Deaths of Jocasta

Micky Knight, a hard-hitting, tough-talking dyke detective, has been hired to provide security for a party at an old country mansion. It should be easy—a perfect spring evening, mild weather, and women everywhere. Suddenly another woman shows up—brutally murdered, left to die in the surrounding woods. The police find a prime suspect when the body of yet another victim is found in the clinic of Dr. Cordelia James, a woman whom Micky has a very personal reason to defend. Micky struggles against demons, past and present, in her death-defying search for the murderer. (reprint)

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Death of a Dying Man

“Set with wrenching reality against the backdrop of a city whose soul has been ravaged by Hurricane Katrina, Redmann’s…
Death of a Dying Man
…is a riveting and emotionally complex novel—weaving together a dying man’s poignant last wish, the pain of a crumbling lesbian romance, and (of course) a murder—is a virtuoso literary whodunit.” —Richard Labonte,
Q Syndicate

“Mickey Knight is back and how! J.M. Redmann is one of the top mystery writers today, bar none.”—Greg Herren, author of the Scott Bradley mystery series

The Intersection of Law and Desire

Lambda Literary Award Winner

San Francisco Chronicle
Editor’s Choice for the year

Profiled on
Fresh Air
, hosted by Terry Gross, and selected for book reviewer Maureen Corrigan’s recommended holiday book list.

“Superbly crafted, multi-layered…One of the most hard-boiled and complex female detectives in print today.”—
San Francisco Chronicle
(An Editor’s Choice selection for 1995)

“Fine, hard-boiled tale-telling.”—
Washington Post Book World

“An edge-of-the-seat, action-packed New Orleans adventure… Micky Knight is a fast-moving, fearless, fascinating character…
The Intersection of Law and Desire
will win Redmann lots more fans.” —
New Orleans Times-Picayune

“Crackling with tension…an uncommonly rich book…Redmann has the making of a landmark series.”—
Kirkus Review

“Perceptive, sensitive prose; in-depth characterization; and pensive, wry wit add up to a memorable and compelling read.”—
Library Journal

“Powerful and page turning…A rip-roaring read, as randy as it is reflective…Micky Knight is a to-die-for creation…a Cajun firebrand with the proverbial quick wit, fast tongue, and heavy heart.”—
Lambda Book Report

Lost Daughters

“Few writers understand the human heart as well as J.M. Redmann.
Lost Daughters
manages the rare trick of being a mystery packed with surprises as well as a moving exploration of the pain of loss between parents and children. Don’t start reading
Lost Daughters
at bedtime unless you plan to be up all night.”—Val McDermid, Gold Dagger– winning author of
The Mermaids Singing

“A sophisticated, funny, plot-driven, character-laden murder mystery set in New Orleans…as tightly plotted a page-turner as they come… One of the pleasures of
Lost Daughters
is its highly accurate portrayal of the real work of private detection—a standout accomplishment in the usually sloppily conjectured world of thriller-killer fiction. Redmann has a firm grasp of both the techniques and the emotions of real-life cases—in this instance, why people decide to search for their relatives, why people don’t, what they fear finding and losing…and Knight is a competent, tightly wound, sardonic, passionate detective with a keen eye for detail and a spine made of steel.”—
San Francisco Chronicle

“Redmann’s Mickey Knight series just gets better…For finely delineated characters, unerring timing, and page-turning action, Redmann deserves the widest possible audience.”—
Booklist
, starred review “…tastefully sexy…”—
USA Today

“Like fine wine, J.M. Redmann’s private eye has developed interesting depths and nuances with age…Redmann continues to write some of the fastest-moving action scenes in the business…In
Lost Daughters
, Redmann has found a winning combination of action and emotion that should attract new fans—both gay and straight—in droves.”—
New Orleans Times-Picayune
“An admirable, tough PI with an eye for detail and the courage, finally, to confront her own fear. Recommended.”—
Library Journal

“The best mysteries are character-driven and still have great moments of atmosphere and a tightly wound plot. J.M. Redmann succeeds on all three counts in this story of a smart lesbian private eye who unravels the fascinating evidence in a string of bizarre cases, involving missing children, grisly mutilations, and a runaway teen driven from her own home because she is gay.”—
Outsmart

