The Washington Post
The language and especially Parisi's voice are perfectly pitched to evoke working-class Chicago in all its ethnic intensity. This is a winning book about a winning character who earns our admiration for his gimpy middle-aged weariness and perseverance. — Paul Skenazy
Publishers Weekly
Chicago homicide detective Jimmy Parisi must contend with his own depression as well as a serial killer nicknamed the Count (so called for his habit of draining his female victims' blood) in British author Laird's third mystery thriller (after 2001's Cutter and 2003's Season of the Assassins). The "low-profile" murder of an elderly inner-city resident adds complications. Laird knows how to jack up the suspense, but seasoned crime fans may sense that the author is writing less from the heart or the gut than from a steady diet of other American noir mysteries. Parisi's family life has decided overtones of other cop series: his wife Natalie, aka Red, has to cope with the undoubtedly real but hardly original problems of a homicide detective's mid-life burnout. "Red had spied the black dog running loose in our household, and she refused to let that dark canine feast on my self-pity and depression," Jimmy says at one point, a comment that epitomizes the novel's melodramatic, even mocking tone. Laird's two previous Jimmy Parisi novels have earned him a certain level of critical and reader esteem, and his latest, despite its lack of originality, might well continue the trend. (Apr. 1) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Chicago detective Jimmy Parisi confronts a gruesome, bloodletting serial murder case that may have ties to satanic ritual or vampire cults. His only relief is another, supposedly low-profile case-the murder of a senior citizen. A sturdy thriller from the author of Season of the Assassin. Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Talk about specialists. Chicago homicide cop Jimmy Parisi scores a hat trick by notching his third consecutive hunt for a serial killer messing up young women. In Cutter (2001), the unfortunate victims were sliced and diced. In Season of the Assassin (2003), they were beaten to a pulp. Now a Poe-loving perp kidnaps his targets, binds and gags them, then, slowly, methodically, over a period of days, proceeds to drain veins, arteries, and capillaries. Think vampirism, think occult, think Black Masses. And think Poe, for whom the misogynistic brute seems to have developed a passion, especially for his "Spirits of the Dead," a poem in five stanzas. On learning of this literary fixation, Jimmy P. instantly flashes to what must certainly be the killer's m.o. Since there are five verses, there must be five victims, even though only two of them have appeared so far. The Count, as he's been dubbed by the media, must be stopped before his count mounts. That's not easy, since the Count is as smart and slippery as he is bloodthirsty. Where's Buffy when you need her? Grand Guignol stuff aside, though, it's all standard issue. Agent: Kristin Lindstrom/Lindstrom Literary Group
