The Ways of the Dead (26 page)

The fin de siècle Washington, D.C., in this book is a representation of the time and place itself, but it is not intended to be an exact duplicate. I have taken the occasional liberty with geography and timelines and events.

Most notably, there was a serial killer at work in and along Princeton Place in the late 1990s, and those crimes were slow to attract police attention. However, this novel uses those events as an inspiration, not as a factual guide, and there is no tie between any of the persons involved and the fictional characters herein. For more on the Princeton Place murders, please see www.neelytucker.com.

In helping establish certain police details, I am indebted to MPD detective Danny Whelan, who was instrumental in solving those killings. Former assistant U.S. attorney June Jeffries prosecuted homicide and sex crimes for a quarter century in the District and patiently answered many queries about the intricacies of that line of work. Connie Ogle and Michael Cavna read the manuscript and cleaned up details.

But mostly, this book would not exist without the efforts of five wonderful women.

I am very lucky to be married to the first, Carol Josephine Tucker, who believed in this project when it was a gauzy sort of idea, and who created the time and space for me to develop it into the thing now in your hands. (Also, editing. She excels at politely telling you that your brilliant late-night inspiration, that stunning literary passage not equaled in our time, does, in fact, suck.)

The second is one of the free world’s great literary agents, Elyse Cheney, who signed on before the first page was written. She worked through drafts, editing with a sense of patience and perspective, before representing this book as well as it can be done.

Lynn Medford, my very most wonderful boss at the
Post
, supported this project in ways large and small. She sneezes better than anybody.

Allison Lorentzen, my editor at Viking, turned this from manuscript to finished book, making sure everything was in its final place, adding good edits, grace notes, and enthusiasm.

And fifth and finally is Elizabeth Tucker, my mother, who read me books when I was a child, took me to the library over and over again, and, intentionally or not, instilled in me the sense that stories are how we make sense of the world.

I am blessed among men.

Neely Tucker was born in Lexington, Mississippi, when kids used to run around in the chemical fog sprayed behind the mosquito truck, which his wife thinks explains a lot. He is a former foreign correspondent who worked in a lot of places, many of them where people would shoot you for free. He is the author of
Love in the Driest Season
, a memoir about war, reporting, and adopting his gorgeous elder daughter. A staff writer for The
Washington Post
, he lives in a house with a Jamaican, a Zimbabwean, two very small Americans, and one very large dog. They are all Saints fans. For more, see www.neelytucker.com.