That Darkness

By Lisa Black

The “taut and haunting” first thriller in the Gardiner and Renner series from the New York Times bestselling author of Every Kind of Wicked (Jeff Lindsay, creator of the Dexter series).
 
As a forensic investigator for the Cleveland Police Department, Maggie Gardiner has seen her share of Jane Does. The latest is an unidentified female in her early teens, discovered in a local cemetery. More shocking than the girl’s injuries—for Maggie at least—is the fact that no one has reported her missing. She and the detectives assigned to the case (including her cop ex-husband) are determined to follow every lead, run down every scrap of evidence. But the monster they seek is watching every move, closer to them than they could possibly imagine. 

Jack Renner is a killer. He doesn’t murder because he enjoys it, or because he believes himself omnipotent, or for any reason other than to make the world a safer place. When he follows the trail of this Jane Doe to a locked room in a small apartment where eighteen teenaged girls are anything but safe, he knows something must be done. But his pursuit of their captor takes an unexpected turn. 

Maggie Gardiner finds another body waiting for her in the autopsy room—and a host of questions that will challenge everything she believes about justice, morality, and the true nature of evil . . .
 
“An absolute must read.”—Suspense Magazine
 
“Black skillfully portrays the stark realities of homicide cases.”—Library Journal

“Intriguing forensic details help drive the plot to its satisfying conclusion.”—Publishers Weekly

“The surprising ending is sure to keep readers coming back for more.”—Booklist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781420101898

Lisa Black

Lisa Black is the author of several thrillers, including the Theresa MacLean series and the Gardiner and Renner series. A latent fingerprint examiner and crime scene investigator, she is a member of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences and has testified in more than fifty homicide trials. Native to Cleveland, where she worked for the coroner's office, she currently resides in Cape Coral, Florida.

Book preview

6:23

Chapter 1

Monday, 8:10 p.m.

The room wasn’t much, just a steel table and chairs, old paint on the walls with the occasional rust stain, two windows frosted by contact paper and a battered desk in the corner, well out of splattering range. A siren sounded in the distance but traffic on the street outside stayed minimal at this past-dinnertime hour. A typical county services budget leftover, a hand-me-down formerly used as a storage room, standard government issue all the way. Jack Renner’s clients would have seen many such rooms in their time and it would fit their expectations. Opulence would make them nervous, and he didn’t want them nervous.

Jack now sat across the table from his current target, the man’s file open before him, a twelve-year history of wrack and ruin. Impressive—considering the compilation began at age ten—and inevitable. Father unknown, mother’s drug problem kept her drifting through jails and invariably on the outs with children’s services, time spent in foster homes, then a bad series of abuses in one. By the next the abused had turned into the abuser and had to be removed. After fifteen he had abandoned the system completely and all entries after that time were arrests and field interviews. He had already been incarcerated twice, once for murder during the commission of armed robbery, but the penalty for one drug dealer killing another drug dealer had not been too stiff.

Jack thumbed through three pages of arrests, possible involvements, and potential suspect type reports, though he knew them all practically by heart. He had learned to do his homework—that lesson, like all the important ones, garnered the hard way.

So, he said. Brian.

Brian. Not De’Andre’je or Ziggy Z or Killer. Just Brian. Jack found that almost remarkably admirable and stopped himself immediately. He wasn’t supposed to admire them. That could cause serious problems.

But though Brian Johnson’s name might not fit the part, his wardrobe did. He wore designer jeans three sizes too big, two equally oversize basketball jerseys, enough gold jewelry to stock a kiosk at the mall even if one left out the metal glinting from his mouth. He wore his cap backward and had tattoos everywhere that Jack could see skin, his hands, his forearms, his neck, his earlobe. Jack couldn’t see what he was wearing on his feet, but they smelled. Modern-day criminals did not seem to understand how impossible they made it to take them seriously when they dressed like a twelve-year-old who had dressed like a gangster for Halloween.

But Brian Johnson didn’t appear too concerned about Jack’s impressions. He lounged back in the chair, as well as one could lounge in a cushionless steel chair that had been bolted to the floor. The table had been bolted as well. It kept things from being hurled in Jack’s direction during fits of rage, and made cleanup easier. The young man, after a quick assessment of the room—exits, potential threats, items to exploit, returned his cold gaze to Jack. Who’re you, then?

I’m Dr. Renner. This is a pilot program to see if we can’t get at some of the root causes of your difficulties.

The only difficulty I have is bein’ here when I should be out. He meant out of custody. Technically he had been released an hour ago, but Jack had let him believe that this exit interview was not optional.

Anything you say or, within reason, do in this room will not be used against you in court or entered in any official record. This is purely research. Anonymous research.

The man raised one eyebrow. Everything he had ever said or done had been used against him, beginning when he soiled his first diaper and his mother punched him hard enough to break a rib. Why would this be any different? What if I jumped out of this chair and ripped your throat open, watched you bleed out all over this table? Would that be held against me?

