Every city has its seedy part where men easily find prostitutes, booze flows and policemen become rich. In 1907 New Orleans, the neighborhood is called Storyville, and is the home of Creole private detective Valentin St. Cyr. St. Cyr is resting his talents by providing security during the wee hours at a saloon owned by one of the most powerful men in the city.

In his private time St. Cyr hires the services of a young prostitute with whom he is falling in love. It is no coincidence that when similar women turn up dead, each with a black rose left on their body, a wealthy madam takes St. Cyr to the crime. Here, on page seven, we get a taste of the wonderful depiction that is to fill many pages to come:

Though the hour was early, it was April and humid. All over the cobbled avenues, puddles of rainwater had collected skeins of green scum that gave up a sour stench. The two citizens of the swamp that was 1907 New Orleans marched west, taking bare notice. By noon this Sunday, the city would sweat enough to raise the Mississippi and the streets of cobble and dirt would grow rank, as dead animals, human waste, and kitchen slops steamed in the sun, attended by clouds of green flies. But from the hallowed pews of St. Ignatius Church to the lice-ridden, dime-a-trick cribs that lined Robertson and Claiborne streets from Canal to St. Louis, only a fool would bother to complain.

St. Cyr becomes involved in the serial killings in a few ways, from the madams, from his boss, and from his own concerns about his lady Justine and his childhood friend. The childhood friend has become a famous musician, and his way with a horn has turned music on its ear. “Jass” is the new rage in New Orleans, and Buddy Bolden is causing riots with his music. But he is in the early grip of insanity, and he likes the company of prostitutes. Is he the killer?

The story is very involving. At one time I was disappointed with St. Cyr’s behavior, which seemed weak and unexpected The epilogue, so to speak, should have not been written but carried on in the next book. However, these are small points in the grander picture, which is well worth a visit.

--Diane Gotfryd