You Know Who Killed Me by Loren Estleman

You sit  you watch, you smoke, you listen.  Doors open, doors close. Cars pull into the lot, cars pull out. A pigeon pecks at the ants crawling over a box from Wendy's. A hole opens in the overcast, lighter-covered clouds drifting from one side of it to the other, morphing into different shapes, a celestial Rorschach. Doors open, doors close.
--Loren D. Estleman, You Know Who Killed Me (Tom Doherty Associates, 2014).

This is the twenty-fourth in Estleman's series about Detroit private eye Amos Walker (I wrote about the previous book on July 1,2014).  Estleman is one of the last to write this kind of energetic pulp:  Ross Macdonald, John D, McDonald, Raymond Chandler, etc. are all gone.  Walker is one of the old-fashioned detectives, doing a lot of legwork and stakeouts in the search for a killer.  Walker barely knows how to use a computer but is smart enough to know those who can and he has many useful contacts from his long career.

This novel is written in the first person, so one only knows what Walker knows, learning it as he does.  He follows gangsters, and federal agents follow him as Walker, fresh from rehab, struggles with addiction to pills caused by injuries in a shootout. There is a femme fatale, of course, one of the agents who follows him, whose "legs hadn't suffered from sitting behind a desk."  As usual, Walker has no luck with women, though he was married and divorced. When he finally finds the killer, through hard work and intelligent investigation,  he goes home alone to drink coffee, which keeps him from sleeping.  I was running out of substances to abuse.