In dust and ashes

Anne Holt, 1958-

Book - 2018

"In 2001, three-year-old Dina is killed in a tragic car accident. Not long thereafter Dina's mother dies under mysterious circumstances, and Dina's father Jonas is convicted of her murder. Now it's 2016, and the cold case ends up on the desk of Detective Henrik Holme, who tries to convince his mentor Hanne Wilhelmsen that Jonas might have been wrongly convicted. Holme and Wilhelmsen discover that the case could be connected to the suicide of an eccentric blogger, as well as the kidnapping of the grandson of a EuroJackpot millionaire"

Saved in:

1st Floor Show me where

1 / 1 copies available
Location Call Number   Status
1st Floor MYSTERY/Holt Anne Checked In
Detective and mystery fiction
New York : Scribner 2018.
Main Author
Anne Holt, 1958- (author)
Other Authors
Anne Bruce, 1952 April 22- (translator)
First Scribener hardcover edtion
Item Description
Translation of: I støv og aske.
Physical Description
307 pages ; 24 cm
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

One case bedevils Oslo Police Superintendent Kjell Bonsaksen at the end of his career: the conviction of Jonas Abrahamsen for the murder of Jonas' wife, Anna, in 2004, two years after the tragic accidental death of their three-year-old daughter. So Bonsaksen takes the file of what he considers a case of miscarried justice to Detective Henrik Holme, protégé of legendary detective Hanne Wilhelmsen, now a special adviser on cold cases. While Holme, a celebrity after his work on terrorist bombings in 2014, sees indications of Abrahamsen's innocence, Wilhelmsen is keen to look instead into the recent suicide of deplored right-winger Iselin Havørn, which she believes was more likely a murder despite evidence to the contrary. As the two detectives pursue their respective assignments, the cases link in a surprising fashion. In this tenth and final book in the Hanne Wilhelmsen series, Wilhelmsen is as intuitive, and prickly, as ever, as Holt explores further the relationship between Wilhelmsen and Holme. For fans of Jo Nesbø, who has noted Holt's primacy in Norwegian crime fiction, and of the genre in general.--Leber, Michele Copyright 2018 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

At the start of Holt's elegiac 10th and final novel featuring Oslo chief inspector Hanne Wilhelmsen (after 2017's Odd Numbers), veteran police detective Kjell Bonsaksen, who's about to retire, brings a possible miscarriage of justice to the attention of Hanne's eccentric disciple, Henrik Holme. In 2004, Jonas Abrahamsen, whose marriage fell apart after the death of his three-year-old daughter in a car accident in 2001, was convicted of his ex-wife's murder. Kjell believes that Jonas, who has served 12 years in prison, is innocent. Meanwhile, Hanne, a gifted and unorthodox investigator, suspects that the death of far-right activist Iselin Havorn is not the suicide it appears. Under Hanne's guidance, Henrik gradually grows into maturity as a genuine humanitarian, while Hanne, despite her physical limitations due to a serious line-of-duty injury, digs into Havorn's background, shedding light on right-wing European movements with their anti-Muslim "criminal, capitalist conspiracy" theories. For Hanne and Henrik, both convincing complex characters, all suffering comes down to the "good old sins": money, sex, and revenge. Readers will be sorry to see the last of them. Agent: Niclas Salomonsson, Salomonsson Agency (Sweden). (May) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Retired police inspector Hanne Wilhelmsen and Det. Henrik Holme have successfully collaborated on a number of cold cases in the past, proving to be a winning duo despite their sometimes quirky personalities. During a lull in their assigned caseload, they find themselves unofficially exploring two intriguing cases. Henrik is urged by a retiring detective to reopen a 12-year-old murder, because of a nagging concern that the detective may have sent an innocent man to jail. Hanne simultaneously fixates on the highly publicized suicide of a notorious right-wing blogger whose identity was recently exposed in a media witch hunt. She suspects foul play, deducing that the dots do not seem to connect to suicide. As the two follow leads on both probes, they discover an unexpected and interesting intersection between the two cases. Verdict This tenth and final book in this best-selling Norwegian series (after Offline) is perhaps one of the best. Holt is an expert at creating multifaceted characters and riveting fast-paced crime novels.-Mary Todd Chesnut, Northern Kentucky Univ. Lib., Highland Heights © Copyright 2018. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

The 10th and reportedly last of Holt's novels about Oslo police inspector Hanne Wilhelmsen ushers in 2016 with news of a 12-year-old murder that might just be a suicide and a brand-new suicide that smells more and more like murder."You knew I was innocent," Jonas Abrahamsen tells retiring Superintendent Kjell Bonsaksen when their paths cross at a highway rest stop. "And yet you did nothing." Two years after the accidental death of their toddler, Dina, began a death spiral for Jonas' marriage to car sales manager Anna Abrahamsen, he was arrested for Anna's murder and served eight years in prison. And he's right: Bonsaksen always had his doubts about Jonas' guilt but could come up with no other suspects in Anna's fatal shooting. So Bonsaksen dumps his files on the lap of Officer Henrik Holme, and he naturally shares them with Hanne, whose own shooting (Odd Numbers, 2017, etc.) has reduced her to a wheelchair and the title of consultant. Despite its vintage, Henrik is keen on the Abrahamsen case, but Hanne's more interested in the recent death of Iselin Havørn, whose sketchy dietary-supplement empire left her plenty of time to air her rabid anti-immigration views online. Despite the presence of a suicide note and the absence of any evidence implicating anyone else, Hanne quickly convinces herself that Iselin was murdered. It's not nearly so easy to convince Henrik, and the mentor and her gofer repeatedly clash, largely over whether a mentor's allowed to treat her colleague as a gofer. As they bicker over cases old and new, Holt focuses more and more uncomfortably on Jonas, a sympathetic, agonizingly troubled man who, unable to avoid the loss of everything that made his life worth living, resolves that he won't be the only one to lose it all.Despite some climactic surprises that aren't, Holt closes her series with one of its strongest entries, combining a generous sensitivity to all with an unblinking portrait of a franchise sleuth who, pressed to defend the corners she's cut, acknowledges, "I've become more pragmatic with age."