"I said within reason," Jack told him, not too concerned. They all had to establish the ground rules at first, mark their territory, stare down the other dog. But while Brian Johnson could be extraordinarily dangerous out on the street, here Jack felt fairly certain he would behave. A frequent flier like Brian Johnson always behaved while in custody; he had no reason not to. He knew brute force would get him nowhere, not while surrounded by armed guards, and lack of cooperation would only delay his release. Everyone in his world knew who and what he was and he needed to prove exactly nothing, in jail or out of jail; plus given the competitive nature of his line of work he felt generally safer in custody than he did on the street. Now, even though Jack had removed him from the armed guards and the barred windows, the same mindset continued.

And, Jack had made a number of modifications to the room.

And, he wore the standard-issue bulletproof vest, the better to absorb any blows or shivs that might erupt during the conversation.

And he had done this fourteen times before without a major difficulty. Minor hitches, yes, but those had been adjusted until his system had become as foolproof as humanly possible. So he didn’t worry.

Not too much.

So let’s get started, he said, closing the file and folding his hands on top of it. Last week, you raped and beat Ms. Brenda Guerin with a pistol and a crowbar. She is in a medically induced coma—at the taxpayers’ expense—and her right ear is permanently disfigured. Oh, and deaf.

Brian Johnson sat up and scowled, a formidable sight. "I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. If you think I’m believing that won’t be used against me shit, you are even crazier than you look."

No, no, it won’t be. I’m not here to prosecute or even investigate Ms. Guerin’s injuries. You can see I’m not writing down or recording anything you say. All I really want to know is, what caused this altercation? Why did you do it?

The scowl deepened. I ain’t—

"Okay, sorry—that was an abrupt beginning. Let’s do this. Someone did this to Ms. Guerin. Why do you think someone would have done that?"

Johnson slumped back. Like we’re speaking hypothetically?

Yes.

The man shrugged. Maybe ’cause the bitch just wouldn’t shut up.

Jack let that hang in the air for a moment before continuing. Shut up about what?

Johnson paused a long time before answering, and Jack let the quiet surroundings work on him. No inmates shouting, no homeboys breathing down his neck, watching from the tenement towers. No lawyers, no detectives. No jury. Just one obviously naïve as hell do-gooding sociologist.

Plus, like all people, Brian Johnson loved to talk about himself, and never got sufficient opportunities to do so.

Some baby she thought she was having. And money, she wanted more money. Throwin’ other guys in your face. You know, typical bitch stuff.

Jack nodded, face calm, neutral. And Tina Mullen? Last month? She needed forty-two stitches in her face and arms.

Another shrug. Same thing. They all alike.

Why do you think meth has overtaken heroin in street value?

Johnson blinked and straightened, happier to discuss business. Coupla things. Price is better ’cause it’s produced locally. Less transportation costs. And you got more control over supply.

So if your supplier is late, you can go see him.

’Stead of relaying messages all the way to damn Guatemala, yeah, getting some spic runaround, blaming it on the border cops.

Last week one of your suppliers was found with third-degree burns over three-quarters of his body. He barely has any skin left; they’re still not sure he’s going to make it.

That—Johnson sat back again—could have been an accident. Meth is wicked shit to make, man.

True.

Wicked. Johnson shook his head. Better to just put a bullet in the guy’s brain, than keep him sufferin’ with all those tubes ’n’ shit.

True, Jack repeated. I agree. But what about the cat?

A pause. You know about that, even?

Jack Renner knew about the cat. He knew about Brian beating his foster mother with a golf club in the sixth grade. He knew about the man’s recruiting methods, his ways of increasing territory, how his guys branched out into armed robbery and home invasions when the local economy tightened up. He knew because he had read every form, every note, and every report written on Brian Johnson. They were not difficult to find once you knew where to look.

So Brian Johnson had some catching up to do in this contest, and everything in Brian Johnson’s life was a contest. He had been studying Jack as intently as Jack had been studying him, but didn’t seem to have stumbled over any red flags yet.

Jack had dark hair and a bit of a baby face, appearing younger than his real age of fifty-one. His looks were rugged—not as in ruggedly handsome, only as in rugged—so that he could be equally convincing as a street thug or a Special Forces soldier, yet when he combed his hair back and put on a pair of glasses he looked a bit dorky, professorial. He also kept his movements low and nonthreatening, hands on the table, expressions accepting, because the Brian Johnsons of the world were not stupid. They wouldn’t have survived in their violent world long enough to pass twenty if they were stupid.

However, it was remarkably easy to convince people you were what you were not, if you simply paid a little attention to detail.

Jack was good at detail. Hey, are you hungry? It’s past dinnertime. We could order in.

A half smile. He had nice skin, this demon of the streets, high cheekbones and good structure. In proper clothes he would be a handsome young man, ready to take on Wall Street or med school. It was a pity, it truly was, and the weight of it settled on Jack’s shoulders. Brian Johnson was a wild, dangerous animal . . . and he had never had the slightest option of being anything else. It was not his fault that the world had tossed him into a pack of jackals from day one. If anything, he should be commended for rising to the top of that pack.

