Jass [Hardcover]

Set in early 20th-century Storyville, the New Orleans red-light district, Shamus-winner Fulmer's moody follow-up to Chasing the Devil's Tail (2001) uses spare but evocative prose to create an atmosphere steeped in ragtime, bourbon and the institutional corruption for which the Big Easy is notorious. The author skillfully builds on the emotional aftermath of the first novel, providing his multiracial Creole detective, Valentin St. Cyr, with plenty of demons to wrestle while giving new readers the all-important backstory. St. Cyr must set aside his troubles in order to solve the mystery of four brutally murdered jazz musicians. His investigation pits him against both Lieutenant Picot, his former boss in the New Orleans police department, and his current employer, Tom Anderson, the "King of Storyville," while further jeopardizing his already shaky relationship with girlfriend Justine, a former prostitute (or, in the local vernacular, "sporting girl"). Jelly Roll Morton and legendary madam Miss Lulu also figure prominently in this meaty, dark page-turner, which should appeal particularly to fans of Caleb Carr's The Alienist.
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Fulmer's second Storyville mystery, starring Creole detective Valentin St. Cyr, more than lives up to the promise of its predecessor, Chasing the Devil's Tail (2001). Again vividly evoking the early days of jazz in turn-of-the-century New Orleans, Fulmer puts St. Cyr on the tail of a femme fatale whose ghostlike appearances seem linked to the serial killings of the members of a Storyville jazz band. As the earlier volume featured legendary cornetist Buddy Bolden in a key role, this volume draws pianist Jelly Roll Morton into the plot, which follows St. Cyr as he defies both cops and politicos to expose not only the killer but also the high-level cover-up behind the crime. Unlike so many historical mystery authors, Fulmer avoids seeding his story with artificially placed period props; rather, the palpable ambience develops naturally out of the very real interaction between character and place. Pair this series with Bill Moody's Evan Horne novels, which feature real-life mysteries concerning modern jazzmen, and you've compressed a large chunk of jazz history into a handful of crime novels. Bill Ott
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

"Evocative, absorbing and vivid." (Cleveland Plain Dealer )

Set in early 20th-century Storyville, the New Orleans red-light district, Shamus-winner Fulmer's moody follow-up to Chasing the Devil's Tail (2001) uses spare but evocative prose to create an atmosphere steeped in ragtime, bourbon and the institutional corruption for which the Big Easy is notorious. The author skillfully builds on the emotional aftermath of the first novel, providing his multiracial Creole detective, Valentin St. Cyr, with plenty of demons to wrestle while giving new readers the all-important backstory. St. Cyr must set aside his troubles in order to solve the mystery of four brutally murdered jazz musicians. His investigation pits him against both Lieutenant Picot, his former boss in the New Orleans police department, and his current employer, Tom Anderson, the "King of Storyville," while further jeopardizing his already shaky relationship with girlfriend Justine, a former prostitute (or, in the local vernacular, "sporting girl"). Jelly Roll Morton and legendary madam Miss Lulu also figure prominently in this meaty, dark page-turner, which should appeal particularly to fans of Caleb Carr's The Alienist.
(Publishers Weekly )

Fulmer's second Storyville mystery, starring Creole detective Valentin St. Cyr, more than lives up to the promise of its predecessor, Chasing the Devil's Tail (2001). Again vividly evoking the early days of jazz in turn-of-the-century New Orleans, Fulmer puts St. Cyr on the tail of a femme fatale whose ghostlike appearances seem linked to the serial killings of the members of a Storyville jazz band. As the earlier volume featured legendary cornetist Buddy Bolden in a key role, this volume draws pianist Jelly Roll Morton into the plot, which follows St. Cyr as he defies both cops and politicos to expose not only the killer but also the high-level cover-up behind the crime. Unlike so many historical mystery authors, Fulmer avoids seeding his story with artificially placed period props; rather, the palpable ambience develops naturally out of the very real interaction between character and place. Pair this series with Bill Moody's Evan Horne novels, which feature real-life mysteries concerning modern jazzmen, and you've compressed a large chunk of jazz history into a handful of crime novels.
(Booklist - Bill Ott )

In the rowdy red-light district of Storyville, four players of the new music they call "jass" have turned up dead. When Creole detective Valentin St. Cyr begins to investigate, he discovers that every one of the victims once played in the same band, and the only one left alive has gone into hiding. As he digs deeper, Valentin becomes convinced that a shadowy woman is the key to the mystery. His efforts to find her touch nerves, and soon Tom Anderson, known as the "King of Storyville," police lieutenant J. Picot, and even the mayor of New Orleans want him off the case. It's all the proof Valentin needs that there is something even larger and darker at the heart of this sordid business. A riveting follow-up to the award-winning Valentin St. Cyr mystery Chasing the Devil's Tail, Jass journeys further into the bloody and seedy netherworld that is Storyville, New Orleans.

DAVID FULMERs first novel, Chasing the Devils Tail, was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Mystery/Thriller Book Prize and the winner of the Shamus Award for Best First P.I. Novel. He lives in Atlanta.

Antoine Noiret came awake with a start, as if he'd been jerked out of sleep by a rough hand. He groaned, dead tired. The crazy bitch had kept him up for two hours after they had stumbled home from the saloon, and that was after playing for six with nary a break. He thought she was going to let him pound her hips for his trouble, but all she wanted to do was rail at him, and once she got going, she screeched like she was mounted on his yancy and thrashing for all she was worth. He didn't quite understand what all her fussing was about. At one point, she pulled open her shirtwaist and hiked up her petticoats, demanding to know if that was what he wanted. Indeed it was; otherwise, what was she doing in his room at that hour? She was the one who had come sniffing around him, after all, first watching from the back of the hall, then coming around to whisper in his ear as she made promises with her eyes. He had hoped to finish out his grueling night with a good fuck and then sleep like a dead man through the dawn and well into the day. She had other ideas, and when he reached for her, she dropped her skirts and went to stalking about the room, a sweaty, half-dressed mess, her rouge and mascara running in clownish streaks, calling curses down on his worthless self. After a few minutes of this abuse, she wound down and lurched into the hall, slamming the door so hard it shook the walls. Antoine was baffled. It didn't matter. He grunted with relief, glad to be rid of her and her noisy, filthy mouth. It was just as well; he had no business bringing her there in the first place. Not after what had happened before. Her steps had barely faded off in the hallway when he dropped into an exhausted slumber, like he had fallen into black water. Time passed until he came half awake to someone moving about in the darkness. He let out a silent groan, praying that she would just go away again and leave him alone. He was done for the night. He pulled the damp, dingy pillow over his head, hoping she'd get the idea. The air stirred as footsteps padded up to the bed. Then he heard a dark cough and felt something push into the pillow, a finger perhaps, poking for attention, and it began to dawn on him that there was something wrong about it. Because it wasn't a finger at all-it was the tip of the blade of a ten-inch hunting knife. With a certain and sudden precision, the blade plummeted through the pillow and tore into Antoine's neck, just behind the jaw and below his ear. He felt a raw shock of pain and tried to bolt up off the mattress. Though he was a big man, a bigger weight held him down as the knife pinned him like some insect. He thrashed about, his thick arms going weaker and weaker as blood soaked the sheets. In less than twenty seconds, he had gurgled a last breath and his hands flapped a final time before dropping over the side of the mattress. The knife slid back through the pillow that had muffled his dying grunts. A moment later the door opened and c