title: Murder in Clichy (Aimee Leduc Investigations, No. 5)
author:  Cara Black 
description: <b><b><u>Praise for <i>Murder in Clichy</i><br><br></u></b></b>"Weaving culture, history and suspense, Black scores again."<b><b><br>&mdash;<i>Publishers Weekly</i><br><br><b><b><u>Praise for Cara Black's <i>New York Times</i> bestselling Aim&eacute;e Leduc series</u></b></b></b></b> <br><br>&ldquo;Charming . . . Aim&eacute;e is one of those blithe spirits who can walk you through the city&rsquo;s historical streets and byways with their eyes closed.&rdquo;<br><b>&mdash;Marilyn Stasio, <i>The New York Times Book Review</i></b> <br><br>&ldquo;Leduc has a thorough grasp of the practicalities of investigation, plus a penchant for undercover work that will have readers on pins and needles.&rdquo;<br><b>&mdash;<i>San Francisco Chronicle</i></b> <br><br>&ldquo;Conveys vividly those layers of history that make the stones of Paris sing for so many of us.&rdquo;<b><br>&mdash;<i>Chicago Tribune<br><br></i></b>&ldquo;Wry, complex, sophisticated, intensely Parisian . . . One of the very best heroines in crime fiction today.&rdquo;<b><br> <b>&mdash;Lee Child<br><br></b></b>&ldquo;Like having your own personal tour guide to quartiers of Paris you might otherwise be too timid to explore on your own, a very sophisticated guide in heels and retro Givenchy, who livens the tour with street-smart observations. Cara Black&rsquo;s scene-setting details blend into the mystery as smoothly as <i>cr&egrave;me de framboise</i> into champagne&mdash;unnoticed at first amid the bubbles, but oh the kick!&rdquo; <b><b><br>&mdash;Margaret Maron<br></b></b>
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  ![](index-2_1.jpg)
  
  
  Deadly Decisions (v2.0)
  
  
  Kathy Reichs, 2000
  
  
  
  
  
  ****
  
  
  ## Chapter 1
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Her name was Emily Anne. She was nine years old, with black ringlets, long
  lashes, and caramel-colored skin. Her ears were pierced with tiny gold loops.
  Her forehead was pierced by two slugs from a Cobra 9-mm semiautomatic.
  
  
  It was a Saturday, and I was working by special request of my boss, Pierre
  LaManche. I'd been at the lab for four hours, sorting badly mangled tissue,
  when the door to the large autopsy room opened and Sergeant-Detective Luc
  Claudel came striding in.
  
  
  Claudel and I had worked together in the past, and though he'd come to
  tolerate, perhaps even appreciate me, one would not infer that from his
  brusque manner.
  
  
  "Where's LaManche?" he demanded, glancing at the gurney in front of me, then
  quickly away.
  
  
  
  
  
  I said nothing. When Claudel was in one of his moods, I ignored him.
  
  
  "Has Dr. LaManche arrived?" The detective avoided looking at my greasy g