So fine, Jack thought, duly commended. But still dangerous.

Brian Johnson examined this latest offer for land mines. You goin’ to feed me too?

Like I said—pilot project. What’s your favorite? Anything you want, lobster, barbecue, filet mignon. On the taxpayers’ dime, he added, his fourth lie since they entered the room.

It took a while, but he finally got Brian to admit a preference for scallops and sweet potato fries and Jack ordered from Lola. While they waited for the food to arrive Jack went back to the incident with the cat.

Brian sighed. I didn’t really mean for that to happen.

Was this a sign of regret? Remorse? Could there still be a human being in there somewhere?

I was just goin’ to do the tip of the tail, watch it run around, that’s all. But it wiggled and twisted round, and the gas got everywhere.

But you still lit the match, Jack pointed out.

Small shrug. Already poured the gas. No sense it going to waste.

He didn’t even bother with hypotheticals. With everything else the police wanted him for they would never waste time with animal cruelty.

The food arrived, delivered by a young man in a ball cap and Jack tipped him well. The man saw part of the room, but one delivery would not linger for long in the mind of the average gofer. Brian lit into his seafood and seemed to enjoy it. Jack picked at his, apologized for the plastic utensils—rules, he explained. Just because he might not be overly worried about his own safety didn’t make him reckless enough to hand a steak knife to a violent criminal.

He asked a question here or there about Brian’s early years, his troubles with the authorities, but paid minimum attention to the answers he already knew. He offered Brian Johnson a drink, a real drink, asking him to name his poison, then gently leading him around to the Crown Royal, Johnson’s favorite. Jack knew that, too. He had a number of bottles installed on the sidebar, its new granite countertop the only sign of renovation in the room, all top-shelf. His clients deserved a little top shelf in their lives.

He set down the tumbler with its amber liquid, pushing aside the wariness in Johnson’s eyes with another explanation of the pilot program. It amazed him how easily they always accepted this story, but then guys like Johnson had seen countless doctors, counselors, and social workers of every type, the true believers, the burnt-out cynics, the slackers, the rich kids trying to feel good about themselves and the ones who just didn’t give a shit. Guys like Johnson had been through so many programs, schools, incarcerations, examinations, and therapies to know there was always a new bleeding heart with a new idea to save them from themselves. Why not try good food and quiet conversation? It might work. Nothing else had.

So you never had much of a chance, Jack stated. He didn’t have to explain what he meant.

"Never. Everybody, everybody, been fightin’ me since I took me my first breath. So I fight back. What else is there?"

Refill?

Don’ min’ if I do.

Jack carried the glass to the sideboard between the windows, behind where Brian Johnson sat. He picked up the whiskey, tapping it against a liter of Grey Goose. I believe that when you meet your maker, He will take that into consideration.

"I met my maker. That bitch is the reason I ain’t Donald Trump. Or the president."

Brian Johnson didn’t turn to watch what Jack was doing. Brian Johnson wasn’t concerned about what Jack was doing.

The clink had nicely covered the extra movement required for Jack to open the low box behind the bottles and extract his grandfather’s Beretta .22, with an added suppressor. He’d already taken the safety off, but he checked anyway. Details. If you didn’t master the details, they would master you.

Then he turned and placed the glass on the table near Johnson’s left hand. There you go.

The guy’s fingers closed around the crystal tumbler, just as Jack lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 2

Monday, 4:15 p.m.

Maggie Gardiner’s neck had started to ache about an hour before, and now protested with quick tremors that shot past her shoulder blades and raced along her spine. She didn’t move. Two more of the blasted things and she’d be done. Not done for the day, of course, just for that case.

Unidentified female, Denny announced as he walked into the lab. She could hear his footsteps wading through the two counters filled with sinks and gas nozzles and microscopes in order to reach her desk. Down at the morgue. She was found this afternoon. I know it’s late, but can you run over there and get her prints?

Maggie didn’t look up, but kept her eyes hovering above the two round magnifying glasses on their squat legs, side by side above two different inked fingerprints. Below the lenses she used two evil-looking metal spikes, slightly thicker than syringe needles, to keep her place as she moved along the tiny ridges of the skin patterns. Twenty-three pawn slips. This guy pawned his ill-gotten gains in twenty-three different places, like he thought that would help. It only means they can charge him with twenty-three counts. If they charge him at all, of course.

The purpose of the justice system is to pursue all wrongdoing, he agreed piously. Problem is, there’s too little justice system and too much wrongdoing.

And he’s got some of the worst prints I’ve ever seen. I think he washes his hands in battery acid, Maggie continued to whine as she finished up the comparison and put down her pointers.

Or he’s a roofer, or a bricklayer, her boss answered absently, citing two of the professions that are hardest on the skin’s surface. If you can’t go, I’ll stop there on a roundabout route home.

