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Please Welcome Author ALAFAIR BURKE!

Please welcome ALAFAIR BURKE to B&N's Month of Suspense & Thrillers!

 

 

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212 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When New York University sophomore Megan Gunther finds personal threats posted to a Web site specializing in campus gossip, she's taken aback by their menacing tone. Someone knows her daily routine down to the minute and is watching her — but thanks to the anonymity provided by the Internet, the police tell her there's nothing they can do. Her friends are sure it's someone's idea of a joke, but when Megan is murdered in a vicious attack, NYPD Detective Ellie Hatcher is convinced that the online threats are more than just empty words.

 

With smooth, straight-talking partner J. J. Rogan at her side, Ellie tries to identify Megan's enemies, but she begins to wonder if the coed's murder was more than just the culmination of a cyber obsession. Phone records reveal a link between Megan and a murdered real estate agent who was living a dangerous double life. The detectives also learn that the dead real estate agent shared a secret connection to a celebrity mogul whose bodyguard was mysteriously killed a few months earlier. And when Megan's roommate suddenly disappears, they know they have to find her before another young woman dies.

 

212 is steeped in the details of the crossroads between technology and prurience and proves once again that Alafair Burke "knows when and how to drop clues to keep readers at her mercy.

 

 

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Excerpt

Chapter One

 

Tanya Abbott noticed the quiver in her index finger as it pressed the three silver buttons in the rain—9 . . . 1 . . . 1. Listening to the ring, she found herself mentally calculating the number of days that had passed since she had first arrived in New York City.

Tanya had put the number at twenty-six by the time the dispatcher answered the call. It had been three full weeks and another five days.

"Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?"

She'd taken the Amtrak to Penn Station three Thursdays ago, and now it was Tuesday night. Twenty-six days in New York. Twentysix days since she had started over again. Twenty-six days, and already she was calling 911.

"Hello? Is anyone there? What is your emergency?"

Tanya cleared her throat. "The penthouse apartment at Lafayette and Kenmare."

"That's your location, ma'am? Tell me what's going on there."

The corner of Lafayette and Kenmare was no longer Tanya's location, but twenty minutes earlier, she had been inside the luxury penthouse perched on top of the white brick building on the corner. She'd sipped Veuve Clicquot from a crystal f lute while leaning against the black granite bar. She had lounged on the low white-leather sectional sofa with her legs crossed modestly as her host pointed out the panoramic SoHo views, temporarily obscured by cascading sheets of rain. She had followed him into the master suite. She had cleaned herself up with a washcloth in the gleaming marble bathroom when it was all over.

"A shooting. There's been a shooting." Tanya used her palm to wipe away the drops of water from her eyes, tears mixed with rain. Her attempts were futile, serving only to smear mascara across her clammy cheeks.

"You heard gunshots?"

"Inside the apartment."

"Ma'am. I need you to use your words. You heard gunshots from inside the apartment? Could you tell what direction they were coming from?"

"There was a shooting. Inside the apartment at Lafayette and Kenmare."

"I've got your location as Lafayette and Bond, ma'am. Did you mean to say Lafayette and Bond? . . . I need you to speak to me, ma'am. Can you tell me if you're okay? Are you hurt?"

Tanya hadn't realized that she had run five full blocks before finding a pay phone. She couldn't even remember crossing Houston. Maybe her heart was pounding because of the running. She found comfort in the thought of some distance between her and the apartment.

"Lafayette and Kenmare. The penthouse."

"Can you tell me your name, ma'am? I've got an ambulance on the way. Just keep talking to me. My name's Tina Brooks. Can you tell me your name?"

Tanya returned the handset to its cradle and sprinted south on Lafayette toward the subway station at Bleecker. She hadn't given her name to the dispatcher, and she hadn't used her cell phone. She could move swiftly without prompting attention from the other pedestrians who were also rushing for shelter.

