By Jonathan Santlofer
Nate Rodriguez is a police caricature artist for the NYPD, and his good fortune cost is excessive, with one out of 3 of his drawings resulting in an arrest. but if he's confronted with an strangely gifted killer, he realizes that he can have met his fit. For this killer is a guy greatly like himself–a guy who sees and thinks in photos. A killer who leaves drawings on the crime scenes depicting his murders in chilling, gory–and prescient–detail.
As Nate's graphics develop into a growing number of actual photos of the madman–the killer unearths the way to thieve Nate's images after which imitate Nate's personal hand. The conflicting facts leads the police to suspect that Nate himself may be the killer and pushes Nate right into a scary cat and mouse chase for his quarry. existence and dying, artwork and artifice have by no means been so vividly sure jointly.
Jonathan Santlofer pushes the bounds of the mystery to new heights with this masterful mix of artwork and suspense. With sequential sketches that exchange during the text–first the killer's, then Nate's–Santlofer teases us with impossible to resist clues and mental info brought in a hugely unique way.
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Extra info for Anatomy of Fear: A Novel of Visual Suspense
Many of the followers of Santeria remained Catholics. It didn’t seem to matter they were practicing a religion that bastardized the faith by renaming the saints, the orishas, after African gods to whom they prayed for guidance, forgiveness, even wrath and punishment for others, or that Santeria had been condemned by the church. I had tried to explain the contradiction to my grandmother, as well as the origin—that Santeria was a consequence of forcing Roman Catholicism on Africans brought to the Caribbean by slave traders—but she would never listen.
Asked Schmid, leaning over the guy, who was hufﬁng like a horse after a run, his nostrils ﬂaring. She held the picture up. Terri glanced from the police sketch in the detective’s hand to the guy cuffed to the chair. Schmid dangled the sketch in front of the perp’s face. ” The other cops in the room stopped writing up reports and turned toward the show, practically twitching in their chairs, waiting for an excuse to take a potshot at the perp. And they might have if some ofﬁce type in khakis and a buttondown shirt hadn’t come in with a big carton of folders, which he plopped onto a desk so he could get a good look too.
Terri cleared her throat. Schmid acknowledged her with a slight turn of her head and another look of annoyance. “That sketch,” Terri asked. ” ANATOMY OF FEAR 41 Schmid sighed as if Terri had asked her to donate a kidney, but handed it over before going back to her suspect. Terri ﬂipped it over, noted the date, time, name of the witness, and the sketch artist, Nathan Rodriguez. She looked back and forth between the sketch and its living embodiment cuffed to the chair, the resemblance dead-on. Rodriguez had a gift, no question.