She took the sheet of paper he handed her, straining her already pained neck to look up at him. Denny stood well over six feet, his black skin glistening, a worried wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows that had nothing to do with either the unidentified body or Maggie. His wife was about to produce their third child . . . but truthfully Denny always looked like that. He was a worrier.

And the coroner’s office really hated to have their hallways crowded with gurneys while they waited on a fingerprint officer to collect prints.

Maggie shoved aside the twenty-three pawn slips without reluctance. I’ll take care of Jane Doe. You go home and get some sleep. Save some up for after the baby comes.

"I wish it could work like that," her boss muttered.

Picked out a name yet?

My wife’s leaning toward Jessica but I like Angel. What do you think?

Angel sounds . . . optimistic.

Given what I’ve experienced of fatherhood so far, he said, it’s more like delusional.

* * *

She took Chester Avenue down to University Circle, driving a Taurus she had checked out of the city vehicle pool. She had sold her own car when she moved into a loft downtown, within walking distance of the huge Justice Center complex that housed the police department—including the labs—the courtrooms, and all the offices for the attorneys, judges, clerks, civil division, and records that accompanied them. Parking a car cost too much and she never seemed to go anywhere else, anyway.

Cleveland looked good as the sun slipped toward the horizon, one of those spring days with a cobalt-blue sky and fluffy clouds making the reckless promise of a summer to match. Well, the sky looked good; parts of Chester were not exactly picturesque.

Maggie had worked as a civilian criminalist for the police department for fifteen years; she’d started in serology, did some DNA, but they kept threatening to hire only people with doctorates for DNA and even if she had one it meant she’d be stuck in the lab pipetting liquid into tiny test tubes for eight hours a day. Instead she went into crime scene. She began to work with fingerprints (cross training, Denny said innocently), which then became an increasingly large chunk of her job over the years. Maggie didn’t fight this; as she passed thirty she learned to avoid the unpredictable hours and late-night wake-ups of crime scene work as much as possible.

Fingerprint examination was comfortable—comfortable hours, comfortable surroundings, comfortable coworkers. She couldn’t say she enjoyed it because there was little to enjoy about fingerprints; they were pretty much pure tedium. Maggie drew herself to routine even as it oppressed her, like piling on the blankets because the bed is cold, knowing all the while that you’ll wake up at 2 a.m. sweating your ass off. But the next night you feel cold and pile them on again.

So when she needed a break she would double as the lab’s microscopist, an outdated term for the outdated art of looking at really tiny things under a microscope. It gave her eyes a chance to strain in a different way and could be equally peaceful, just Maggie and an ancient Zeiss comparison scope that she wouldn’t let Denny replace because anything the city could afford to purchase in this day and age wouldn’t be as good. And of course she still had to do her rotation on crime scene duty. All this kept her busy. Busy felt good.

She pulled into the tiny lot behind the battered, three-story building, searching carefully for a parking space; parking next door at the medical school would require the rigmarole of getting reimbursed for the two or three dollars it cost. Maggie wouldn’t be there that long.

A guy in a white coat pulled out of a skinny space at the end of the row, grabbing an early end to his workday, and Maggie wedged the pool car into it. A few more clouds had joined the last and the sunlight dimmed that much more. The air was cool but not crisp, already debating how much humidity it might drop on the city during the summer months.

Maggie knew she had to be the only person at her lab who actually liked going to the coroner’s office, and not because she harbored a tendency toward necrophilia. First, it got her out of the lab without requiring great exertion or getting dirty, as when dusting an entire house with fingerprint powder. Second, the coroner’s office was a bright, bustling place with remarkably cheery people. They had pressure, certainly, were as overworked and underpaid as any other government office with no control over their work flow—when people die, they die, and on some days more die than others. But unlike a hospital the patients here were already dead and no worse fate could befall them, and unlike a police department they weren’t on the front lines for the public’s wrath.

All in all, it seemed a pretty cool place to work. Maggie often thought she would apply for an opening there herself, except they rarely came up and she would feel like a skunk if she left Denny.

Maggie wore a uniform of sorts, baggy pants with lots of pockets and an unflattering polo shirt with the police department’s logo embroidered over one breast, so the intake person standing on the dock having a smoke felt no qualms about opening the door for her. She thanked him by name and went inside.

The smell promptly hit her—another reason she had never actually applied for a job there—a combined miasma of slaughterhouse and disinfectant. She tried to keep her breaths shallow and strode up the back hallway, tiled halfway up in burgundy ceramic with light from various doorways spilling into it. She could have been strolling through an old school building if not for the gurneys lined up along one wall. The corpses lay still under their white sheets. Maggie did not look at them and hoped they did not look at her.

Despite the relatively late hour the autopsy suite was in full swing—suite being a bit of an overstatement for a thirty-by-twenty room with three tables and one long counter. Three victims rested on the tables, with one doctor and one assistant working on each. The smell intensified.

Maggie gravitated to the lone female victim, hoping this would be her Jane Doe. If not she would have to go looking for the victim in the cooler. The cold would make the fingertips that less malleable and the walk-in cooler gave her the creeps. She was fine with the bodies; she just hated the cooler.

