Last Precinct
Patricia Cornwell's legendary crime fiction creation, Virginia's Chief  Medical Examiner Kay Scarpetta, has logged a host of fans among mystery  readers and, within the bounds of her fictional world, an equally impressive  tally of individuals intent on causing her grievous physical or psychological  harm.The 11th Scarpetta novel,The Last Precinct, doesn't add any new names to  the second roster. Instead, in a sweeping narrative gesture toward retrospection  (less-than-fervent fans might whisper "or stagnation"), the novel depends  largely on ground already covered in its predecessors,Black Noticeand,  to a lesser extent,Point of Origin. All the familiar faces--friend and  foe--are here: police captain Marino, Kay's niece Lucy, the so-called Werewolf  murderer, and (in memoriam) Kay's lover Benton Wesley  and his killer, Carrie Grethen. Kay, who nearly killed the Werewolf in self-defense asBlack Noticecame to a close, now finds herself the target of a corrupt  police investigation that will dredge her darkest secrets from the deepest  corners of her past.Torn between a desire to clear her name and the instinct of a wounded animal to  turn against even its would-be rescuers, Kay sifts through the forensic evidence  that seems to link Chandonne to other horrific events in her past, up to and  including Wesley's murder. Physical analysis, however, will not be enough to  right her up-ended world. Instead, Kay must rely on the strategic support of her  niece, cofounder of the Last Precinct (an odd, ill-defined organization that is,  in the words of its motto, "where you go when there is nowhere left"), and on  her willingness to examine her own fears, misconceptions, and anything-but-altruistic motives. The most important setting in this novel is not the morgue--it's the living room where Kay's therapist forces her to address (you guessed  it) "unresolved issues."The novel's focus on Kay's emotional evolution does not, unfortunately, mask the  leaps of illogic that pepper the plot's murky stew. More disturbing than these  occasional lapses, however, is the feeling that Cornwell has written herself  into a corner. The Scarpetta ofThe Last Precinctis a far cry from the  irritably independent woman of previous books. Her often over-inflated musings  are more tiresome than tantalizing. Cornwell's impressive track record makes  this excursion a bit disappointing, but that same record means that loyal fans  will race to acquire the book anyway and that the odds of her returning to her  usual stellar form next time are (hurrah!) favorable.--Kelly Flynn--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.