By Craig Johnson
A sheriff’s mysterious dying spurs the 10th novel within the New York Times bestselling Longmire sequence, the foundation for the hit drama sequence LONGMIRE, now on Netflix
In Any different Name, Walt is sinking into high-plains wintry weather discontent while his former boss, Lucian Conally, asks him to tackle a mercy case in an adjoining county. Detective Gerald Holman is lifeless and Lucian desires to recognize what drove his outdated buddy to take his personal lifestyles. With the clock ticking at the delivery of his first grandchild, Walt learns that the by-the-book detective may have suppressed proof touching on 3 lacking girls. Digging deeper, Walt uncovers an incriminating mystery so darkish that it threatens to assert different lives even earlier than the sheriff can serve justice—Wyoming style.
Craig Johnson's The Highwayman is now on hand from Viking
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Additional resources for Any Other Name: A Longmire Mystery
Eleven They have been sustained visions and with having dreamed them so lately, it used to be effortless to summon them and take a look at to make experience of the message they carried. I’d lain there at the eating room flooring of the nation video game hotel, the photographs growing to be a growing number of actual because the chilly crept into me in tiny waves. within the dream it was once evening and that i used to be status slightly under a frozen ridge surrounded via herds of white buffalo that had rotated and watched me, their breath filling the air and warming it. The snow was once deep, and from the tracks I’d left, i'll see that I had come some distance; my legs have been drained, and the cuffs of snow piled up opposed to my thighs had stopped me in my tracks. on the best of the ridge, at a spot I couldn’t appear to achieve, a guy was once status together with his again to me, a tall guy, extensive, with silver hair to his waist. self reliant of the stipulations, he used to be in his shirtsleeves and stood there singing—a Cheyenne track. I driven off, yet my boots slipped within the deep snow and that i fell, ultimately chuffed, in addition to the buffalo, to only pay attention his tune. It used to be a transparent evening, the type that freezes the air on your lungs with the good thing about not anything status among your upturned face and the glittering chilly of these pinpricks within the never-ending darkness, the wash of stars developing the placing street because it arced towards the Camp of the lifeless. the guy had stopped making a song and now part grew to become towards me, talking from the aspect of his mouth. “You will stand and notice the undesirable; the useless shall upward thrust, and the blind will see. ” It used to be a voice I’d heard earlier than, even supposing I couldn’t precisely position it. “Virgil? ” He half-turned towards me, his profile sharp, and that i may possibly see that it was once now not Virgil White Buffalo as he studied me from the nook of 1 eye. “You are bleeding? ” I seemed down on the blood saturating the snow round me and the neck and chest of my sheepskin coat. “Um, yep . . . i feel i'm. ” He grew to become towards me absolutely and walked simply over the deep snow, kneeling and taking my face in his fingers, and that i may see that he had no eyes. The empty sockets seemed virtually as though they shot via his head like dual telescopes magnifying the black, countless house with just a couple of aberrant sparks of heat from loss of life stars. “Good, we will be able to use the humidity. ” — “I tracked the blood, and there you have been, less than the pile of our bodies. ” i began and checked out the either one of them staring holes into me—as if I didn’t have already got adequate extras. I watched my IVs drip and took a sip of my orange juice to assemble myself until eventually the quiet within the room turned insufferable. “The of you allow me sleep away a complete day? ” My undersheriff’s voice keened with an side. “You have been shot close to the exterior jugular along the sternocleidomastoid muscle on your neck—the physician acknowledged it used to be a slow-bleed, yet with no the strain out of your coat you might’ve bled to loss of life. ” Uncomfortably ensconced on the Custer nearby Hospital’s ICU, I picked at my gown and lifted the neckline to aim and look at my bandages. I’d had a glance on the result of the wound while they’d lower the sheepskin coat off me as if it have been a substantial scab.