{"product_id":"misterioso-isbn-9780307388032","title":"Misterioso","description":"\u003cp\u003eThe first novel in Arne Dahl’s gripping Intercrime series—considered one of Sweden’s best—\u003ci\u003eMisterioso\u003c\/i\u003e is a piercingly dark and absorbing detective thriller.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAfter dismantling a bloody hostage situation at a bank outside Stockholm, Detective Paul Hjelm is dropped into an elite task-force assembled to find an elusive murderer with a sophisticated method. The killer breaks into the homes of Sweden’s high-profile business leaders at night, places two bullets in their heads with deadly precision, then removes the bullets from the walls—a ritual enacted to a rare bootleg recording of Thelonious Monk’s jazz classic “Misterioso.” As Hjlem and the rest of the team follow one lead after another, they must navigate the murky underworld of the Russian mafia, penetrate the secret society of Sweden’s wealthiest denizens, and battle one of the country’s most persistent ills: a deep-rooted xenophobia that affects both the police and the perpetrator.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Absorbing. . . . A dark, tense thriller.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eNewark Star-Ledger\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Terrific. . . . Full of twists and turns, blind alleys and sudden assaults, procedural hassles and stakeouts. ”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eProvidence Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Thoughtfully haunting and sometimes beautifully written, the first of Hjelm’s cases to be translated into English is likely to resonate with readers of the Stieg Larsson trilogy.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eAustin American-Statesman\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Mystery devotees who loved Mankell’s Kurt Wallander, and crime-fiction ‘lifers’ who still treasure Sjowall’s and Wahloo’s Martin Beck, will want to add Paul Hjelm to their short lists of international favorites.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A truly fine crime novel.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Advocate\u003c\/i\u003e (Baton Rouge)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“[A] superb police procedural. . . . Dahl has created a brilliant character and a terrific story, and should that not be enough, this is a classic cop-shop tale of the old school.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Globe and Mail\u003c\/i\u003e (Toronto)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Most of the fun of\u003ci\u003e Misterioso\u003c\/i\u003e comes from the follow-the-power, follow-the-money games played by Hjelm and his associates. And while Dahl clearly sees detective fiction as having the ability to tackle hard-hitting issues of the day, the mystery’s solution isn’t lacking in good old-fashioned puzzle intrigue, either.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Portland Mercury\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A unique and wonderful book. It is part mystery, part police procedural, part existential philosophy, and part comedy. There is something so distinctive about this book that it resists categorization. . . . There is not a dull moment. It seems like the Scandinavians are having a true renaissance in crime writing and Arne Dahl is right at the top.”\u003cbr\u003e—MostlyFiction.com\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“An exciting debut. . . . Fans of hard-boiled detective and Swedish novels will enjoy this.”\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eArne Dahl\u003c\/b\u003e is an award-winning crime novelist and literary critic. He lives in Sweden.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e1 \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eSomething was forcing its way through the winter. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something. Maybe a warming breeze, a flicker of light smack in the middle of the mass of gray clouds, or possibly just the fact that he heard a splash rather than a crunch when he stepped in the puddle that all winter long had encircled his personal parking space—the one that still bore his name. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe paused for a moment and squinted up at the morning cloud cover. It looked the same as usual, hovering there like a virtual ceiling of security above the bank, bidding him welcome. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe same silence as always. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eA short distance away was the little town, undisturbed, send­ing up only one sign of life: fine tendrils of smoke from chim­neys. He heard the repetitive cheeping of the marsh tit and saw it peek from its nest just under the eaves. Then he locked the car and strode the few yards to the small, modest door of the employees’ entrance. He took out his even more modest key ring and one by one opened the three deadbolts. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eInside the bank office it smelled like an ordinary Monday, a bit stuffy from the weekend, but Lisbet would soon air it out when she arrived second, as usual, bringing her flood of cheer­ful chatter. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe himself was always the first to arrive; that was the rou­tine. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eEverything was exactly the same as always. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThat was what he told himself several times: \u003ci\u003eEverything is exactly the same as always. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe may have said it once too often. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe stood at his teller’s window and pulled out the drawer. He took out an oblong gilded case and cautiously weighed one of the long, bristled darts in his hand. His special weapon. \u003cbr\u003eNot many people, even among the initiated, really knew how a dart was supposed to look. His darts were long—specially designed to four and three-quarters inches, almost two and three quarters of which were a long point that always surprised his opponents, and very short, bristly flights. \u003cbr\u003eHe picked up the three darts and slipped around the divid­ing wall into the office interior. There was the board. Without looking down, he took up position with the tips of his toes on the little black throw line exactly seven feet nine and one-quarter inches from the dartboard and rhythmically flung the three darts. All three stuck in the large bed of the 1. He was just warming up. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eEverything landed where it should. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eEverything was as it should be. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe clasped his hands and stretched them outward until they made a light cracking sound, then let his fi ngers flutter freely in the air for several seconds. Again he took the key ring out of his jacket pocket, swung back around the dividing wall to the public area of the bank, went over to the vault, and unlocked it. The vault door opened slowly, ponderously, with a muted groan. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIt sounded the way it always did. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe carried a box containing thick bundles of banknotes to his teller’s station and spread them out over the work surface. He studied them for a moment, just as he always did. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eSoon Lisbet would come drifting in through the employees’ entrance and start babbling on about her family; then Albert would arrive, clearing his throat in a slightly superior way and nodding stiffly; and last would be Mia, dark, silent, and reserved, peering out from under her bangs. Soon the smell of Lisbet’s coffee would waft away any remaining stuffiness and fi ll the office with an air of quiet humanity. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThen the scattered knots of customers would appear: the farmers fumbling with ancient bankbooks, housewives meticu­lously recording their meager withdrawals, pensioners strug­gling to avoid resorting to cat food. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThis was where he had been happy for so long. But the town was getting smaller and smaller, the customers fewer and fewer. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eEverything is exactly the same as always,\u003c\/i\u003e he thought. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe went back around the dividing wall to play a quick round of 501. From 501 down to zero. A couple of triple-20s and some single bulls sped up the countdown. Exactly as always. The darts landed where they were supposed to. The slightly unusual wavering flight, which was the trademark of his darts, made them hit the mark every time. He had 87 points to go when the alarm clock rang. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eNine-thirty. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eStill engrossed in the strategy for the last round, he went over to the front door and unlocked it. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eEverything was exactly the same as always. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLet’s make it simple,\u003c\/i\u003e he thought, a simple 15 and a simple 20 and then the one double bull of the morning for 50 points, as the perfect combination: 85. Then only the checkout left, the double ring of the 1. Eighty-seven. No problem. The hard part was put­ting the third dart in the little black center of the bull’s-eye. A good start to the day. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eA good start to a completely ordinary day. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe hit 15 in the outer bed and 20 in the inner, just to make things interesting. The dart teetered at the wire next to the irk­some 1, but it held. The wire trembled a bit from the contact. Then the bull’s-eye was left, right in the center. He focused his attention, raised the dart, lined up the ring with the long point, and drew the dart back four inches, exactly at eye level. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe door slammed. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThat couldn’t be. It wasn’t right. It was too early. Damn. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe lowered the dart and walked out to the bank office. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAn enormous, ox-like man was pointing a big, long pistol at him. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe stood there petrified. Everything fell apart. This was wrong, this was so wrong. \u003ci\u003eNot now. Not now, please.\u003c\/i\u003e The floor seemed to fall away from under him. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe man came up to the teller’s window and held out an empty suitcase. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe put down the dart, opened the hatch; stunned, he took the bag. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Fill it up,” the ox-like man said in heavily accented English. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eQuietly and methodically he placed one bundle of banknotes after another into the suitcase. Next to the bag lay the dart with the long point. Thoughts were surging through his mind, helter skelter. \u003ci\u003eOnly the bull’s-eye left,\u003c\/i\u003e he thought. He thought about Lisbet and about nine-thirty, and about a bank door he had unlocked out of old habit. He thought about checking out in the double ring. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe ox-like man lowered the pistol for a moment and looked around nervously. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe thought about his ability to perform his best under extreme pressure. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Hurry up!” snarled the ox, casting nervous glances out the window. His eyes were very black inside reddish rings. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBull’s-eye,\u003c\/i\u003e he thought and grabbed the dart. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThen all that remained was the checkout.\u003c\/p\u003eTranslated from the Swedish by Tiina Nunnally","brand":"Vintage Crime\/Black Lizard","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303858295013,"sku":"NP9780307388032","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780307388032.jpg?v=1767732824","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/misterioso-isbn-9780307388032","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}