Sons of Brutality by Daniel Jeudy
About Sons of Brutality:
A SATANIC SNUFF CLUB
A RUTHLESS VIGILANTE
AN INTRICATE WEB OF DECEPTION
WHO CAN YOU TRUST?
Los Angeles is a city under siege.
When Detective Addison Mowbray begins investigating the murders of two young women in the Hollywood Hills, he can't imagine where the case will lead. He suspects the crimes were inspired by an occult fascination, due to some missing body parts and the inverted Christian cross branded on the victims' breasts. But apart from Addison's temperamental partner, Jed, the only other person keen on them pursuing that line of investigation is Lilly Coniglio, a medical examiner from the Coroner's Department. The LAPD is already under immense public pressure due to all the bad press another killer - a vigilante - has brought to their door: it's been over a year since the first organized-crime figure showed up full of holes, with a plastic police badge beside his body.
As Addison and Jed navigate a murky, disturbing occult landscape in search of answers, they uncover something even more terrifying than a killer hiding in the shadows: an organization so vile and powerful that it changes their lives forever. These two troubled detectives are all that stand between this organization and a spectacular season of carnage.
Set against a backdrop of urban bleakness and social inequality, Sons of Brutality combines deeply flawed protagonists with human monsters, integrating strong dialogue, violent action and gripping suspense.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Detective Addison Mowbray looked up at the crescent shaped moon, conscious of a dull ache working its way to his shoulders. He thought about the last time he’d been here at Griffith Park, hiking in the hills with his son. The sky had been a cloudless blue, with oak trees soaking up the Californian sunshine; the dead female with two missing hands who lay sprawled on the carousel was in stark contrast to that perfect day.
Homicide made its first incursion into Addison’s life when he was seven years old. That experience had hurled him toward a police badge and determined his view of the world. There was a time when he had trusted in the providence of God and the inherent goodness of people. Then his father was shot, and the darkness that pierced his heart began corrupting his soul. The grief was suffocating, but it had shaped his perception and prepared him for a career in homicide in a way no textbook ever could. He’d been working in the LAPD for almost three decades and occasionally got the inkling to try his hand at something new, though the idea always evaporated. Policing was all he truly comprehended in a life marred by solitude and dissonance.
Addison stared down at the body and scowled. The old carousel made him uncomfortable. There was something about the intricately carved jumping horses and their jewel-encrusted bridles that distracted his thinking. It wasn’t dissimilar to how the fortune-tellers’ tents at traveling carnivals had made him feel when he was a boy.
A memory came of watching his son ride the carousel a few years earlier, how the atmosphere had shifted when the military organ began its marching tunes. It was as if the music box released unseen darkness, a yesteryear evil that attached to the children while they went up and down and round and round. The young woman lying dead at the edge of the wheel intensified his aversion, and he half expected to hear the sound of a coyote howling at the moon.
Addison took a deep breath to readjust his focus before moving away from the body until he arrived at the periphery of the crime scene. He shone his flashlight in a ten-foot arc while he advanced in tiny circles, sweeping the area. Finally, he stood over the corpse again, looking at the body from every available angle, giving the victim one final opportunity to speak in a way that didn’t require words.
Criminal ineptitude often played a starring role in resolving a case, and a perpetrator’s sloppiness could come in various forms. Occasionally, he struck it lucky; however, most cops didn’t expect to find a perfect fiber or presume the first piece of evidence would land them at the killer’s door. To achieve success in the Homicide Division, a detective needed good instincts and a whole lot of flexibility. Addison usually got a sense of whether an offender was careless, and he sure as shit wasn’t getting those feelings here. Whoever was responsible for murdering the girl on the ride didn’t appear to be the blundering type. He’d figured as much when the first body landed at the Hollywood Bowl four days earlier.
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I read an ARC copy of this book and was completely blown away. It is a gritty, brutal, confronting read, but so very well written. The characters are varied and the author brings them to life in a way few others do. Highly recommended! However, this is a hard hitting book.
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