At the same moment Tina Brooks had dispatched an ambulance to the penthouse, she had no doubt sent a police car to the pay phone on the corner of Lafayette and Bond to search for the anonymous caller who had dialed 911. But before either vehicle reached its intended destination, Tanya Abbott would be long gone, drying her face against her damp sleeve and catching her breath on the 6 train.

 

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Chapter Two

Detective Ellie Hatcher and her partner, J. J. Rogan, were soaked. Not damp. Not soggy. Soaked. The rainfall that poured onto Manhattan's streets that night felt like the kind that meteorologists might measure in buckets per second.

Ellie should have been grateful for the storm. It was the first break in a week-long, record-setting late-May heat wave. For seven consecutive days, the mercury had approached triple digits. Those kinds of oppressive temperatures were never cause to celebrate, but in New York City, atmospheric heat led to an altogether different kind of swelter. Thanks to the combination of heat-retaining concrete and still, breezeless air, the entire city reeked of a unique potpourri of body odor, garbage, and urine. The streets and subways were crowded. People were sticky. People were cranky. People drank more. They stayed out later. And people got dangerous.

In New York City, heat begets violence.

Ellie and Rogan had hoped that the rainfall might wash in their first quiet night of what had been a hectic week. They should have known better.

Their first callout was to the scene of a reported homicide in SoHo. A couple huddled beneath a restaurant awning had made out the image of a man's prone body in the backseat of a BMW 325 parked on Grand. By the time EMTs found the track marks and Ellie pulled the eighteen inches of rubber tubing from the back passenger footwell, Ellie and her partner were soaked.

They had just reported clear and were looking forward to drying out back in the squad room when the second call came in, this time to a penthouse apartment at Lafayette and Kenmare. As they drove up Crosby, Ellie noticed a small pile of f lowers propped up against a stoop at the corner of Broome, a rain-battered memorial to the late Heath Ledger. It had been more than four months since the actor's accidental overdose; today, the media had announced the death of Sydney Pollack from stomach cancer. When celebrities died, everyone cared, even though the public knew those stars no better than whatever sad sack Ellie and Rogan were about to open a new case file for.

The address at the condo turned out to be 212 Lafayette, but the blue glass sign on the bright white exterior marked the building merely as 212. Whereas builders had co-opted the American West a century ago with names like the Dakota, the Wyoming, and the Oregon, the latest f lavor was minimalist titles that managed to evoke images of urban perfection with one discreet word: Cielo, Onyx, Azure. And what could be more quintessentially New York than Manhattan's famous area code—212?

Dishwater gray puddles had pooled at their feet by the time the elevator reached the seventh f loor. The doors parted to reveal a narrow hallway occupied by a uniform officer standing between two slate-colored doors. The officer nodded in the direction of the open one.

"Not technically a penthouse," Rogan observed as the elevator doors whispered shut behind them. "In a real penthouse, you walk directly from the elevator and into the apartment."

The foyer alone was twice the size of Ellie's entire apartment. "I don't care if a realtor would call it a shanty," she said. "I'd take it."

Rogan unbuttoned his trench coat and let it fall to the foyer f loor. Ellie did the same with her black slicker. The last thing they needed was a waterlogged crime scene.

As they made their way to the sounds of voices beyond the living room, Ellie took in the apartment's condition. Beneath a single built-in shelf, books were scattered haphazardly across the f loor. The empty drawers of a credenza in the dining room were f lung open. Kitchen cabinets, also open.

A pyramid of unlit logs rested picturesquely beneath a mantel sporting a single crystal-framed photograph: a handsome middle-aged man shaking hands with the former president. The man looked familiar.

The person in the picture was not, however, the man they found splayed naked on the white sheets of a king-size bed in the master suite, a used condom knotted neatly on top of the nightstand beside him.

Bullet holes riddled the corpse, the bed beneath the corpse, and the wall behind the bed. The nightstand and dresser drawers were open, as were the doors to two double closets. All empty. By comparison, the adjoining bathroom looked relatively peaceful, with only a stack of towels toppled onto the f loor.

A voice from the living room interrupted their inspection of the disarray.

"Robo? Robo! Where the hell is he?"

