Read more
Zusatztext Praise for Port Vila Blues Voted one of Deadly Pleasures Magazine ’s “Best Mystery-Crime Novels of 2012.” “To Disher’s usual brisk pacing! add heaps of noir...a banquet for those who like it uncut and unsparing.” — Kirkus Reviews! Starred Review "The scheming that goes into [Wyatt's] heists is outstanding in its originality." — Toronto Star "Folks who are fans of Richard Stark's Parker will find much to like in Wyatt." — Reviewing the Evidence “Recommended.” — Spinetingler Magazine Praise for the Wyatt series " Like an Australian Bob le Flambeur! Disher's titular robber is smooth! calm and planning a big heist ." — Entertainment Weekly Informationen zum Autor Garry Disher is one of Australia's best-known novelists. He's published over 40 books in a range of genres, including crime, children's books, and Australian history. His Hal Challis series is also published in the US by Soho Crime. He lives on the Mornington Peninsula, southeast of Melbourne. Klappentext Wyatt! the cool! ever-evasive thief! snatches the cash easily enough. He bypasses the alarm system! eludes the cops! makes it safely back to his hideout in Hobart. It's the diamond-studded Tiffany brooch-and perhaps the girl-that undoes him. Now some very hard people want to put Wyatt and that brooch out of circulation. But this is Wyatt's game and Wyatt sets the rules-even if it means a reckoning somewhere far from home. In a murky world where the cops are robbers! old-style criminal Wyatt positively shines. 1 Carlyle Street, Double Bay, 7 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, the air clean and cool. Behind closed doors in the big houses set back far from the street, people were beginning to stir, brewing coffee or standing dazed under showers. Wyatt imagined the smell of the coffee, the sound of the water gurgling in the pipes. But not at 29 Carlyle Street. According to Jardine’s briefing notes, the house would be empty for the next few days. It was the home of Cassandra Wintergreen, MP, Labor member for the seat of Broughton, currently in Dili on a fact-finding mission. ‘Champagne Marxist and ALP head-kicker from way back,’ Jardine had scrawled in his covering note. That meant nothing to Wyatt. He’d never voted. If he read the newspapers at all it was with an eye for a possible heist, not news about political tussles. His only interest in Wintergreen lay in the fact that she had $50,000 in a floor safe in her bedroom: a kickback, according to Jardine, from a grateful developer who’d asked her to intervene in a planning dispute regarding access to a strip of shops he was building in her electorate. Wyatt continued his surveillance. Whenever he staked out a place he noticed everything, no matter how trivial, knowing that something insignificant one day can be crucial the next; noticing in stages, first the general picture, then the finer details; noticing routes out, and obstacles like a rubbish bin or a crack in a footpath that could bring an escape undone. There were two gateways in the long street frontage, indicating a driveway that curved up to the front door then back down to the street. Shrubs and small trees screened the front of the house from the footpath and from the houses on either side. It all spelt money and conviction. Conviction. Wyatt had grown up in narrow back streets. His mother had never spoken about his father and Wyatt had no memories of the man. Wyatt had earned himself broad convictions on those narrow streets. Later he’d read books, and looked and listened and acted, refining his convictions. Jardine’s floor plans revealed a hal...