Maggie greeted the doctor, consulted her sheet, and confirmed that this was indeed their unidentified white female, approximately twelve to fifteen years of age, pale blond hair that appeared to be natural, blue eyes that now stared through Maggie with a mute, startled horror. Her autopsy had nearly reached its end. The chest cavity had been flayed open and emptied so that when Maggie looked inside she could see the girl’s spine. The remains of her dissected internal organs rested in a red plastic biohazard bag settled between her legs.

It seemed a horrible violation to someone so young and small—but it was also the only way to find out exactly what had happened to her. Maggie had seen plenty of autopsies in her time. She pushed any qualms, any stabs of sympathy, to the back of her mind where she could deal with them later.

I’d guess fourteen, if pressed, confided the pathologist, a portly guy about her age. But the dentist can probably tell you better. Five-three, sorta normal weight for her size in this day when all teenage girls think they have to be anorexic.

Empty stomach, the deiner put in, sweat turning his black skin glossy. It had been a long day indeed; usually autopsies had been completed by two or three in the afternoon, and anyone new who came in after the room had been cleaned would wait until the following morning. He used a scalpel to slit the girl’s scalp across the crown from ear to ear, preparing to take out the brain. Maybe she was hungry instead of fashionable.

The doctor nodded. Could be. Certainly she hadn’t had a lot of dental care in her life. And the few fillings she does have look—weird.

Weird? Maggie repeated.

Shouting to be heard over the bone saw, the doctor said, Can’t put my finger on it, just not like what I normally see. I’ll have the odontologist take a look at them.

And no one has reported her missing, Maggie muttered to herself, the words lost among the chatter of the doctors and deiners, the hiss of the sinks, the clatter of the scales and the scalpels as disembodied organs were dissected and weighed. Autopsies were a lot of work, and she didn’t offer to help with any of it. Maggie wasn’t there to assist, only to observe.

The girl was probably a runaway. Parents who cared would have realized by now that their child hadn’t come home from school or her friend’s house or wherever and would have called the cops, but kids living on the street didn’t have this backup system. Still, very few of them wound up on an autopsy table. Babies died often, either from abuse or accident or SIDS, but children remained largely absent from the coroner’s office until they reached their mid-teens and entered the drug trade.

Maggie took a moment to read the rest of her sheet, which gave the vitals of the crime. The girl had been found by a secretary returning from lunch, taking the scenic route through the Erie Street cemetery. The victim had been stretched across the spring grass, wearing nothing but a long T-shirt.

"She was killed in a cemetery?" Maggie asked.

The doctor prodded a hematoma that had formed on the brain beneath a skull fracture. Yeah. I can’t figure out what that is—ironic? Poignant? Symbolic?

Got a guesstimate time?

From rigor, I’d say last night. Insect activity starting up, as well, so she was there for some time before someone finally saw her.

Not surprising. That cemetery is a historical site—there are graves there of Revolutionary War veterans. It’s not like there’s going to be a lot of family members visiting every day. What’s the actual cause of death?

Internal trauma. Massive, he added, then went on to explain that massive internal trauma in this case meant that five of her ribs had been broken until the jagged bones pierced her liver and

Reviews for That Darkness

[readingover50 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A good police procedural with an interesting twist. We know from the beginning that the vigilante killer is police officer Jack Renner. The question is, will investigator Maggie Gardiner catch on to him and once she does, what will she do with him.

The question of vigilante justice is an interesting one. We all want to see the bad guys punished. But is it ok to go outside the law to do so? I found myself rooting for Jack, and wanting him to succeed in his mission.

I received an ARC from NetGalley.

[dokfintong · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Regardless of your spiritual tradition, "Thou shalt not kill" is part of it. Society cannot function if extra-judicial killings are allowed. So why should we consider them OK in fiction? I cannot condone Renner's vigilantism so there goes the premise of the series.Like other reviewers here I object to smart characters acting in stupid ways just to advance the plot.Finally, although we are not supposed to accept the ARC text as the final text, no one who writes: "a properly decimated [facial] expression" even in a draft, could rank high in my estimation.I received a review copy of "That Darkness" by Lisa Black (Kensington) through NetGalley.com.

