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The eagerly anticipated new Rizzoli & Isles thriller from No. 1 bestselling author Tess Gerritsen.

'Expect a white-knuckle ride to very dark places.' Paula Hawkins

When a young woman is found dead, Detective Jane Rizzoli and Forensic Pathologist Maura Isles are called to the scene of the murder. Though the body bears startling wounds, the actual cause of death is not immediately clear.

A few days later, another body is discovered – a seemingly unrelated crime, but the lack of an obvious cause of death shows they have more in common than it would first appear.

As Rizzoli and Isles race to discover the link between the victims before the killer can strike again, a mysterious person watches from the sidelines. She has the answers they’re looking for.

But she knows she has to stay quiet, if she wants to stay alive . . .

'A fast-paced, dark, edgy mystery/thriller filled with unremitting suspense.' Huffington Post


Tess Gerritsen's clever plotting and medical knowledge give her thrillers that extra edge. Expect a white-knuckle ride to very dark places.

Paula Hawkins, bestselling author of THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN

A fast-paced, dark, edgy mystery/thriller filled with unremitting suspense.

Huffington Post

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Formats & editions

  • I Know a Secret
    Tess Gerritsen



    April 16, 2018


    416 pages

    RRP $26.00

    Online retailers

    • Mighty Ape
    • Paper Plus
    • The Warehouse
    • Whitcoulls
    • Fishpond
    • The Nile

    Find your local bookstore at booksellers.co.nz


When I was seven years old, I learned how important it is to cry at funerals. On that particular summer day, the man lying in the coffin was my great uncle Orson, who was most memorable for his foul-­smelling cigars and his stinky breath and his unabashed farting. While he was alive, he pretty much ig­nored me, the way I’d ignored him, so I was not in the least bit grief-­stricken by his death. I did not see why I should have to attend his funeral, but that is not a choice seven-­year-­olds are al­lowed to make. And so that day I found myself squirming on a church pew, bored and sweating in a black dress, wondering why I couldn’t have stayed home with Daddy, who had flat-­out re­fused to come. Daddy said he’d be a hypocrite if he pretended to grieve for a man he despised. I didn’t know what that word, hyp­ocrite, meant, but I knew I didn’t want to be one either. Yet there I was, wedged between my mother and Aunt Sylvia, forced to listen to an endless parade of people offering insipid praise for the unremarkable Uncle Orson. A proudly independent man! He was passionate about his hobbies! How he loved his stamp col­lection!

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