Matthew F. Jones
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"'Blind Pursuit' is a nail-bitingly suspenseful police procedural...muscular, Elmore Leonard-esque crime tale of a terrifying abduction...relentless, lean-and-mean page-turner plotting and a grimly satisfying ending." - Kirkus Reviews
"Jones is unpredictable and, therefore, terrifying. If you say yes to his use of language (like deciding to read poetry) you will not be able to shake him. He is a surgeon throughout the novel (reminiscent of Hitchcock)." - Susan Salter Reynolds, The Los Angeles Times Book Review
"Blind Pursuit" stoops to little of the crude button-pushing typical of child-kidnapping thrillers. As in "A Single Shot", Jones's 1996 novel about a hunter who accidentally shoots a teenage runaway, the interior story is as gripping as the exterior plot, both unfolding with an awful inexorability." - Gary Krist, Salon
"'Blind Pursuit' is the kind of novel the phrase "a page-turner" might have been invented for, an extremely well constructed (and sometimes quite moving) mystery." - David Pitt, Booklist
"If you read novels for the sheer beauty created from a talented writer's mind's eye, 'Blind Pursuit' is a must." - Pocono Record
When eight-year-old Jennifer Follett doesn't return home from school one day, the rigidly ordered lives of Edmund and Caroline Follett--a power couple with an expensive house outside Albany, New York--are suddenly upended. First comes the waiting; next comes the dread; finally, they are forced to think the unthinkable, as a wayward twelve-year-old boy admits that he watched from the woods as their daughter, whom they expected to board a school bus at the bottom of the driveway, got into a black sedan instead.
Although the Folletts' eccentric young nanny, Hannah, is less than forthcoming about why she let Jennifer out of her sight, police investigators soon begin to suspect another husband-and-wife pair: Gerald and Claire Sandoval, casual acquaintances of the Folletts who own a black LTD. But why would the model churchgoing couple kidnap a young girl? While they grow more and more convinced that the Sandovals are involved, the police are unable to find as much evidence to back up their suspicions. Frustrated by the law's presumed innocent safeguards, the Folletts determine to do whatever is necessary to get Jennifer back. Meanwhile, the well-meaning but incautious investigators go far beyond the call of duty in their desire to solve the crime. In their "blind pursuit," the search for Jennifer draws them deep into the upstate New York woods and into a chilling physical and psychological confrontation with evil.
that they believe her to be in no way involved.” “Well, I’m certainly inclined to agree!” Caroline glanced through the window. “Aren’t you?” At that moment, dressed in lederhosen and with Edmund Jr. sleeping soundly on her back, Hannah stepped from the woods fifty yards from the house. Relief expressed itself on the faces of Edmund and Caroline, though neither acknowledged it, beyond Caroline’s commenting, “Though with our being home at present, I suppose there’s no need for her to assume so
blue-and-white tennis jersey sweat-soaked, Caroline voicelessly stood and entered the house, weariness or something in her shoe slightly hobbling her normally effortless glide. “At first, yes. Then he got up and sat behind her on the horse and made it trot and gallop around the field. Jennifer loved it. I would have been deathly scared. They’re such big animals. And move so fast.” Even Hannah’s sometimes delusional mind, Edmund realized, had recognized his and Caroline’s desperation to avoid
Caroline politely inquired what Hannah was writing. “Words,” the nanny replied, “coming into my head.” Caroline waited to hear if the words composed a poem, a journal, or a story and, if so, about what, but Hannah mutely closed the notebook and tossed it behind her. Suppressing a strong urge to walk over and read what was there, Caroline hurriedly reentered the hallway. At the bathroom sink, she filled a pitcher, then watered the plants in her office, and in Jennifer’s room. She ruffled the
investigated before hiring her, but with Mrs. Carrerra, the children’s previous nanny, taking sick so suddenly over the Christmas holidays, there hadn’t been sufficient time. “You said you noticed maybe half a dozen vehicles pass in the ten or so minutes before you saw the bus leaving?” “That I recall.” “But none that stopped or even appeared to slow down.” “Of course not. Don’t you think if I had, I—” “I don’t know what to think, Hannah . . .” Edmund waved his hand after his trailing words.
trees, undergrown by clawing nettles, raspberry bushes, and witch hazel. The man’s breathing, like the bay’s, was intense. His cheeks were flushed. He was fully awake. Half a mile down the hill to his left, at the top of a potholed dirt road winding up through a bowl of gently rising woods and pastureland, lay the former Hanford Dresser farm, now abandoned. In the dull dawn light, the decrepit house and outbuildings, obscured by mist, appeared phantasmal. The man leaned forward and encouragingly