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

In Dust and Ashes FRIDAY, JANUARY 1, 2016 Only a couple of weeks left, and then it would all be over. And everything could begin. Their new life, he and his wife in Provence. She was the one who had insisted on a move. He couldn't speak French and didn't drink wine, but at least the climate down there was appealing. He had been in the police since 1978 when he had entered what they had then called Police College, and it was high time he found something else. Dog breeding--that was what he and his old woman had decided on. A whole lifetime had gone by since the end of the seventies--a couple of generations of Norwegians and thirty-nine sets of trainee officers. Or police students, as they had snootily come to be called over the years. He himself had started in the police force when they used pen and paper and the odd IBM golf ball typewriter and the youngest officers were more than content to be known as constables. A few months ago, he had been promoted to the rank of superintendent, less than six months before everything came to an end. Having turned fifty-eight in the middle of January, he could pack up the odds and ends in his office and walk out the doors at Stovner Police Station for the very last time. Kjell Bonsaksen was a contented man in most areas of life. He had no intention of looking back; after all, it must be possible to get a decent beer down there in Provence. His son was an only child and their two grandchildren half French, so it actually hadn't been too difficult to persuade him to move closer to them. They had sold their terraced house in Korsvoll following a furious round of bids for a sum that had caused him to blush. A good chunk of money was left over, even when the little house outside Aix with the sprawling, overgrown garden was paid in full. He wouldn't be able to eat so many hot dogs down there, when his wife could keep an eye on him all the time. Placing a fifty-kroner note on the counter, he received some change in return and dropped it into his pocket. He zigzagged a generous portion of ketchup over his hot dog, shaking his head when the assistant pushed the bottle of mustard toward him. Through the large windows, he glanced at the gas pumps. The weather was horrendous, as it had mostly been all through Christmas. Plump, wet snowflakes melted before they reached the ground, and everything was in shades of gray. A parked trailer truck blocked his view of the E18. It would probably be red once it was washed. A man came walking toward the automatic doors. Tall, he had most likely been good-looking at one time. Bonsaksen was not a particularly adept judge of that sort of thing, but there was something about the wide mouth and the extremely straight, symmetrical nose. As the man entered, he looked up and straight at him. Kjell Bonsaksen froze in the middle of chewing. There was something about those eyes. The man stopped for a moment, so briefly that it was actually more a matter of slowing down midstep, before resuming his pace. He was holding an empty cup in one hand, and without a word to the fellow behind the counter, he filled it with coffee from a dispensing machine on a table by the window. Bonsaksen was a dependable police officer. Never exceptional, and this final promotion had probably been the police chief's way of saying thanks for long and faithful service rather than real acknowledgment of his suitability to be in charge of very many subordinates. His forte was working hard and according to the book, being honest and exact, and he was never tempted to take shortcuts. He was a workhorse. Policemen of his ilk were a dying breed. It had bothered him for some time, but now he couldn't care less. He had only thirteen days left of his solid, if somewhat nondescript, career. As a police officer of almost forty years' experience, what he was proudest of was his memory. A policeman had to be able to remember: names and cases; relationships and faces; crime scenes; perpetrators and victims. You had to have some glue up top. Although the man at the coffee machine had lost most of his hair and was also much thinner than the last time they met, Kjell Bonsaksen recognized him as soon as they exchanged glances. His big eyes were unusually deep-set in his skinny, almost gaunt face. They radiated nothingness. Neither curiosity nor evil. No trace of pleasure, not even that the stranger had also recognized him. They contained not a sliver of reproach as the man placed the lid on his cup and, with steady steps, approached the hot dog-munching policeman. He stopped a few feet away from him. "You knew I was innocent," he said softly. Kjell Bonsaksen did not answer. He had more than enough to do, struggling to swallow an oversized chunk of hot dog, roll, and ketchup. "You knew it," the man repeated. "And yet you did nothing." He let his gaze linger on Kjell's face for a second or two before giving an almost imperceptible shrug as he turned on his heel and headed for the exit. Kjell Bonsaksen stood lost in thought, a half-eaten hot dog in his hand, until the stranger climbed into the trailer truck that might have been red and drove out onto the highway in the direction of Oslo. "Maybe so," he said, so quietly it was possible he only thought it. "Maybe it's true that I knew you were innocent." Excerpted from In Dust and Ashes: Hanne Wilhelmsen Book Ten by Anne Holt All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.