{"product_id":"the-girl-with-the-crooked-nose-isbn-9780425246832","title":"The Girl with the Crooked Nose","description":"\u003cb\u003eMORE THAN THIRTY MURDERS, NINE FUGITIVES, AND ONE OBSESSED MAN\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn this thrilling and fascinating account of Frank Bender and his work, readers will be drawn into the cases he has solved, the intricacies of his art, the colorful characters he encounters, and the personal cost of his strange obsession. Through breathtakingly realistic sculptures, Frank Bender reconstructs the faces of the missing and the dead based in part on forensic science, and in part on deep intuition, an uncanny ability to discern not only a missing face but also the personality behind it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis skills have led to the solving of many murders and other serious crimes, and have given faces to the victims, including the infamous case of the \u003ci\u003efeminicidios\u003c\/i\u003e—in which hundreds of murdered women were found outside Juarez, Mexico.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith a conclusion as shocking as its story is gripping, \u003ci\u003eThe Girl with the Crooked Nose\u003c\/i\u003e will haunt readers long after the last page is turned.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A compelling glimpse into a gruesome profession.”—Simon Winchester, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Professor and the Madman\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Frank Bender is one of the unsung heroes of crime detection . . . In an original and highly readable nonfiction thriller, this book brims with authenticity and the complexities of crime-solving procedurals . . . [A] fascinating story of a brilliant forensic artist’s quest to solve some of the most baffling murder cases ever. It is exceptional crime writing that is timely and informative.”—\u003ci\u003eTucson Citizen\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Action-packed . . . Botha’s work relays Bender’s surprising conclusions about the case and imparts more information about reconstructing the faces of the dead than most readers will expect.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“[A] crackling account of a quirky, maverick forensics artist, Frank Bender, and his largely successful efforts in facial reconstruction of murder victims . . . What is extraordinary is Botha’s writing, with his unerring depiction of Bender’s painstaking work and the eventual unraveling of the brutal crimes it solves . . . The tales in this book accurately capture the dark motives and complexities of senseless murder, and even the most savvy true crime reader will not be able to resist the author’s insightful storytelling.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003eTed Botha is the author of \u003ci\u003eMongo: Adventures in Trash, Apartheid in My Rucksack\u003c\/i\u003e, and the novel \u003ci\u003eThe Animal Lover\u003c\/i\u003e. He has written for numerous publications, including \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times, Los Angeles Times, The Wall Street Journal, Condé Nast Traveler\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eOutside\u003c\/i\u003e. He lives in New York City.\u003cb\u003eThe Nightmare\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eJune 2003\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrank was used to the bad dreams. They came with the strange hours\u003cbr\u003eand the heads. It was a trio that he had learned to live with ever since\u003cbr\u003ethe murder of Anna Duval.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe dreams returned at random, like old acquaintances—the man\u003cbr\u003ehanging in the tree, the boy tied up and strangled and burnt and shot\u003cbr\u003ethrough the temple, the man cut in half by a train—especially when he\u003cbr\u003ewas working on a new case.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was very early. He had come to bed only at two A.M., after working\u003cbr\u003eon a skull that he had just gotten from the New York police. He could\u003cbr\u003ehear Jan breathing faintly next to him. Boy lay at his feet while Guy, black\u003cbr\u003eand haughty, was barely visible on top of the video recorder in the corner,\u003cbr\u003ehis eyes the only thing that gave him away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrank knocked his knee against the side table as he got up. Boy shifted\u003cbr\u003eslightly and then settled back into place. Frank turned to see if he had\u003cbr\u003ewoken Jan, but she hadn’t moved.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe pulled on a pair of boxer shorts. He looked good for a man who\u003cbr\u003ehad just turned sixty-two—a flat hard stomach from years of exercising\u003cbr\u003ehis abs by hanging off the sofa, skin tanned from cycling along the banks\u003cbr\u003eof the Schuylkill River, an eagle tattoo on his sinewy left forearm that\u003cbr\u003ehe’d gotten in the navy. He resembled the English actor Patrick Stewart\u003cbr\u003ewith a goatee, or, in his more serious moments, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOver the years he had cultivated a habit of trying to appear mysterious\u003cbr\u003eby bending his head forward slightly so that he looked at a person\u003cbr\u003ethrough his eyebrows. If it worked on men, it made women uncomfortable.\u003cbr\u003eBut as soon as he smiled, the jig was up. His mischievous grin was\u003cbr\u003einfectious, and most people couldn’t help liking him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe had immortalized the grin in a life-size self-portrait that he’d\u003cbr\u003epainted several years earlier. Anyone standing close enough to it would\u003cbr\u003esee the silver tooth near his upper right incisor—that is, if they weren’t\u003cbr\u003efirst struck by another part of his anatomy. Not only was Frank naked,\u003cbr\u003ebut he had done his penis in 3-D.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe unframed painting was propped up against a wall near the entrance\u003cbr\u003eto his studio door, which meant that anyone who came in—\u003cbr\u003efriends, FBI agents, artists, journalists, policemen, criminal profilers,\u003cbr\u003eU.S. Marshals, even his grandchildren—had no choice but to see Frank\u003cbr\u003eand his penis. It was as much a joke as his statement to the world: \u003ci\u003eHere I\u003cbr\u003eam. Take me or leave me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eCocked head, wide grin, upper right incisor glinting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrank walked from the bedroom into the studio, which was flooded\u003cbr\u003eby a full moon shining through the skylight. The luminescence lit up the\u003cbr\u003erows of heads that either looked down from several shelves along the\u003cbr\u003eeastern wall or stared up from the floor, at least three dozen bodyless\u003cbr\u003esaints and devils.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYvonne Davi took up a corner near Rosella Atkinson, who was next to\u003cbr\u003eJames Kilgore, the last member of the Symbionese Liberation Army. Ira\u003cbr\u003eEinhorn was situated comfortably far from Brad Bishop and the 5,300-\u003cbr\u003eyear-old man. Near the front of the studio was the icy-eyed Hans\u003cbr\u003eVorhauer, a version of whom Frank had done in concrete to show off the\u003cbr\u003eman’s pitted skin. John List hid behind Anna Duval, who looked slightly\u003cbr\u003eshocked under her ten-dollar wig, as if Frank had sculpted her a split second\u003cbr\u003ebefore the bullets had entered the back of her head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome of the busts were unpainted, identified even before Frank had a\u003cbr\u003echance to add their skin tone or the color of their corneas. Other busts\u003cbr\u003ehad almost too much color, like the girl with green eyes, sculpted when\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eNational Geographic \u003c\/i\u003ewas trying to track down the peasant from\u003cbr\u003eAfghanistan who had become one of its most famous cover girls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe heads that hadn’t been identified—at least not yet, or not that\u003cbr\u003eFrank knew of—were usually known by an epithet that he or the police\u003cbr\u003ehad given them, one that came with the manner or location of their\u003cbr\u003edeath. The Boy in the Bag. The Girl in the Sewer. The Burnt Boy. The\u003cbr\u003eGirl in the Well. The Man in the Dumpster.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe victim Frank had dreamed about tonight, The Girl in the\u003cbr\u003eSteamer Trunk, was inconspicuous between all the others on the shelves,\u003cbr\u003esmaller, darker. She had braids that Vanessa had helped him with. Her\u003cbr\u003ebody had been found dumped under a Philadelphia bridge in the winter\u003cbr\u003eof 1982.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304439501029,"sku":"NP9780425246832","price":24.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780425246832.jpg?v=1767739544","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-girl-with-the-crooked-nose-isbn-9780425246832","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}