Ergebnis für "Joy" in Privatdetektive

Matt is intrigued when his partner Liz brings home an old carpet bag she found dumped in the local library. It contains a pile of mysterious handwritten notes. Liz is convinced the bag belongs to Old Molly, a local woman who lives on the streets. The following day, a body is discovered in a marshy lagoon. It's Old Molly. Suffocated with an expensive men's handkerchief. Molly clearly knew something that got her killed. Liz believes she was trying to tell them something important. She calls on her nephew David to help decipher the carpet bag notes.

An old friend's sister disappears without a trace. There's no sign of foul play, but she'd been acting very peculiarly. Meanwhile, Liz's cousin, Christie, comes to stay. She takes an immediate - and uncharacteristic - dislike to the local bookshop owner, Gina. Why does everyone put up with her awful behavior? Christie is convinced that Gina is manipulating everyone around her. Is she onto something dangerous or just pushing her new friends away? No one believes her suspicions until another friend goes missing late at night on the misty Fen marshes.

As the mists roll over the fens and enigmatic lights twinkle in the distance, only the locals know their way along the hidden paths through the mysterious watery terrain of one of England's most beautiful and sometimes dangerous places. Detective Matt Ballard may have retired but there's still plenty going on in the fens to keep him busy. Someone trashes an old lady's garden and daubs her isolated cottage with hateful graffiti. Emilia Swain seems to be totally harmless, so why is she being targeted?

In his seventh hard-boiled tale, New York-based Private Eye Joey Mancuso travels to the lush, verdant shores of Miami Beach. But this is no vacation - Joey’s wading knee deep into a gritty cesspool of corruption, using his street smarts and industry connections to investigate a vast financial conspiracy. A young hedge-fund employee - a kid right out of college, green as can be - was killed by an anonymous sedan while on a motorcycle ride after hitting the South Beach clubs. Miami Beach police don’t seem interested, but Joey does - the kid’s dad is a friend of a friend.

PI Joey Mancuso was just a kid when he watched a stranger walk into a Little Italy bar, shoot his mobster dad in the chest, and calmly walk back out, disappearing into the Manhattan din. The murder was never solved. And the old mob adage “an eye for an eye” went unfulfilled. But now, at death’s door, infamous mobster Tony the Hammer summons Joey and utters three mysterious words: “Wetherly Stevens, Barcelona.” Joey has no doubt he’s just been told how to find his father’s killer.

A Seed for Murder delves into the timely and gripping subject of genetically modified crops, exposing a tangled web of deceit and greed that is ripped straight from today's headlines. As with all of Parr's works, the truth may not be apparent at first glance, making for yet another thriller.

When a man, partially disguised with a medical mask and large sunglasses, approaches Joey Mancuso and asks him to solve his murder, Mancuso is skeptical. But when a series of murders begin to happen, Joey and his wife, former FBI Special Agent Marcy, find themselves embroiled in a dangerous web of deceit, smuggling, and theft.

The widower says his wife was killed by gangs - but now he’s running for Mayor of New York City. Just to be sure (or else to portray himself as a properly mourning husband), he hires PIs Joey Mancuso and Father Dom to solve the murder. Only they can’t help noticing he’s pushing them to come to the gang conclusion as well. Hey, is something fishy here?

Joey Mancuso, Father O'Brian, and the rest of the team are back for their ninth hard-boiled tale. Consistently working out of their Lower Manhattan Irish pub and office. This time, there is no client. Instead, Mancuso has been sucked into this series of senseless murders by personal invitation. A text with the location and an invite to come over. It appears like random killings of homeless people at subway stations. But there is nothing unexpected about the texts.

The vic Oscar Stanton (name etched into his designer trousers) was gunned down in Washington Square Park in broad daylight, just after a lunchtime rendezvous with a business associate. A quick and dirty ID reveals the real Oscar Stanton was working in cybersecurities for the DO and, perhaps unsurprisingly, was KIA in Afghanistan. And Mancuso’s antics tend to weave a winding yarn as intricately connected as a satisfying Sherlock Holmes.