Harlan Coben is a magician. He may write “author” on his income tax form, but his stock-in-trade is sleight-of-hand. When David Copperfield makes the Statue of Liberty disappear, everyone smiles in acknowledging the nifty trick. Coben makes his brand of magic seem real.
In “The Woods,” a twenty-year-old mystery comes back to haunt Paul Copeland, now a New Jersey county prosecutor. His sister disappeared way back then, along with another teenager – both believed to be victims of a serial killer. When detectives find news clippings related to the decades old murder in the pockets of a murder victim, it puts a new spin on an old investigation.
“Cope” as he is called, has troubling coping with the revelation. The latest victim has old scar – one the prosecutor recognizes from twenty years ago – and, he thinks, if one person could survive that night, then…
Credit Coben’s writing style for drawing readers into the story with the same gullibility as marks watching a game of three-card-monte. You put your money down and believe you can follow the shifting cards, then – Pow! – he’s gotcha. One person says this, another says that. Who is telling the truth?
Maybe, no one.
In most of Coben’s stand-alone novels (those not part of the Myron Bolitar series), an ordinary man has to dig out from extraordinary circumstances. In many ways, this book is a departure. The county prosecutor is a buddy of the governor and has his own political ambitions. Hardly Joe-next-door.
There are no variations on Coben’s pacing.
This book is hard to put down – another credit to the writing – and it is only after closing the cover that some of the elements of “The Woods” come back to haunt. While the curtain is up and the lights are on though, Coben is a master of misdirection.
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