[cburnett5 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Titanic stories have always fascinated me. While I am familiar with much of what happened with the Titanic before, during, and after its demise, I was not aware of the complete story regarding the Californian, and its utter and negligent failure to potentially stop the Titanic tragedy. As the story unfolded, I simply could not put this book down. In Part One of the novel, Dyer creates a fictional journalist, John Steadman, to uncover and pursue what exactly transpired on the Californian the night the Titanic sank. He alternates Steadman’s story with the story of the crew members that were aboard the Californian that night. Second Officer Herbert Stone, a crew member on the Californian, had night watch on his ship in the early hours of April 15, 1912. As he is watching the sea he begins to see white rocket flares in the sky coming from another ship. He alerts his captain, Stanley Lord, who chooses to do nothing but continue sleeping. The next morning the crew members of the Californian learn that the Titanic in fact sank while Lord slept. While Lord attempts to cover up the Californian’s role in the tragedy, the story slowly comes out.In Part Two of the book, Steadman follows Lord as he appears before the Senate committee and later an inquiry in Great Britain. Dyer finishes the story with a fictional article, entitled “Eight White Rockets” that Steadman wrote as a journalist following his investigations into the event. While I loved the entire book, “Eight White Rockets” was by far my favorite part; it was so beautifully written.David Dyer writes beautifully and so descriptively that I frequently felt that I was on board the Californian and the Titanic. I really liked John Steadman and his dogged pursuit of the truth. I had a harder time with Stone (who was a real person) and his inability to stand up for himself and do the right thing. I intensely disliked Lord and felt that he should have paid more for his inaction. I knew very little about the Californian before I read this novel. The story was absolutely captivating and so terribly tragic. It is always easy to say what might have been when looking back at events that have occurred, but in this case if two men had acted differently an entire tragedy might have been averted or at least been limited to a smaller death count. I highly recommend this novel – it is so well done.

[eadieb-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Author Lisa Black is a certified latent fingerprint examiner and crime scene investigator in Florida and a former forensic scientist for the Cleveland coroner's office. That Darkness is a psychological suspense with fascinating characters of Maggie Gardiner, a forensic investigator, and Jack Renner, a serial killer homicide detective. I found this book to be very well-written and thought-provoking with some dark humor. It's not your typical suspense book where you get to try to solve the murder. We know from the beginning that the homicide detective, Jack Renner, is the killer. We get to watch Maggie Gardiner as she does forensics on 3 dead bodies and is able to link the forensics and come to the realization that Jack is the serial killer who she has been working alongside with on trying to solve the murders. Question now is: Will this knowledge put Maggie in danger and will she expose Jack? You will have to read it for yourself and see if you agree with Jack's vigilante justice. Can't wait to see what will happen in the 2nd book of the series. I would highly recommend this book to those who are fans of forensic suspense novels.

[darcia_10 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I had trouble assigning a star rating to this one. I needed more from the people in the story, but the plot is solid. I kept reading because I wanted to know how it would all play out. But, in the end, I was left shrugging my shoulders.The good stuff: The plot tackles the philosophical question of vigilante justice. When the justice system fails, is it ever acceptable to kill someone in order to prevent possible future violent crime? The author leaves that question for readers to answer. It's a compelling dilemma that, for many of us, will have no easy answer. The focus of the story is very much on forensics. We're given a lot of detail in how forensic work is really done, apart from the typical - and unrealistic - DNA evidence shown to us in TV programs. The hunt for a killer runs parallel with the evidence, one thing leading to the next, in a steady pace.The not so good stuff:My one issue is a huge one for me, and that is the total lack of character development. I spent 336 pages with Jack and Maggie, but I didn't feel like I ever knew either of them. Both main characters were very much one-dimensional. With Jack, I figured out his driving factor for vigilante killing early on. Beyond this obsession, we learn little else about him. For me to take that leap with a vigilante, to really connect with him as a person and not just a killer, I need more than his playbook and excuses. I need to feel his pain, to see him beyond the murders, and I never got that here.With Maggie, we learn her relationship status, but no details. We learn she doesn't sleep well and takes long walks alone every night, though we never learn why. And we learn that she excels at her job. She is the hero of the story, yet she could have been anyone or everyone. I couldn't like her, because I didn't know enough about her to care.My reading experience was a bit like watching a chess match between two strangers; lots of intricate moves but I could walk away and never think about it again.*I received an advance copy from the publisher, via Amazon Vine.*

[judithdcollins · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A special thank you to Kensington and NetGalley for an ARC in exchange for an honest review. Nice Cover. Lisa Black’s introduction to her first installment of Gardiner and Renner #1, THAT DARKNESS, is a psychological crime suspense of justice, morality, and evil, keeping you page-turning. Maggie Gardiner, a forensic investigator for the Cleveland Police Department has a new case. An unidentified white female twelve to fifteen years of page, blonde hair, and blue eyes--discovered in a local cemetery. A Jane Doe. A runaway? No one has reported her missing. Symbolic?Jack Renner is a Homicide Detective for Cleveland PD. (A serial killer). He believes in justice. Good at details. A vigilante. Truth and Justice. Morality. Evil. Revenge. Glad to meet another Florida crime author ---who currently works as a latent print examiner and CSI for Cape Coral, Police Department in Florida, working mostly with fingerprints and crime scenes. Drawing on her expertise as a forensic scientist, she has analyzed gunshot residue on hands and clothing, hairs, fibers, paint, glass, DNA, blood and many other forms of trace evidence, as well as crime scenes.With some good forensics, humor, a unique cat and mouse twist, and a suspenseful mystery of good and evil--keeps the reader guessing and speculating. Looking forward to more from the author, and future books in the series. "But if thine eye by evil, thywhole body shall befull of darkness.If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness,how great is that darkness!"Matthew 6:23