"Detectives. I think the apartment owner's here." A uniform officer stood nervously in the doorway of the master bedroom.

"Who called him?" Rogan asked.

The officer shrugged. "We called the super. The super must've called the owner."

"Did someone ask you to call the super, Officer?" Above Rogan's clenched jaw, a vein pulsed at his temple. "Did we ask you to do that?"

"I'll deal with it," Ellie said, brushing past the uniform as he muttered a halfhearted apology. She turned in the living room to face a trim, middle-aged man in a black tuxedo and white bow tie. He had closely clipped silver hair and intense green eyes. She recognized him as the man from the photograph on the mantel.

He eyed her up and down, clearly trying to determine how a barefoot woman in a turquoise linen shirt and black pencil-legged pants fit in among an apartment full of uniformed police officers. "Who are you?"

"Detective Ellie Hatcher. NYPD." She flipped open the badge holder that was clipped to her waistband.

"I take it from your bare feet that two of these many shoes on my Ryan McGinness belong to you."

"You mean on your rug?" Ellie looked at the patterned area rug separating her from the man in the tuxedo.

"It's art," the man said, "but you apparently don't recognize that. Robo, get this cleaned up. Robo—I called him forty-five minutes ago to deal with this **bleep**. Robo—"

He headed toward the bedroom, but Ellie held her hand up. "I answered your question, sir. Now it's my turn. Who are you?" She still could not put her finger on where she'd seen him before.

"I'm the man who owns the apartment you all have apparently commandeered. Robo—"

"Is Robo a well-built guy? Brown hair? Sleeve tattoo wrapped up his right arm, leprechaun tat on his left hip?"

He blinked at her. "I don't even want to process what you're insinuating."

"I wasn't insinuating anything. Assuming you have never seen the tattoo on the man's hip, the rest of the description fits?"

The man nodded. "Where is he? I don't appreciate getting called away from an important event by some building superintendent."

"Unfortunately, sir, the man you're calling Robo is dead. He was shot in what is apparently your bed. And he was naked in your bed, in case you were wondering."

The man stared at her for three full beats before the corner of his mouth crept upward. "You're going to regret this conversation, Miss Hatcher. I won't ask you to clean up the mess you've made lest you accuse me of sexism, but please have one of these lackeys standing guard on taxpayer dollars remove your soggy shoes from what you so eloquently called myrug. It's worth more than you make in a year."

"First I need a name and some identification, sir."

"Samuel Sparks." He didn't even feign a reach for his wallet.

"And who's Robo?"

"His name is Robert Mancini. He's one of my protection specialists. I've been calling him ever since I was beckoned down here about some kind of police emergency."

"A protection specialist. You mean a bodyguard?"

The man nodded, and Ellie suddenly matched the name to the face: Samuel Sparks wasSam Sparks. That Sam Sparks. Before she scored a rent-stabilized sublet of questionable legality, she had perused countless real estate listings for units in Sparks's buildings that she could not afford. This was the man who had been rumored to be purchasing the 110-building Stuveysant Town to convert into condos before a rival tycoon outbid him. He was the mogul who had been photographed with so many A-list women that he himself had become fodder for the tabloids and paparazzi, including some who speculated about the sexuality of the self-declared "permanent bachelor." Ellie assumed those rumors might explain Sparks's response to her mention of the victim's exposed hip.

Sparks's smirk widened into a full-blown smile. "You can apologize after these shoes have been picked up."

Needless to say, Ellie did not apologize.

"Mr. Sparks, your apartment is now officially a crime scene. I need you to leave."

"Excuse me?"

"Did you hear my request, sir?"

"Of course I heard you, but—"

"Then I'm ordering you, for the second time now, to leave the premises." Ellie intentionally used the kind of I-get-high-on-myauthority tone that made a person want to disobey.

"I am not leaving my own—"

"Sam Sparks, you're under arrest for disobeying the lawful order of a police officer." Ellie used her index finger to signal to a uniform officer who'd been observing cautiously from the front doorway. The officer removed his handcuffs from his duty belt.

