The Final Detail: A Myron Bolitar Novel (Myron Bolitar Mysteries) - Hardcover

Coben, Harlan

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0385323719 ISBN 13: 9780385323710

Publisher: Delacorte Press, 2009

Synopsis

In this classic sixth novel in the award-winning Myron Bolitar series, # 1 New York Times bestselling author Harlan Coben delivers a riveting, powerhouse thriller featuring one of the most fascinating and complex heroes in all of suspense fiction. Here is a twisting mystery of betrayal, family secrets, and murder filled with the sly humor, dead-on dialogue, and unforgettable characters that have made Harlan Coben one of today’s must-read suspense authors.

For Myron Bolitar, sports agent and reluctant sleuth, it was a long-needed vacation. A tropical beach. A warm breeze. A little uncomplicated passion with a woman he hardly knows. But, most of all, a chance to clear his head after the death of a close friend.

It almost works—until his fiercely loyal, if sometimes morally challenged, friend Win shows up with a message that blasts Myron back to New York…and reality. Esperanza, Myron’s best friend and partner at MB Sportsrep, has been arrested for the murder of a client, a fallen baseball star attempting a comeback.

Myron is determined to prove Esperanza’s innocence. But she isn’t speaking. And neither is her lawyer, except to say that Myron would do best to keep his distance, lest he hurt her case. Only Myron is already too close to the case to back away. For twelve years ago a young agent tried to help an up-and-coming athlete. It was a fatal mistake—and now Myron may have to pay the price.

To solve a case as bizarre as it is difficult, Myron will be obliged to view it from the strangest angles: a transsexual nightclub, a baseball owner with a long-lost daughter, a dubious drug test, an impossible murder scene, and a computer disk with the image of a disintegrating girl. But most bizarre of all is that as he tries to unearth, Myron’s own investigation points to only one other suspect: himself…as this spellbinding novel twists, jolts, and careens towards its dazzling finish.

About this title

About the Author

Harlan Coben is the winner of the Edgar, Shamus, and Anthony awards. His critically acclaimed novels have been published in thirty-seven languages around the world and have been number one bestsellers in more than half a dozen countries. In addition to the Myron Bolitar series (Deal Breaker, Drop Shot, Fade Away, Back Spin, One False Move, The Final Detail, Darkest Fear, Promise Me, and Long Lost), he is also the author of Tell No One, Gone for Good, No Second Chance, Just One Look, The Innocent, The Woods, and Hold Tight.

From the Back Cover

"The world needs to discover Harlan Coben. He's smart, he's funny and he has something to say."
--Michael Connelly

"Combines Chandler's wry wit with Ross Macdonald's moral complexity."
--The Philadelphia Inquirer

"Poignant and insightful . . . Myron is gallant, likable and delightfully original."
--Los Angeles Times

"If you've been entertaining doubts about the future of the mystery--fuhgeddaboutit! It's in good hands with Harlan Coben."
--Lawrence Block

"Coben displays all the right moves . . . snappy dialogue, fast pacing, neat plotting. . . . Myron's some serious competition for Robert Parker's Spenser."
--The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

From the Inside Flap

From the award-winning author of One False Move comes Harlan Coben's most mesmerizing and emotionally charged novel to date.

Myron Bolitar, sports agent and reluctant sleuth, is happily basking in the sun of the Caribbean, clearing his head with a woman he hardly knows, when Win, his loyal but morally questionable sidekick, arrives to tell him that Esperanza, Myron's partner at MB SportsReps and best friend, has been arrested for the murder of Clu Haid, a fallen baseball star and Bolitar client.

Myron returns to the city immediately to prove Esperanza's innocence. But she isn't speaking. And neither is her lawyer, except to say that Myron and Win should keep their distance lest they hurt her case. But he is determined to help her, even against her own wishes--because, for Myron, this one is personal.