[pet12-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Does a vigilante killer justifiably protect future victims of crime by eliminating repeat offenders which the court system failed to put away? That's one of the moral questions posed in Lisa Black's new crime series "Gardiner and Renner".Jack Renner is a homicide detective with the Cleveland PD. He is also a serial killer. He sees his job as protecting society, and if that means killing perpetrators of crime who went unpunished in order to prevent them from hurting anybody else, so be it.Maggie Gardiner is a forensic technician with sharp observation, dogged determination and a meticulous eye for trace evidence.This was a really appealing set up for a police procedural. These two are working together on an investigation while Maggie's razor-sharp logic gradually uncovers Jack's secrets.That Darkness contains a lot of details about forensics. The author worked as a forensic scientist and is now a latent print examiner. Her expert knowledge of crime scenes and trace evidence is obvious. Fans of CSI will probably love it. I found it quite interesting, but it was a little too detailed for me and slowed down the pace a bit.The two main characters were really interesting, but I felt I didn't get to know them enough. Maggie more than Jack appeared a bit flat. Considering there were some quite emotional scenes, neither Maggie nor Jack seemed to feel very much.A slow build-up but the last 30% were definitely gripping. I am quite interested to see how both of them and their relationship will develop (hopefully) in the next book. A solid 3.5 stars rounded up because of the later part of the book.I received an ARC via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

[iadam-2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I received a free advance e-copy of this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. This book is about vigilante justice as a way to protect future victims from crime. The main character has appointed himself the judge, jury, and executioner of some very dangerous and abusive repeat offenders whom the judicial system has failed to put away. One character is a vigilante cop and another is a forensic investigator obsessed with her work. The author writes with a steady pace as the story unfolds. I recommend reading this book to see how the author handles the dilemma of vigilante justice.

[kris_anderson-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

That Darkness by Lisa Black is supposed to be a suspense thriller. It is the first book (such a pity) in the Gardiner and Renner series. Jack Renner is a vigilante and a cop. He has decided he is guilty and is taking them out one by one. Maggie Gardiner is a fingerprint officer in the crime lab. She does, though, fill in where needed including going out to crime scenes. She is good at putting together clues to help the detectives (she is actually better than the detectives who get bored with her scientific talk). Will Maggie be able to piece together the clues and discover that Jack is the killer? What will Jack do when Maggie uncovers his crimes?That Darkness had no suspense or thrills. We know who the killer is and how he does it. We just follow Maggie as she solves the crimes and Jack tries to stay ahead of her. That Darkness reads more like a police procedural manual than a fiction novel. I had a hard time getting through this book (I read two other books while I was supposed to be reading this novel). The characters are not really likeable (and have questionable morals). I could not wait to finish That Darkness. I will not be reading any more books in this series (sorry). I give That Darkness 2 out of 5 stars (I took pity on it). That Darkness is just not my type of novel. I want more interest (the best part of mysteries is solving the crime). I like to be drawn into the story and feel that I am a part of it (and I like solving the crime). The novel includes many details on fingerprints (which I liked), fibers (hair, rugs, wool, etc.), and dead bodies (autopsies). Some of it was interesting, but it did bog down the story (it got a little too technical at times). Somehow it is better on television than in print.I received a complimentary copy of That Darkness from NetGalley in exchange for an honest evaluation of the novel.

[beamis12 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Mixed read for me. Loved all the crime scene analysis, the details, the investigating, in which the author has much experience. Also liked the question of vigilante justice, the moral ambiguity of the question. When someone is so evil that other people are nothing to them, people to be abused, thrown away, shouldn't they be stopped no matter what the means, or who delivers the justice. Up for personal opinion. Human trafficking and all its horrendous after effects, also addressed. So many positives. But, for me the story stalled at times, I lost interest but than something would happen and I'd think okay, just go with the flow. The ending though, that surprised me and not in a good way. Though I can see some reader's liking this twist. ARC from Netgalley.

[kremsa-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Thank you to the Goodreads Giveaway and Kensington Publishers for my copy of That Darkness. This crime novel is the first of a series that introduces you Maggie Gardiner a forensic investigator and Jack Renner a Homicide Detective. Early on you are told that Jack Renner is actually a vigilante killer seeking to mete out justice and protect future victims when the judicial system has failed to do so. for me there wasn't a lot of suspense but it was an enjoyable and entertaining read. I feel the two main characters could have been developed a little further but maybe that will come in subsequent books. Maggie's character at times seemed a little too smart and I felt some of her conclusions about the trace evidence she had were a bit of a stretch. The premise of a cop being a vigilante killer is an interesting one and slightly reminiscent of "Dexter" but without the same need to kill. Are the murders that Jack Renner commits justifiable and a service to the community. To be continued.......