"You want to do the honors, or should I?" the officer asked.

Sparks sucked his teeth and squinted at the officer's nameplate. "Officer T. S. Amos. I'd warn against taking another step in my direction unless you plan to spend the rest of your NYPD career on parking patrol."

Ellie snatched the handcuffs from the uniform's grasp. "Not to worry, Amos. This one's all me."

 

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Re: Please Welcome Author ALAFAIR BURKE!

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Angel's Tip 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a city full of victims . . . it's hard to choose just one.

 

Fresh-faced Indiana college student Chelsea Hart is so excited to spend the final hours of her spring break in the VIP room of an elite New York City club that she remains behind when her girlfriends call it a night. The next morning, as her concerned friends anxiously pace their hotel lobby, joggers find Chelsea's body in East River Park, her wavy blond hair brutally hacked off.

 

NYPD Detective Ellie Hatcher catches the case and homes in on the group of privileged men who were last seen plying Chelsea with free-flowing alcohol. But before she can even gather the preliminary evidence, the gruesome murder is grabbing headlines and drawing unwanted media attention to the department. So when Ellie builds a tight case against Jake Myers, a young hedge fund manager, the department brass and the district attorney's office are elated: the case will soon be cleared, the media will tout the department's quick work, and Ellie will be a dream witness at the trial against Myers.

 

But Ellie has her doubts. Chelsea's murder is eerily similar to three other deaths that occurred nearly a decade ago: the victims were young, female, and in each case, the killer had taken her hair as a souvenir.

Ellie's investigation pulls her into a late-night world of exclusive clubs, conspicuous wealth, and hedonistic consumption. And her search for the truth not only pits her against her fellow cops but also places her under the watchful eye of a psychopath eager to add the prideful young female detective to his list.

 

Wrenching and suspenseful, Angel's Tip is an electric thriller that offers a voyeuristic glimpse into the glamorous but dangerous world of New York nightlife. This stunning whodunit proves yet again that Alafair Burke "knows when and how to drop clues to keep readers at her mercy" (Entertainment Weekly).

 

 

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Dead Connection (Ellie Hatcher Series #1) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this electrifying thriller, a rookie detective goes undercover on the Internet dating scene to draw out a serial killer targeting single women in Manhattan.

 

When two young women are murdered on the streets of New York, exactly one year apart, Detective Ellie Hatcher is called up for a special assignment on the homicide task force. The killer has left behind a clue connecting the two cases to First Date, a popular online dating service, and Flann McIlroy, an eccentric, publicity-seeking homicide detective, is convinced that only Ellie can help him pursue his terrifying theory: someone is using the lure of the Internet and the promise of love to launch a killing spree against the women of New York City.

 

To catch the killer, Ellie must enter a high-tech world of stolen identities where no one is who they appear to be. And for her, the investigation quickly becomes personal: she fits the profile of the victims, and she knows firsthand what pursuing a sociopath can do to a cop -- back home in Wichita, Kansas, her father lost his life trying to catch a notorious serial murderer.

 

When the First Date killer begins to mimic the monster who destroyed her father, Ellie knows the game has become personal for him, too. Both hunter and prey, she must find the killer before he claims his next victim -- who could very well be her.

 

Expertly plotted and perfectly paced, Dead Connection advances Alafair Burke to the front ranks of American thriller writers.

 

 

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Close Case (Samantha Kincaid Series #3) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Investigating the brutal murder of a hotshot journalist, Samantha Kincaid finds herself caught in the middle of an increasingly personal -- and potentially dangerous -- struggle between Portland's police and the DA's office.

For Deputy District Attorney Samantha Kincaid's thirty-second birthday, she gets an unusual gift: a homicide call-out. The crime scene: the elite Hillside neighborhood in Portland, Oregon. The victim: star investigative reporter Percy Crenshaw, who has been bludgeoned to death in his carport.

