Black Light (Bob Lee Swagger)

Black Light (Bob Lee Swagger)

Stephen Hunter

Language: English

Pages: 528

ISBN: 044022313X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Only one thing stands between a son and his father's killer: forty years of lies..

On a remote Arizona ranch, a man who has known loss, fear, and war weeps for the first time since he was a child.  His tears are for the father taken from him four decades before in a deadly shoot-out.  And his grief will lead him back to the place where he was born, where his father died, and where a brutal conspiracy is about to explode.

For Bob Lee Swagger, the world changed on that hot day in Blue Eye, Arkansas, when two local boys rode armed and wild in a '55 Fairlane convertible. Swagger's father, Earl, a state trooper, was investigating the brutal murder of a young woman that day.  By midnight Earl Swagger lay dead in a deserted cornfield.

Now Bob Lee wants answers.  He wants to know the truth behind the shoot -out that took his father's life, a mystery buried in forty years of lies.  Because for Bob Lee Swagger, the killing didn't end that day in Blue Eye, Arkansas. The killing had just begun...

Weaving together characters from his national bestsellers Point of Impact and Dirty White Boys, Stephen Hunter's gripping thriller builds to an exhilarating climax--and an explosion of gunfire that blasts open the secrets of two generations.

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heh, heh.” It was Jed Posey, with his shotgun. Bob looked at his watch. The minutes hustled by. Three minutes thirty, three forty, three fifty. From where he lay, half in and half out, he could see nothing, though to a sniper the dark itself has textures and may be read like a map. He knew where the hill was across the path because the black there was dense and impenetrable; there was enough illumination in the sky that he could read or sense the horizon at the top of the hill. To his left,

that Polk County veterans’ cemetery ever existed or if it was only an imaginary place, like an Oz for the dead, it was certainly not the bitter reality: blasted by sun, parched and treeless and very shabby and as flat and banal as a pancake, the cemetery stretched to the empty horizon. It wasn’t even really a veterans’ cemetery, it just had a veterans’ section in it, but beyond the crooked fence the civilians lay just as dead as the vets. “You never came here?” Russ asked. “Oh, a few times.

seemed to be on a ridge too. Could he make out other ridges behind it, all the way to the trees? He could not. The background was lost in blur, as the dots became nonsense. He saw that the key had to be the trees, now gone for whatever reason. His daddy lay under a big tree. Maybe one hundred yards behind it was another tree. And that smudge in the dots, was that a tree? If so, that meant three trees in a rough line heading—in which direction? Couldn’t say. Hey, boys, help me. Help the one among

and an infrared spotlight mounted on a carbine. Worked best on clear, dark nights. He puts out a beam. He watches my daddy in that beam. My daddy never knows a thing. One shot. Only the snake knew. It felt the heat; it has pit organs in its skin, heat receptors, and when the light came onto it, it stirred, rattled. Then it did what a hunter would do. It went toward the source of the infrared. That’s why it crossed the road, no matter all the cops. It was hunting the sniper.” “But you can’t

Out in Longacre Meadows, the development.” It never occurred to Sam that Negroes could buy homes in Longacre Meadows, a fairly nice residential development east of Blue Eye, where Connie Longacre used to live. “Do you have an address?” She gave it to him. “I’m sorry for being so loud,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” “Oh, Mr. Sam,” she said, “I wasn’t here, but Sheila”—now, who the hell was Sheila?—“told me how you tried that white man Jed Posey for beating poor Mr. Fuller to death.

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