[itzey · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Brian Johnson, a life-long criminal miscreant, believes he is completing a required pre-release prison interview. Decked out in gangsta garb, stylng a cocky attitude, Brian struts into what appears to be an interview room followed by “Dr.” Renner. Jack Renner, Cleveland homicide detective by day, dispenser of vigilante justice in his spare time, has “interviewed” 14 “clients” here. He has a well-honed method getting the most hardened criminal to spill their story. Each client has been hand selected after careful consideration; Jack has retrieved every known fact about each one and is ready to play his role in cleaning up the world.So Brian, like the 14 before him, never knew it when the gun pointed at the back of his head was fired.Bang. Bang. Bang.Maggie Gardiner works as a civilian criminalist with the Cleveland Police Department primarily collecting fingerprints but has experience in serology and spends time working crime scenes work as well. Naturally inquisitive, doggedly persistent and keenly observant, Maggie takes on a crime scene challenge like hound dog on a scent.Renner has managed to control his shady side to perfection right up until he bumps up against Maggie. As the morgue fills with unfortunate victims and murdered criminals, Maggie begins to connect the dots and unknowingly closes in on Renner’s secret life. As Jack unravels trying to control and steer the investigation away from his involvement, Maggie begins to question inconsistencies in his behavior and statements until the day….Jack straightened and turned to her…She stared at him open-mouthed. Then she said, “It’s you.” “Yes, Maggie,” he told her. “It’s me.”The novel’s overarching theme posits the question… when is it moral to take the law into your own hands? When society fails to protect the weak from predators that game the system should someone step in and stop the madness? What is the line between justice and vigilantism?StrengthsThe author, a forensic investigator herself, shares her knowledge of the work in exquisite detail.The parallel story lines with Jack as part of the investigative team trying to distract Maggie from linking him to her findings and Maggie’s dogged determination to unearth the truth move steadily through the story before reaching an unexpected ending.Jack’s clients reveal the seedy side of life and focus the reader’s thoughts on topics such as human trafficking and elder abuse and neglect.WeaknessBlack “tells” us things about Jack, Maggie, the victims and the perpetrators, but we don’t become invested in their lives. We don’t know the back stories. She doesn’t scratch beneath the surface. It would have been better to personalize the main characters in enough detail to excite the reader to follow them in later works.Overall impressionA worthy read. The hot topics will challenge your thoughts about the justice system and the plight of the innocent. Hoping for more character development in the second issue of the series.

[welsh_eileen2 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Reminiscent of Patricia Cornwell and Kathy Reichs.A forensic investigator gets more involved in the mystery and background of the body of a woman found in a cemetery.Then things get more complicated....I was given a digital copy of this book by the publisher Kensington Books via Netgalley in return for an honest unbiased review.

[gpangel_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

That Darkness by Lisa Black is a 2016 Kensington publication. I was provided a copy of this book by the publisher and Netgalley in exchange for an honest review. This is the first book in the Gardiner and Renner series. I’m not entirely sure my feelings about this book are entirely settled just yet, however, even though I have a few lingering feelings of unease, I thought this story was pretty clever. Maggie is a fingerprint expert working in forensics and Jack is a cop working homicide. They cross paths after a spate of dead bodies show up in the Cleveland morgue, all of them murder victims. While they seem unconnected, forensics tie them together and it nags at Maggie, who is perhaps a little OCD. But, her powers of observation could be her undoing when evidence begins leading her to the most unlikely suspect she could ever imagine. This is one of those times when I struggle with what to leave in or what to leave out in a review. Suffice it to say, Jack Renner is a most interesting man, a man with a hidden agenda, one that Maggie inadvertently stumbles across. This part of the story was very well executed because the reader is well aware of Jack’s after hours activities. So, I was on pins and needles as Maggie begins to methodically connect the dots. Does her knowledge put her in danger? Will she expose Jack? The crime element exposes all manner of lowlifes and losers who parade through the criminal justice system without being rehabilitated, or those who walk away with a slap on the wrist or get off Scot free, and who continue to terrorize and murder at will. This novel explores the flaws in our system as well the temptation one may entertain of taking the law into their own hands. This type of personality, the vigilante, is not without conscience, like, say, Dexter, who is sociopathic. The vigilante is righting a wrong and so could evoke a certain amount of empathy from the reader and perhaps even garner some respect, become something akin to the antihero. In this type of setup, I questioned my own moral code as I caught myself actually hoping Maggie would remain in the dark. Two wrongs never make a right, but are there gray areas? Is it right to cheer this character on or feel relief if they escape prosecution themselves? To balance out the equation, we have a 'by the book' character, in Maggie, who is sharp, dedicated, and sees things in a right or wrong manner, until she crosses paths with Jack, who leaves her feeling conflicted, up against a wall, forced to make a choice she will have to live with for a long time come. Did she do the right thing? What would you do? How do I feel about her decision? Although I don’t know what’s going to happen next in the series or what plans the author may have for the characters, it should be very interesting indeed. Overall, this is a very well written crime novel and a compelling, thought provoking thriller. It’s unique, dark, and at times brutally graphic and raw with emotion, but also provides a smattering of dark humor which is like the cherry on the cake. I’m definitely on board for book two!