When it comes to writing deftly layered, tightly coiled novels of suspense, #1 New York Times bestselling author Jonathan Kellerman reigns supreme as “master of the psychological thriller” (People). Now, Kellerman has worked his magic again in this chilling new masterpiece.

The anonymous caller has an ominous tone and an unnerving message about something “real dead . . . buried in your marsh.” The eco-volunteer on the other end of the phone thinks it’s a prank, but when a young woman’s body turns up in L.A.’s Bird Marsh preserve no one’s laughing. And when the bones of more victims surface, homicide detective Milo Sturgis realizes the city’s under siege to an insidious killer. Milo’s first move: calling in psychologist Alex Delaware.

The murdered women are prostitutes–except the most recent victim; a brilliant young musician from the East Coast, employed by a wealthy family to tutor a musical prodigy, Selena Bass seems out of place in the marsh’s grim tableau.

Conveniently–perhaps ominously–Selena’s blueblood employers are nowhere to be found, and their estate’s jittery caretaker raises hackles. But Milo’s instincts and Alex’s insight are too well-honed to settle for easy answers, even given the dark secrets in this troubled man’s past. Their investigation unearths disturbing layers–about victims, potential victims, and suspects alike–plunging even deeper into the murky marsh’s enigmatic depths.

Bizarre details of the crimes suggest a devilish serial killer prowling L.A.’s gritty streets. But when a new murder deviates from the pattern, derailing a possible profile, Alex and Milo must look beyond the suspicion of madness and consider an even more sinister mind at work. Answers don’t come easy, but the darkest of drives and desires may fuel the most devious of foes.

Bones is classic Kellerman–relentlessly peeling back the skin and psyches of its characters and revealing the shadows and sins of the souls beneath. With jolt after jolt of galvanizing suspense, it drives the reader through its twists and turns toward a climax as satisfying as it is shattering.


From the Hardcover edition.

Chapter 1



Everyone does it is not a defense!

Wrong.

If everyone did it, that made it normal, right? And after Chance did the research he knew he did nothing wrong.

Googling high school cheating because writing an essay was part of the punishment.

Finding out four out of five high school students--that's eighty frickin' percent--did it.

Majority rules. Just like that thing on his Social Action study sheet...social norms.

Social norms are the cement that holds societies together.

There you go, he was being a big help to society!

When he tried to joke about that with the parental units, they didn't laugh.

Same as when he told them it was civil rights, no way could the school force him to do community service outside the school property. That was against the Constitution. Time to call the ACLU.

That got Dad's eyes all squinty. Chance turned to Mom but she made sure not to give him any eye contact.

"The ACLU?" Big wet Dad throat clear, like after too many cigars. "Because we make a significant monetary contribution to the ACLU?" Starting to breathe hard. "Every goddamn year. That's what you're saying?"

Chance didn't answer.

"Cute, extremely cute. That's your point? Well let me tell you something: You cheated. Period. That is not the kind of thing the ACLU gives half a shit about."

"Language, Steve--" Mom broke in.

"Don't start, Susan. We've got a goddamn fucking serious problem here and I seem to be the only one who fucking gets it."

Mom got all tight- mouthed, started plucking at her nails. Turned her back on both of them and did something with dishes on the kitchen counter.

"It's his problem, Susan, not ours and unless he owns up to it, we can kiss Occidental--or any other halfway decent college--fucking good- bye."

Chance said, "I'll own up to it, Dad." Working on what Sarabeth called his Mr. Sincere look.

Laughing as she undid her bra. Everyone buys Mr. Sincere but me, Chancy. I know it's Mr. Bogus.

Dad stared at him.

"Hey," said Chance, "at least give me credit for hand-eye coordination."

Dad let out a stream of curses and stomped out of the kitchen.

Mom said, "He'll get over it," but she left, too.

Chance waited to make sure neither of them was coming back before he smiled.

Feeling good because his hand-eye had been cool.

Setting his Razr on vibrate and positioning it perfectly in a side pocket of his loosest cargo pants, the phone resting on a bunch of shit he'd stuffed in there to make kind of a little table.

Sarabeth three rows up, texting him the answers to the test. Chance being cool about it, knowing he'd never get caught because Shapiro was a nearsighted loser who stayed at his desk and missed everything.

Who'd figure Barclay would come in to tell Shapiro something, look clear to the back of the room, and spot Chance peeking into his pocket?

The whole class doing the same exact thing, everyone's pockets vibing. Everyone cracking up the moment the test started because Shapiro was such a clueless loser, the whole semester had been like this, the asshole would've missed Paris Hilton walking in nude and spreading.

Everyone does it is not a defense!

Rumley looking down his big nose and talking all sad like at a funeral. What Chance wanted to say was, Then it frickin' should be, dude.

Instead, he sat in Rumley's office, squeezed between his parents, his head all down, trying to look all sorry and thinking about the shape of Sarabeth's ass in her thong while Rumley went on forever about honor and ethics and the history of Windward Prep and...

 

"A genuine page-turner . . . The comfortable banter that has helped make Delaware and Sturgis such durable crime-story heroes is as rapid-fire, keen, and wryly funny as ever, and the mystery they aim to solve is certainly not routine."

 

"Jonathan Kellerman's novels are an obsession; once started it is hard to quit."

 

"The characters are rich, the story's well-plotted and you won't stop reading."

 

"The denouement accelerates to breathtaking, heart-pounding speed."

 

"Sharply written and well-paced."

 

"[An] adrenaline-fueled read."

 

Bones by Jonathan Kellerman
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