It's hard to believe this was David Fulmer’s debut novel because it’s so taut the tension itself turns the pages. For lovers of early jazz, the book delivers special lagniappes with its setting in “the district” in old New Orleans, circa 1907, a chillingly accurate portrait of trumpet pioneer Buddy Bolden’s slow descent into insanity and a taste of uptown chicory and downtown racism.
Those were the days when the Crescent City’s class structure was manifold, with whites on top, Italians a notch below, Creoles (folks of French and/or Spanish and African ancestry) and, of course, negroes pulling up the rear. “Funky Butt” indeed!
The plot centers on Creole detective Valentine St. Cyr, one of Bolden's childhood friends, who’s desperately trying to solve serial murders of Storyville prostitutes. At each gruesome death scene, the unknown killer leaves an eerie floral calling card—a black rose.
St. Cyr works for the unofficial “mayor” of Storyville, Tom Anderson, who needs the killing to stop before someone gets the bright idea to shut down the district where girls of all colors work on their backs and hunchbacked photographer E.J. Bellocq snaps their portraits during non-working hours.
As St. Cyr searches in vain for the elusive murderer, he butts heads with New Orleans Police Lt. J. Picot, who considers crazy King Bolden the crimes’ prime suspect, and a