Tensions in the city have been running high. The previous week, a police officer show and killed an unarmed mother of two in what he claims was self-defense: in the aftermath, protestors have waged increasingly agitated antipolice demonstrations. Crenshaw's death, it seems, is not unrelated; within a matter of hours, police arrest two young men who appear to have embarked on a crime spree in the aftermath of the protests. The case looks straightforward, especially when one of the suspects confesses. But then the man recants, claiming coercive police tactics, and Samantha finds herself digging for more evidence. Following Crenshaw's steps, her search leads her through an elaborate maze of connections between the city's drug trade and police officers in the bureau's Northeast Precinct.

Samantha's pursuit of the truth puts her in the middle of city political battles and on the outs with the cops, including her new live-in boyfriend, Detective Chuck Forbes. Worse yet, the path left by Crenshaw could lead Samantha to the same fatal end.

With Close Case, Alafair Burke delivers her most suspenseful and powerful novel yet.

 

 

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Missing Justice (Samantha Kincaid Series #2) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Investigating the brutal murder of a hotshot journalist, Samantha Kincaid finds herself caught in the middle of an increasingly personal -- and potentially dangerous -- struggle between Portland's police and the DA's office.

For Deputy District Attorney Samantha Kincaid's thirty-second birthday, she gets an unusual gift: a homicide call-out. The crime scene: the elite Hillside neighborhood in Portland, Oregon. The victim: star investigative reporter Percy Crenshaw, who has been bludgeoned to death in his carport.

Tensions in the city have been running high. The previous week, a police officer show and killed an unarmed mother of two in what he claims was self-defense: in the aftermath, protestors have waged increasingly agitated antipolice demonstrations. Crenshaw's death, it seems, is not unrelated; within a matter of hours, police arrest two young men who appear to have embarked on a crime spree in the aftermath of the protests. The case looks straightforward, especially when one of the suspects confesses. But then the man recants, claiming coercive police tactics, and Samantha finds herself digging for more evidence. Following Crenshaw's steps, her search leads her through an elaborate maze of connections between the city's drug trade and police officers in the bureau's Northeast Precinct.

Samantha's pursuit of the truth puts her in the middle of city political battles and on the outs with the cops, including her new live-in boyfriend, Detective Chuck Forbes. Worse yet, the path left by Crenshaw could lead Samantha to the same fatal end.

With Close Case, Alafair Burke delivers her most suspenseful and powerful novel yet.

 

 

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Judgment Calls (Samantha Kincaid Series #1) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bold debut thriller that received high praise from the biggest names in crime fiction.

 

Deputy District Attorney Samantha Kincaid walks into her office in Portland's Drug and Vice Division one Monday morning to find the sergeant of the police bureau's vice unit waiting for her. A thirteen-year-old girl has been brutally attacked and left for dead on the city's outskirts. Given the lack of evidence, most lawyers would settle for an assault charge; Samantha, unnerved by the viciousness of the crime, decides to go for attempted murder. But as she prepares for the trial, she uncovers a dangerous trail leading to a high-profile death penalty case, a prostitution ring of underage girls, and a possible serial killer. And she finds her judgment -- not only in matters of the law but in her personal life -- called into question.

 

In Samantha Kincaid, Alafair Burke has created a complex, appealing character -- a woman consumed by a sense of justice, who is also tough enough to take on a man's world. Seamlessly juxtaposing courtroom scenes with those of criminal investigation, Judgment Calls reveals not only an insider's knowledge of the criminal justice system but a fresh new voice in the world of crime writing.

 

 

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About the Author

"Alafair Burke is a wonderful writer, with the kind of skill 
and confidence I most admire! I'm a big fan." 
—Sue Grafton

Alafair Burke is the author of what the Sun-Sentinalhas hailed as "two power house series" featuring NYPD Detective Ellie Hatcher and Portland Deputy District Attorney Samantha Kincaid. Alafair's novelsgrow out of her love for writing, her experience as a prosecutor in America's police precincts and criminal courtrooms, and her ability to create strong, believable, and eminently likable female characters. According to Entertainment Weekly, Alafair "is a terrific web spinner" who "knows when and how to drop clues to keep readers at her mercy."