As he plunges into his most difficult and bizarre case yet, Myron finds himself scouring the strangest angles: a transsexual nightclub, a Yankee owner with a long-lost daughter, a dubious drug test, an impossible murder scene, and a computer disk with the image of a disintegrating girl. And as he tries to unearth a killer amid a tangled trail of lies, Myron's own investigation points to only one other suspect: himself . . . as this spellbinding novel twists, jolts, and careens toward its dazzling finish.

Reviews

You know things are getting tough for Myron Bolitar when the crime-solving sports agent finds that his favorite tippleAthe chocolate drink Yoo-HooAhas lost its kick. At a particularly harrowing point in his latest Bolitar book (after One False Move), Coben reveals that his hero actually "craved a venti-size skim iced latte with a splash of vanilla." Despite being a former pro basketball star and Harvard Law School grad, Myron remains a touching everyman, a guy who still looks forward to dinner with his parents and can even cry in the bathroom after his father admits to some recent chest pains. In this case, Myron probes the murder of one of his clients, a troubled baseball player named Clu Haid, who was apparently shot by Myron's sports-agency partner, Esperanza Diaz. Esperanza is hiding something, but Myron isn't sure if it has to do with business or with her bisexuality. His search for the truth takes him to a bar called Take a Guess ("It's About Ambiguity, Not Androgyny"), where he falls for a Julie Newmar/Catwoman look-alike who may or may not be female, and to the front offices at Yankee Stadium. Ultimately, the trail leads him to revisit a 12-year-old mystery about a missing girl as well as a shabby incident in his own past. Along the way, Coben works in poignant scenes, such as an interview with a mother who wallpapers her house with family photographs. Myron relies less on the lethal powers of his rich, blond, preppy friend Win (Windsor Horne Lockwood III) than in previous adventures. The change makes for the strongest entry yet in a series that deftly balances realism with excitement, while refusing to fall back on genre clich?s. Major ad/promo; author tour.
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Sports agent Myron Bolitar is free, white, and well over 21, so there's no reason he shouldn't drop everything at a moment's notice to go on a Caribbean idyll with CNN anchor Terese Collins. But he pays a high price for his three weeks of quality sex. When he returns, his partner, Esperanza Diaz, is gone from their New York office, arrested for the murder of their client Clu Haid. The aging Yankee pitcher had fought with Esperanza just days after failing a drug test and trying to track Myron down to warn him about some obscure danger. Now that Myron's friend Win Lockwood, who managed the securities account Clu had just withdrawn $200,000 from, has dragged him home, Esperanza refuses to talk to him; her lawyer tells him to take a hike; and Frank Ache, Jr., the mob scion whose agency has been poaching Myron's clients in his absence, doesn't want him poking around in the case either. No matter: Myron's off and running on an exhilarating trail that'll take him from a transsexual bar called Take A Chance, where you never know whether the bouncers beating you up are really men or not, all the way back in time to an episode from his own past that he'd like to forget. These adventures are greased by a thousand wisecracks, many of them funny and none of them developing the plot or deepening the characters. The crackerjack mystery itself does that: as in One False Move (1998), Myron is as skilled at solving puzzles as his creator is at devising them. Somebody should tell the guy he doesn't need all the putdowns to shine like a star. (Mystery Guild featured alternate; author tour) -- Copyright ©1999, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.

What will appeal most to readers of this sixth installment in the Myron Bolitar series is its complex protagonist. Wisecracking sports agent Myron is a hero who is hard to figure out but easy to love. Hiding behind a joking exterior, he makes light of serious situations in a touching effort to hide from his own demons. While Myron is trying to escape from his troubles in the Caribbean, his best friend and partner, Esperanza, is charged with murdering one of their clients, a problem-filled Yankee pitcher. Aided by his unlikely friend Win, a rich, handsome preppie with a well-deserved reputation for being dangerous, and a tough former wrestler named Big Cyndi, Myron tries to clear Esperanza--against her wishes. Standing out in a standout story are loyal Myron's loving relationships with his parents and friends. A winner on all counts. Jenny McLarin

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Myron lay sprawled next to a knee-knockingly gorgeous brunette clad only in a Class-B-felony bikini, a tropical drink sans umbrella in one hand, the aqua clear Caribbean water lapping at his feet, the sand a dazzling white powder, the sky a pure blue that could only be God's blank canvas, the sun as soothing and rich as a Swedish masseur with a snifter of cognac, and he was intensely miserable.

