From the acclaimed bestselling author of the Easy Rawlins series, deemed “one of America’s best mystery writers” ( The New York Times Book Review ), comes a tale about a murdered man who does not want to go to heaven or hell—he’d rather have his old life in Harlem. The police don't show up on Easy's doorstep until the third girl dies. It's Los Angeles, 1956 and it takes more than a murdered black girl before the cops get interested. Now they need Easy. The LAPD need help to find the serial killer who’s going around murdering young, African American strippers. They only show up when the killer murders a white girl. But Easy turns them down. As he says: "I was worth a precinct full of detectives when the cops needed the word in the ghetto." He’s married now, a father, and his detective days are over. When the white college coed dies, the cops make it clear that if Easy doesn't help his best friend is headed for jail. So Easy is back, walking the midnight streets of Watts and the darker twisted avenues of a cunning killer's mind, in the most explosive Easy Rawlins mystery yet. " Wonderful page-turning excitement....Like Sue Grafton, Sara Paretsky, and others, Mosley has been reconstructing the hard-boiled tradition from the bottom up....Easy Rawlins moves through mean streets even Marlowe wouldn't walk." ― San Francisco Chronicle "With White Butterfly, Walter Mosley has established himself as one of America's best mystery writers." ― The New York Times Book Review "Rawlins...might be the best American character to appear in quite some time." ― Entertainment Weekly “Startling and powerful…Mosley handles well the conflict between good and downright dirty that drives the great street detectives of the crime genre.” ― Newsday “If [Philip] Marlowe was tough, Easy has to be even tougher.” ― Washington Post Book World “Crackles with the suspense and wit of vintage Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, but its keen commentaries on racial issues make it a vital piece of modern fiction…Mosley has earned a place among contemporary masters of crime fiction.” ― Boston Sunday Herald Walter Mosley is the acclaimed author of more than forty books, including the internationally bestselling Easy Rawlins series. His best known Easy Rawlins novels include Devil in a Blue Dress , A Red Death , White Butterfly , Black Betty , and Little Yellow Dog . He is also the author of the collection of stories Always Outnumbered. Always Outgunned featuring Socrates Fortlow, which was the basis for an HBO feature film. A former president of the Mystery Writers of America, he was named a grand master by the organization in 2016. He has served on the board of directors of the National Book Foundation and is a recipient of the PEN American Center Lifetime Achievement Award. A native of Los Angeles, he now lives in New York City. Chapter One "Easy Rawlins!" someone called. I turned to see Quinten Naylor twist the handle of my front gate. "Eathy," my baby, Edna, cooed as she played peacefully with her feet in her crib next to me on the front porch. Quinten was normal in height but he was broad and powerful-looking. His hands were the size of potholders, even under the suit jacket his shoulders were round melons. Quinten was a brown man but there was a lot of red under the skin. It was almost as if he were rage-colored. As Quinten strode across the lawn he crushed a patch of chives that I'd been growing for seven years. The violent-colored man smiled at me. He held out his beefy paw and said, "Glad I caught you in." "Uh-huh." I stepped down to meet him. I shook his hand and looked into his eyes. When I didn't say anything there was an uncomfortable moment for the Los Angeles police sergeant. He stared up into my face wanting me to ask him why he was there. But all I wanted was for him to leave me to go back into my home with my wife and children. "Is this your baby?" he asked. Quinten was from back east, he spoke like an educated white Northerner. "Yeah." "Beautiful child." "Yeah. She sure is." "She sure is," Quinten repeated. "Takes after her mother, I bet." "What do you want wit' me, officer?" I asked. "I want you to come with me." "I'm under arrest?" "No. No, not at all, Mr. Rawlins." I knew when he called me mister that the LAPD needed my services again. Every once in a while the law sent over one of their few black representatives to ask me to go into the places where they could never go. I was worth a precinct full of detectives when the cops needed the word in the ghetto. "Then why should I wanna go anywhere wit' you? Here I am spendin' the day wit' my fam'ly. I don't need no Sunday drive wit' the cops." "We need your help, Mr. Rawlins." Quinten was becoming visibly more crimson under his brown shell. I wanted to stay home, to be with my wife, to make love to her later on. But something about Naylor's request kept me from turning him down. There was a kind of defeat in the policeman's plea.