 

Her most recent novel, Angel's Tip, has been praised by Faye Kellerman as "a riveting read that snaps with the beat of New York. Be prepared for a knuckle-biting journey that'll keep you turning pages until the very end." Tami Hoag says, "Alafair Burke has created a winning heroine in Ellie Hatcher, someone to root for not only in this book, but I hope in many more tales as yet untold." According to Sandra Brown, "Alafair Burke is one of those rare writers whose books are both scary and cerebral. Complex plotting, multi-layered characters, a creepy serial killer — in Angel's Tip, Burke has once again proven herself a terrific storyteller."

 

A Fascination With Crime

 

Alafair's professional life stems from a long fascination with all things crime-related: the horrible acts of which human beings are capable, the strategies used to solve and prosecute crimes, and the punishments doled out upon the convicted.

 

Alafair's immersion into those questions began in childhood when her parents moved the family in the late 1970's from the chaos of a changing southern Florida to a supposedly quiet and provincial neighborhood in Wichita, Kansas. The moving boxes had just been unpacked when Wichita police announced a connection among seven unsolved murders of women and even children.

 

The man who claimed responsibility called himself BTK, a gruesome acronym, short for "Bind, Torture, Kill." The Burke's new home fell squarely within the serial killer's stalking territory. Like other children in Wichita in that era, Alafair learned to check the phone lines to be sure they weren't cut, to keep the basement door locked at all times, and to barricade herself in the bathroom with the phone if she had to call 911.

 

In a world where the killer could be anyone, and where an arrest appeared hopeless, Alafair found comfort in crime fiction. Her mother, Pearl, was a school librarian and would take her each week to the public library for a new stack of books. She moved from the Encyclopedia Brown series to Nancy Drew to Agatha Christie and eventually to Sue Grafton. In the books, as opposed to Wichita, smart sleuthing always paid off, and order was always restored.

 

Meanwhile, she read everything she could find about the unsolved murders, believing (ridiculously, she now realizes) that she could break the case if she only had access to all of the evidence. Unfortunately, police would not make an arrest for another thirty years.

 

 

 

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[ Edited ]

 

The Road to the Courtroom


Alafair attended Reed College, where she fell in love with Portland, Oregon. Considered rebellious and off the beaten path in Wichita, she was perceived quite differently at the college whose unofficial slogan was "Atheism, Communism, Free Love." Fellow dormies (lovingly) called her Nancy Reagan and The Cheerleader. In Judgment Calls, Alafair takes a (loving) jab at Reed when Samantha Kincaid notes that the locals refer to Reed as "that hippie school."

 

After graduating Phi Beta Kappa from Reed, Alafair went to the decidedly less hippy-ish Stanford Law School. Although she momentarily flirted with the idea of becoming an entertainment lawyer so she could make deals at the Palm and get tickets to the Oscars, she eventually realized she had watched Robert Altman's "The Player" one too many times, and instead decided to pursue criminal law after spending a semester in an externship with the U.S. Attorney's Office in Portland.She graduated from Stanford with distinction, earning admission into the Order of the Coif, and then accepted a coveted judicial clerkship with the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals before turning to an appointment as a Deputy District Attorney in Portland.

 

As a prosecutor, Alafair worked primarily in two positions, as a trial lawyer prosecuting domestic violence offenses and as a liaison to the police department, where she worked directly out of the police precinct, trained officers in search and seizure, and wore a Kevlar vest for night-shift ride alongs.

 

 

The Books

 

After five years of working at the District Attorney's Office, Alafair was ready to marry her love of crime fiction with the stories and knowledge she had gathered as a prosecutor. By then, she could imagine the kinds of settings, characters, and dialogue that should color a series set in the Portland prosecutor's office. She also had a plot, inspired by two actual cases that arose while she was in the office.

