Devil's Garden
Ace Atkins
Language: English
Pages: 368
ISBN: 0399155368
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
From the critically acclaimed, award-nominated author comes a new noir crime classic about one of the most notorious trials in American history.
Critics called Ace Atkins’s Wicked City “gripping, superb” (Library Journal), “stunning” (The Tampa Tribune), “terrific” (Associated Press), “riveting” (Kirkus Reviews), “wicked good” (Fort Worth Star-Telegram), and “Atkins’ best novel” (The Washington Post). But Devil’s Garden is something else again.
San Francisco, September 1921: Silent-screen comedy star Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle is throwing a wild party in his suite at the St. Francis Hotel: girls, jazz, bootleg hooch . . . and a dead actress named Virginia Rappe. The D.A. says it was Arbuckle who killed her—crushing her under his weight—and brings him up on manslaughter charges. William Randolph Hearst’s newspapers stir up the public and demand a guilty verdict. But what really happened? Why do so many people at the party seem to have stories that conflict? Why is the prosecution hiding witnesses? Why are there body parts missing from the autopsied corpse? Why is Hearst so determined to see Fatty Arbuckle convicted?
In desperation, Arbuckle’s defense team hires a Pinkerton agent to do an investigation of his own and, they hope, discover the truth. The agent’s name is Dashiell Hammett, and he’s the book’s narrator. What he discovers will change American legal history—and his own life—forever.
“The historical accuracy isn’t what elevates Atkins’ prose to greatness,” said The Tampa Tribune. “It’s his ability to let these characters breathe in a way that few authors could ever imagine. He doesn’t so much write them as unleash them upon the page.” You will not soon forget the extraordinary characters and events in Devil’s Garden.
To Hell in a Handbasket (Claire Hanover Mystery, Book 2)
Death, Snow, and Mistletoe (Tori Miracle Mysteries, Book 4)
dress walked out. She lived right below their apartment and made moonshine with her old crinkly husband in their bathtub. Sam had tasted better gasoline. “You got a call,” the old woman said. Bootleggers always had phones. “Okay.” “Said it’s important.” “Okay.” Sam took the call. It was Phil Haultain. “I got a bead on the Zey Prevon girl. She’s working at the Old Poodle Dog.” “I’ll meet you there.” 6 The fog rolled in before midnight, flooding in from the bay and along the docks and
“About goddamn time. Where’s Phil? And where the hell are my goddamn records, Alice? Are you trying to take the Victrola, too?” “Phil’s outside,” Sam said. “Waiting.” “Outside? That doesn’t do us any good.” “Come on,” Sam said. “Get packed.” Zey made a pouty look and shook her head. The inside of her room smelled of lavender and candy-sweet perfume and glowed red from a silk handkerchief she’d placed over a lamp. Undergarments and stockings were strung across the room and over bedposts. An
weekend. Many men smiled at her. She smiled back. They tipped their hats. She smiled. Chinese men bowed. It was all so universal, Sam thought. “First time in the city?” “Yes.” “So, you’re from Sweden.” “Gutenberg.” “Like the Bible.” “Sweden isn’t in the Bible.” “I see.” They kept walking, Sam’s detective eye noting her breasts of the appropriate and recommended size for a nice Swedish girl. “Pete tells me you knew Miss Rappe.” “I work for her for two years.” “As a nurse?” “I go with
play cards, Mr. Hearst?” The Dark Man’s face was half lit in the lights from the baths, the other split in shadow. Hearst just looked at him. “You get out when the gettin’ is good,” the Dark Man said. “And that was some time back.” Hearst continued to stare. The man stared back. Hearst called for George to circle back downtown. The big, lumbering car found a spot along the cliffs and made a wide, squeaking turn. Rain began to fall harder now and the windows were completely obscured with grays
child from her the day before the party,” she said. “She was ill. I don’t care if you crucify the fat bastard, but there you have it. Take it.” Griff Kennedy perked up at her words and moved in beside Tom, Tom slacking his shoulders as if the other Irishman could talk down the dyke. Instead, he handed Tom a cigarette, the bullet-headed man looking over at his partner, the partner slipping his arms around his big shoulders and leading him away. Kennedy looked back at Maude. “I didn’t hear what