Death by the Riverside

Deaths of Jocasta

The Intersection of Law and Desire

Lost Daughters

Death of a Dying Man

Water Mark

Deaths of Jocasta

© 1992 J.M. Redmann. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-073-9

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First Bold Strokes Edition: February 2009

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

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Production Design: Stacia Seaman

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I couldn’t find a seat on the streetcar. It was late afternoon and people were going home from work. I ended up standing near the back. More people got on at each stop. A briefcase was poking into the back of my knee. I thought about “accidentally” stepping on his toes when we jostled to a stop, and I heard a distinctly female “umph” from the briefcase carrier. Saved by her sex. She pressed closer to me as more people crowded on. Definitely female. I could feel her breasts through my T-shirt. The man in front of me got off. He was replaced by a well-dressed woman carrying, you guessed it, a briefcase. She was good looking, career woman style. Long dark hair and a discreet amount of makeup. The streetcar started up with a jerk and threw her into me. I was surrounded by breasts. She smiled an apology to me for having to stand so close. I just smiled back.

“Sorry,” she said as another jerk smashed her breasts into mine again.

“No problem,” I answered.

She smiled at me again. I could feel the warm breath of the woman behind me tickling my neck. Her tits were still firmly planted under my shoulder blades. The woman in front was staring at me with an arch to her brow that I had to be misinterpreting.

I was dressed in a T-shirt and faded jeans, my only accouterment small pink triangle earrings. It doesn’t pay to be too blatant in the Crescent City; we’re still below the Mason-Dixon line.

“Do you mind if I hold on here?” asked the woman behind me as she reached around me. Her arm was pressing into the hollow just above my hip, but there wasn’t much else to hold on to back here.

“No, not at all,” I said, “I understand holding on.”

“I’ll bet you do,” she whispered in my ear.

The trolley jerked again, whether stopping or starting, I wasn’t sure. Both women were pressing into me, proving to be quite a distraction.

Calm down, Micky. When do you go after ever-so-well-dressed career types?
Celibacy does have some drawbacks. Like looking at women who used to be a definite no and thinking maybe… I had been celibate for a long time if a briefcase was becoming a maybe.

The car jerked again and the woman behind me lost her grip and was forced to hold on to me. Her hand was on my hip. Then her crotch pushed against my ass. It couldn’t be intentional, I told myself. The woman in front of me smiled like she knew what was going on behind me.

This is weird, I thought. However, not weird enough to induce me to stop it. From the feel of it, she had a nice crotch.

Then the woman in front lifted her briefcase, using it to hide the movements of her other hand. I knew what she was doing. Her hand was on my thigh and moving up.

“The next stop. You could get off very easily,” she said to me in a husky undertone. Her hidden hand was defining some of the various meanings of “get off.”

“I could,” I answered.

The trolley rolled to a halt. She led the way off. The woman behind me was still behind me. I glanced at her. A stunning redhead. She winked when she caught me looking. The dark-haired woman led the way to a side street, then motioned us into a hidden courtyard.

It never occurred to me to wonder what I was getting into, probably because, with only two dollars in my wallet, robbery wasn’t a big worry. The only other thing these women could want me for was my body. And I had no problem with that.

The redhead closed the gate to the courtyard. Both women dropped their briefcases off to one side. The dark-haired woman got behind me, putting her arms around me to unbuckle my belt. As she was undoing my pants, red hair, now in front, pulled up my T-shirt, exposing my breasts. First her hands, then her tongue and mouth covered them. Dark hair, having unzipped my jeans, was fingering the elastic of my panties, her lips and tongue echoing the movement of her fingers along the back of my neck.

Red hair, still tonguing my breasts, unbuttoned her shirt, then unhooked her bra and pushed it out of the way, showing her pale breasts and very pink nipples. She pushed them very firmly against mine and started kissing me, tongue in cheek, hers in mine.

Dark hair started going beyond the elastic. Red hair was still kissing me, the weight of her breasts a very pleasant warmth on mine. I felt her tongue start to trace my lips, moving slowly to my chin, another kiss, then her cold, wet nose on my cheek…