Scandal, ambition and intrigue run rampant in the newsroom of a Cleveland television station as sales manager Steve Cirini comes up the main suspect in the murder of a pretty young newscaster. Cirini is the lover of Milan Jacovich’s ex-girlfriend, Mary Soderberg, and Milan doesn’t like him much—but he agrees to search for the real killer, if only to fan the old flames of his past relationship. And he can’t quite decide whether he wants that love affair back again—or not.

“If John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee lives on, it’s in Les Roberts’ Milan Jacovich. Like the legendary McGee, Jacovich is a man of principle, a quixotic philosopher, and a gentle giant who’s wise, caring, and as confused about life as the rest of us. Milan has moved his office to Cleveland’s Collision Bend area on the banks of the Cuyahoga River. His old flame, Mary Soderberg (for whom Milan still carries a torch), is distraught when her lover and colleague is accused of murdering a popular Cleveland television reporter. Even though Mary hasn’t spoken to Milan in three years, she turns to him for help. What ensues forces the implacable Milan to face some ugly truths about the human condition. Roberts, who writes some of today’s best testosterone-laced PI stories, offers a pithy plot, world-weary but witty dialogue, and an appealing portrait of the rich cultural and ethnic diversity of often-maligned Cleveland. A good choice for all mystery collections.” (Emily Melton, Booklist)

“A corker of a whodunnit… Gritty, grim, humorous, sentimental… a perfect 10.” (Chicago Sun-Times)

Excerpt: I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t, not until his fist landed on the side of my head. The sucker punch knocked me sideways, into the fence, and when I hit it he was all over me, punching and kicking and kneeing. I tried to fend him off, but he not only outbulked me, he was terribly strong. He was more than 20 years my senior and I didn’t want to hit him, but in the end that’s the only way I could save myself a further beating.
It was only one punch, and it didn’t travel more than six inches, but my hand sank almost up to the wrist in his large gut. He sagged, gasping, to his knees and then fell forward, supporting himself with his fists on the ground in front of him like a gorilla.

The woman came running down the walkway screaming for me to stop, and chopped a sidehand karate blow at me that missed by at least a foot. “What’s wrong witchew, bastard?” she demanded. “Hit a ol’ man like that, an’ him wit cancer!”

Publisher: Gray & Company (2005)

Pages: 254

Original Publisher: St. Martin’s Press (1996)