Laurel Lefkow does a nice job working with the text: enhancing the suspense; conveying Eve's moods, which range from fear to anger to frustration; and revealing the closeness Eve begins to feel toward Jane and the budding romance between Eve and Joe. The reading is only marred by a jarring voice Lefkow creates for the FBI profiler assigned to the case. However, this is a production that will keep the listener guessing until the very last cassette. Highly recommended for popular collections.ÄAdrienne Furness, Maplewood Community Lib., Rochester, NY (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.



Talladega Falls, Georgia January 20 6:35 A.M. The skeleton had been in the ground for a long time. Joe Quinn had seen enough of them to recognize that. But how long?  He turned to Sheriff Bosworth. "Who found it?" "Two hikers. They stumbled on it late last night. Those rains the past few days washed it out of the ground. Hell, that storm slid half the mountain into the falls. A real gully washer." His gaze narrowed on Joe's face. "You must have hotfooted up here from Atlanta as soon as you heard about it." "Yes." "You think it's connected to one of the Atlanta PD's cases?" "Maybe." He paused. "No. This is an adult." "You're looking for a kid?" "Yes." Every day. Every night. Always. He shrugged. "The initial report didn't say whether it was an adult or a child." Bosworth bristled. "So? I never have to make reports like this. We're pretty crime free here. Not like Atlanta." "You knew enough to recognize possible knife wounds to the skeleton's rib cage. But I do admit our problems are a little different. What's your population?" "Don't come up here and slam me, Quinn. We've got a strong law enforcement body. We don't need any city cops messing around our jurisdiction." He'd made a mistake, Joe thought wearily. He hadn't slept in nearly twenty-four hours, but that was no excuse. It was always an error to criticize local police even when they were taking potshots at you. Bosworth was probably a good cop, and he'd been polite until Joe cast aspersions on how he did his job. "I'm sorry. No offense." "I do take offense. You have no idea what our problems are here. Do you know how many tourists we have every year? And how many get lost or hurt in these mountains? We may not have murderers or drug dealers, but we take care of every one of our citizens besides those tenderfeet who come up from Atlanta and camp in our parks and fall down in gorges and mess up--" "Okay, okay." Joe held up his hand in surrender. "I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to downplay your problems. I guess I'm a little jealous." His gaze wandered out over the mountains and the falls. Even with Bosworth's men climbing all over, taping and scouring the area, it was still unbelievably beautiful. "I'd like to live here. It would be nice to wake up every morning to all this peace." Bosworth was slightly appeased. "It's God's country. The Indians used to call the falls 'the place of tumbling moonlight.'" He scowled. "And we don't find skeletons like this. This must be one of yours. Our people don't kill each other and toss the bodies into the ground." "Perhaps. It's a long way to transport a body. But in this wilderness, it would be quite a while before a corpse is discovered." Bosworth nodded. "Hell, if it hadn't been for the rains and the mud slide, we might not have found it for twenty, thirty years." "Who knows? It might be that long already. I'll get out of your way. I'm sure your medical examiner will want to get at the bones and examine them." "We have a coroner. He's the local undertaker." Bosworth added quickly, "But Pauley's always willing to ask for help when he needs it." "He'll need it. If I were you, I'd make a formal request to our pathology department. They're usually willing to cooperate." "Could you do it for us?" "I can't. I'll be glad to put in a word, but I'm here in an unofficial capacity." Bosworth frowned. "You didn't say that. You just flashed your badge and started asking me questions." His eyes suddenly widened. "My God, you're Quinn." "It's no secret. I told you that." "But I didn't make the connection. I've been hearing about you for years. The skeleton man. Three years ago you were over in Coweta County checking out two skeletons found there. Then there was that body found in the swamps near Valdosta. You were down there too. And that skeleton up near Chattanooga that you--" "Word does get around, doesn't it?" Joe smiled sardonically. "I'd think you'd have better things to talk about. So? Do the stories make me some kind of urban legend?" "No, just a curiosity. You're looking for those kids, aren't you? The ones Fraser killed and then refused to tell where he'd buried them." He frowned. "That was almost ten years ago. I'd think you'd give up." "Their parents haven't given up. They want their children home for proper burial." He looked down at the skeleton. "Most victims belong to someone somewhere." "Yeah." Bosworth shook his head. "Kids. I never understand why anyone would kill a kid. It makes me sick." "Me too." "I've got three kids. I guess I'd feel the same way those parents do. God, I hope I never find out." Bosworth was silent a moment. "Those cases must have been closed when Fraser was executed. It's mighty decent