The two of them had been on this island paradise for, he guessed, three weeks. Myron had not bothered counting the days. Neither, he imagined, had Terese. The island seemed as remote as Gilligan's--no phone, some lights, no motorcar, plenty of luxury, not much like Robinson Crusoe, and well, not as primitive as can be either. Myron shook his head. You can take the boy out of the television, but you can't take the television out of the boy.

At the horizon's midway point, slicing toward them and ripping a seam of white in the aqua-blue fabric, came the yacht. Myron saw it, and his stomach clenched.

He did not know where they were exactly, though the island did indeed have a name: St. Bacchanals. Yes, for real. It was a small patch of planet, owned by one of those mega-cruise lines that used one side of the island for passengers to swim and barbecue and enjoy a day on their "own personal island paradise." Personal. Just them and the other twenty-five hundred turistas squeezed onto a short stretch of beach. Yep, personal, bacchanallike.

This side of the island, however, was quite different. There was only this one home, owned by the cruise line's CEO, a hybrid between a thatched hut and a plantation manor. The only person within a mile was a servant. Total island population: maybe thirty, all of whom worked as caretakers hired by the cruise line.

The yacht shut off its engine and drifted closer.

Terese Collins lowered her Bolle sunglasses and frowned. In three weeks no vessel except the mammoth cruise liners--they had subtle names like the Sensation or the Ecstasy or the G Spot--had ambled past their stretch of sand.

"Did you tell anybody where we were?" she asked.

"No."

"Maybe it's John."

John was the aforementioned CEO of said cruise line, a friend of Terese's.

"I don't think so," Myron said.

Myron had first met Terese Collins, well, a little more than three weeks ago. Terese was "on leave" from her high-profile job as prime-time anchorwoman for CNN. They both had been bullied into going to some charity function by well-meaning friends and had been immediately drawn to each other as though their mutual misery and pain were magnetic. It started as little more than a dare: Drop everything and flee. Just disappear with someone you found attractive and barely knew. Neither backed down, and twelve hours later they were in St. Maarten. Twenty-four hours after that they were here.

For Myron, a man who had slept with a total of four women in his entire life, who had never really experienced one-night stands even in the days when they were fashionable or ostensibly disease-free, who had never had sex purely for the physical sensation and without the anchors of love or commitment, the decision to flee felt surprisingly right.

He had told no one where he was going or for how long--mostly because he didn't have a clue himself. He'd called Mom and Dad and told them not to worry, a move tantamount to telling them to grow gills and breathe underwater. He'd sent Esperanza a fax and gave her power of attorney over MB SportsReps, the sports agency they now partnered. He had not even called Win.

Terese was watching him. "You know who it is."

Myron said nothing. His heartbeat sped up.

The yacht came closer. A cabin door in the front opened, and as Myron feared, Win stepped out on deck. Panic squeezed the air out of him. Win was not one for casual drop-bys. If he was here, it meant something was very wrong.

Myron stood. He was still too far to yell, so he settled for a wave. Win gave a small nod.

"Wait a second," Terese said. "Isn't that the guy whose family owns Lock-Horne Securities?"

"Yes."

"I interviewed him once. When the market plunged. He has some long, pompous name."

"Windsor Horne Lockwood the third," Myron said.

"Right. Weird guy."

She should only know.

"Good-looking as all hell," Terese continued, "in that old-money, country-club, born-with-a-silver-golf-club-in-his-hands kinda way."

As though on cue, Win put a hand through the blond locks and smiled.

"You two have something in common," Myron said.

"What's that?"

"You both think he's good-looking as all hell."

Terese studied Myron's face. "You're going back." There was a hint of apprehension in her voice.

Myron nodded. "Win wouldn't have come otherwise."

