Maruti took a newspaper package from his khaki satchel and handed it to Lalli . . . There was a wad of silky fluff inside. Nestled preciously in it, something glinted slyly like a jewel. It was one perfect fingernail, painted pink.' 24 Patwardhan Cross. The solitary bone that surfaces in the garden there doesn't mean much to police surgeon Dr Q or Inspector Savio. But Lalli, who collects curiosities, finds it curious. Things get curiouser when a dying gigolo whispers the address in terror, and curiouser still when a mummified finger with a chic manicure turns up in the same garden. Lalli might have ignored these curiosities had there not been a child at the heart of the matter . . . As she investigates what makes this garden grow, Lalli uncovers a gruesome tale.
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L'auteur se glisse en reporter discret au sein de sa propre famille pour en dresser un portrait d'une humanité forte et fragile
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