of you to keep trying to find those children on your own time." One child. Eve's child. "It's not decent. It's just something I've got to do." He turned away. "Thanks for putting up with me, Sheriff. Call me if I can act as liaison between your coroner and the Atlanta PD." "I'd appreciate that." He started down the cliff and then stopped. To hell with not offending another law officer. The sheriff was clearly out of his depth, and by the time someone knowledgeable came on the scene, it might be too late to save the evidence. "Could I make a couple of suggestions?" Bosworth stared at him warily. "Get someone out here to photograph the body and entire crime scene." "I was going to do that." "Do it now. I know your guys are doing their best to locate evidence, but they're probably destroying more than they're finding. A metal detector should be used in case there's any evidence covered by the mud. And get a forensic archaeologist to excavate the skeleton and an entomologist to examine any dead insects or larvae. It's probably too late for the entomologist, but you can never tell." "We don't have any of those people on our staff." "You can hire them from a university. It may save you from having egg on your face later." Bosworth thought about it and then said slowly, "Maybe I'll do that." "It's up to you." Joe continued down the hill toward his car parked on the gravel road below. Another blank; it had been a long shot anyway. But he'd had to check it out. He had to check them all out. Someday he'd get lucky and find Bonnie. He had to find her. He had no choice. Bosworth stared after Quinn as he walked down the hill. Not a bad guy. A little too cool and contained, but maybe that went with dealing with those scumbags in the city. Thank God, he didn't have any weirdos out here. Just good people trying to lead a good life. The skeleton man. He hadn't told the truth. Quinn was more of a legend than a curiosity. He had once been an FBI agent but had quit the Bureau after Fraser was executed. He was now a detective with the Atlanta PD and supposedly a good cop. Tough as nails and squeaky clean. These days it was hard for city cops not to give in to temptation. That was one of the reasons Bosworth stayed in Rabun County. He never wanted to experience the cynicism and disillusionment he had seen in Quinn's face. He couldn't be forty yet, but he looked as if he had gone to hell and back. Bosworth glanced down at the skeleton. This was the kind of thing Quinn faced on a daily basis. Hell, he even went looking for it. Well, let him have it. Bosworth would be glad to get rid of the skeleton. It wasn't fair for his people to be drawn into this nasty-- His walkie-talkie buzzed and he pressed the button. "Bosworth." "Quinn!" Joe looked over his shoulder at Bosworth at the top of the cliff. "What?" "Come back up here. My deputy just radioed me that my men on the far ridge have found more bodies." He paused. "Well, skeletons." Joe tensed. "How many?" Bosworth's plump face had paled in the early morning light, and he looked dazed. "Eight, so far. He thinks one of them is a little kid." They had found the Talladega bodies. Dom turned off the television set and leaned back in his chair to consider the ramifications. As far as he knew, this was the first time any of his kills had been discovered. He had always been very careful and methodical, always going the extra mile. In this case many extra miles. Those had all been Atlanta kills and he had transported the bodies to what had been his favorite graveyard then. Now they had been found, not through diligent search but by an accident of nature. Or an act of God? Any religious fanatic would say that God's hand had uncovered those bodies to bring him to justice. He smiled. Screw all those holier-than-thou fanatics. If there was a God, he looked forward to taking him on. It might be the challenge he needed just then. The Talladega skeletons were little threat. By the time of those murders, he had learned enough not to leave a hint of evidence. If there had been any mistakes, the rain and mud had probably erased them. He hadn't been as careful in the early days. The thrill had been too intense, the fear too vivid. He'd even picked his victims at random to make the kill more uncertain. He was long past such foolishness. But he'd been so methodical lately that the excitement was dwindling. If the excitement went away, then so did his reason for living. He quickly blocked the thought. He'd gone through this before. He just had to remember that the satisfaction came from the kill itself. Everything else was a plus. If he needed a challenge he'd choose someone harder, someone with ties, someone who was loved and would be missed. As for the discovery at Talladega, he must look on it only as an interesting development, something to watch with amusement and curiosity as the law struggled to put together the pieces. Who had been the kills at Talladega? He vaguely remembered a blond prostitute, a homeless black man, a teenager selling his body on the streets...and the little girl. Funny, but until that moment he'd completely forgotten about the little girl. Excerpted from The Killing Game by Iris Johansen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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