She took his hand. It was the first tender moment between them in the three weeks since the charity ball. That might sound strange--lovers alone on an island, the sex constant, who had never shared a gentle kiss or a light stroke or soft words--but their relationship had been about forgetting and surviving: two desperate souls standing in the rubble with no interest in trying to rebuild a damn thing.

Terese had spent most days taking long walks by herself; he'd spent them sitting on the beach and exercising and sometimes reading. They met up for food, sleep, and sex. Other than that, they left each other alone to--if not heal--at least stave off the blood flow. He could see that she too had been shattered, that some recent tragedy had struck her deep and hard and to the bone. But he never asked her what had happened. And she never asked him either.

An unspoken rule of their little folly.

The yacht stopped and dropped anchor. Win stepped down onto a motorized dinghy. Myron waited. He shifted his feet, bracing himself. When the dinghy was close enough to the shore, Win snapped off the motor.

"My parents?" Myron called out.

Win shook his head. "They're fine."

"Esperanza?"

Slight hesitation. "She needs your help."

Win stepped gingerly into the water, almost as though he expected it to hold his weight. He was dressed in a white button-down oxford and Lilly Pulitzer shorts with colors loud enough to repel sharks. The Yacht Yuppie. His build was on the slight side, but his forearms looked like steel snakes coiling beneath the skin.

Terese stood as Win approached. Win admired the view without ogling. He was one of the few men Myron knew who could get away with that. Breeding. He took Terese's hand and smiled. They exchanged pleasantries. Fake smiles and pointless bandies followed. Myron stood frozen, not listening. Terese excused herself and headed to the house.

Win carefully watched her saunter away. Then he said, "Quality derrière."

"Would you be referring to me?" Myron asked.

Win kept his eyes keenly focused on the, er, target. "On television she's always sitting behind that anchor desk," he noted. "One would never guess that she had such a high-quality derrière." He shook his head. "It's a shame really."

"Right," Myron said. "Maybe she should stand a couple times during each broadcast. Twirl around a few times, bend over, something like that."

"There you go." Win risked a quick glance at Myron. "Take any action snapshots, perhaps a videotape?"

"No, that would be you," Myron said, "or maybe an extra-perverse rock star."

"Shame."

"Yeah, shame, I got that." Quality derrière? "So what's wrong with Esperanza?"

Terese finally disappeared through the front door. Win sighed softly and turned toward Myron. "The yacht will take half an hour to refuel. We'll leave then. Mind if I sit?"

"What happened, Win?"

He did not answer, choosing instead to sit on a chaise longue and ease back. He put his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. "I'll say this for you. When you decide to wig out, you do it in style."

"I didn't wig out. I just needed a break."

"Uh-hmm." Win looked off, and a realization smacked Myron in the head: He had hurt Win's feelings. Strange but probably true. Win might be a blue-blooded, aristocratic sociopath, but hey, he was still human, sort of. The two men had been inseparable since college, yet Myron had run off without even calling. In many ways Win had no one else.

"I meant to call you," Myron said weakly.

Win kept still.

"But I knew if there was a problem, you'd be able to find me." That was true. Win could find a Hoffa needle in a Judge Crater haystack.

Win waved a hand. "Whatever."

"So what's wrong with Esperanza?"

"Clu Haid."

Myron's first client, a right-handed relief pitcher in the twilight of his career. "What about him?"

"He's dead," Win said.

Myron felt his legs buckle a bit. He let himself land on the chaise.

"Shot three times in his own abode."

Myron lowered his head. "I thought he'd straightened himself out."

Win said nothing.

"So what does Esperanza have to do with this?"

Win looked at his watch. "Right about now," he said, "she is in all likelihood being arrested for his murder."

"What?"

Win said nothing again. He hated to repeat himself.

"They think Esperanza killed him?"

"Good to see your vacation hasn't dulled your sharp powers of deduction." Win tilted his face toward the sun.

"What sort of evidence do they have?"
...

Edition details

• Publisher: Delacorte Press
• Publication date: 2009
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0385323719
• ISBN 13: 9780385323710
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 320