Then it does. Memphis Charles, wild-eyed and bloodstained, bursts in claiming her roommate's been brutally murdered - but she can't go to the police. She wants Tarpon. And for reasons even he can't explain, he takes the case. As the bodies mount, Tarpon is dragged into a Parisian underworld of politics, sleaze, and paranoia - with nothing to guide him but instinct, stubbornness, and a battered sense of justice.
With No Room at the Morgue, Manchette rewrote the American hardboiled detective novel into a bleak, boozy, and brilliantly French bruising meditation on guilt, truth, and the art of going down swinging.
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