 

That first novel, Judgment Calls, introduced readers to feisty Portland prosecutor Samantha Kincaid. Judgment Calls immediately made Alafair a "comer and a keeper" (Chicago Tribune) and "the real deal (January Magazine). The novel was praised by the Washington Post as "first-rate, suspenseful entertainment" and by the Houston Chronicle as a "grabber of a first novel." Some of Alafair's favorite writers -- Michael Connelly, Lee Child, Jan Burke, Sue Grafton, and Linda Fairstein — lent their endorsements.

 

Two other Samantha Kincaid novels followed, Missing Justice and Close Case. By that time, however, Alafair had been living in New York City for three years, where she currently teaches criminal law and procedure at Hofstra Law School. She was ready to take on a story set in iconic Manhattan. She was also ready to write about the criminal justice system from a police officer's perspective, putting to use the first-hand experience she had gathered working out of a precinct. From that desire, NYPD Detective Ellie Hatcher was born.

 

In Ellie, Alafair wanted to create a character different from Samantha Kincaid and every other female protagonist in crime fiction. Ellie (like Alafair) was raised in Wichita, Kansas. Her father was a WPD detective who spent his career hunting a serial killer who evaded police for thirty years (sound familiar?). It wasn't only the Wichita connection that came from Alafair's own back story. In the first Ellie Hatcher book, Dead Connection, Ellie tracks a serial killer who uses an online dating service to locate his victims. Not coincidentally, Alafair met her husband, Sean, on Match.com. Somewhat perversely, she dedicated the book to him, writing, "For Sean, I can't believe I found you on a computer."

 

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[ Edited ]

 

The Family and the Name

 

Alafair is the daughter of Pearl and James Lee Burke. Mom was a librarian, Dad was an English professor and is still a writer. The house was filled with story telling and books. Alafair is the youngest of four children and a doting aunt to three nephews and a niece.

 

Alafair is often asked about the origin of her name, especially by readers who are familiar with the fictional character, Alafair Robicheaux, featured in her father's novels. Alafair was named for her father's maternal grandmother. It was a more common name in the United States, particularly the south, at the turn of the twentieth century. Now it is a name that belongs to her, two of her cousins, and, from what she can find on Google, ten cats, two dogs, an alpaca, and a boat.

 

Away From the Computer and Outside the Classroom

 

When Alafair is not teaching classes, reading, or writing (either the books that people read or the law review articles that gather dust in the library), she is usually doing something to rot her brain. She runs to an iPod playlist with three continuous hours of spaz music (think "It Takes Two" by DJ Rob Bass, "Smooth Criminal" by Alien Art Farm, and "Planet Claire" by the B-52's). She insists that Duran Duran, the Psychedelic Furs, and the Cure hold up just as well as the so-called classics. She watches way too much television, usually on cable. She thinks 30 Rock is the best thing that ever happened to comedy because Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin are the two funniest people on the planet. She likes to drink wine and cook. And when the schedule and the weather permit, she will golf at the drop of a hat and hopes she will someday qualify for a senior LPGA tour.

 

 

The Duffer

 

Alafair and Sean added to the family in 2005 by adopting a 7 pound French bulldog puppy (yes, the same breed as Sam Kincaid's little monster, Vinnie). Alafair wanted to name the dog Stacy Keach for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, Sean vetoed her and was not to be overridden. For two weeks, they called the dog Puppy until they agreed on the name Duffer, a play on both their mutual love of golf and the Duffman character from the Simpsons. The Duffer is now a thirty pound beast of a dog but is the sweetest, most playful spirit you could ever want to meet. He is extremely well behaved despite being ridiculously spoiled.

 

 

Praise for Alafair Burke:

 

"She's got what it takes and will be sticking around . . . Expertly shows that the most gripping drama is not found in the courtroom but in the places where choices get made in the shadows cast by politics and corruption and human desires." 
—Michael Connelly

"Smart, savvy, expert — and highly recommended." 
—Lee Child

"Alafair Burke has been on the front lines in the courtroom and on the streets, and brings her world alive . . . A talented newcomer." 
—Linda Fairstein 

 


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