He saw her first draped over a piano in a smoke-filled room. He saw her last lying on her back naked, cold, not from the chill air, but from rigor mortis. The New York Times calls Jack Ehrlichs novels intense, tormented, unflaggingly suspenseful.MoreHe saw her first draped over a piano in a smoke-filled room. He saw her last lying on her back naked, cold, not from the chill air, but from rigor mortis. The New York Times calls Jack Ehrlichs novels intense, tormented, unflaggingly suspenseful. Cry, Baby is his latest double-edged, razor-sharp tale of a hood who spit on morality and thought he was bigger than the law.