In which James Wenlock’s private life unfolds, a woman tells her tale and Carmen Pharoah is at home to the gracious reader…
When a series of postcards In which James Wenlock’s private life unfolds, a woman tells her tale and Carmen Pharoah is at home to the gracious reader…
When a series of postcards of Scarborough harbour, typed and addressed to a drop-in centre in York arrive days apart, Mrs Julia Bartlem hands them in to DC Webster of the Vale of York Police. Each bears the word “murder” in a different language and all have a reference number, which Mrs Bartlem says is Ordnance Survey map coordinates. This leads the police to the remains, buried in a shallow grave under a line of trees, of missing person James Wenlock, a certified accountant who disappeared ten years earlier, leaving his wife and two sons with a large house and parcel of shares.
Thus begins another cosy murder mystery in the Hennessy and Yellich series by British author Peter Turnbull. As DCI Hennessey and his team piece together Wenlock’s life they take into custody a Hull trawlerman with a violent temper and criminal record, and uncover a murder 20 years earlier with the same modus operandi. But is it the same killer?
I enjoy this series for its intelligent writing (and a little nostalgia for an area I grew up in). Detectives Hennessey, Yelling, Webster, Pharoah and Ventnor go about their investigations quietly and without drama (no car chases or weapons here), and though each has faced loss or tragedy, they work effectively as a team without egos. There is a time-warp quality to the well-plotted story, with a red herring thrown in, as two villains skilfully “play” with the police.
An easy read, recommended to fans of British crime novels....more
**spoiler alert** In this old-style - if contemporary - military thriller of men and war machines, Chechen rebels seize weapons-grade plutonium in Rus**spoiler alert** In this old-style - if contemporary - military thriller of men and war machines, Chechen rebels seize weapons-grade plutonium in Russia to build a thermonuclear warhead, and while the Russians seek punitive action against Chechnya, US intelligence trails the plutonium to a freighter in Sochi. A plan is devised to smuggle a Los Angeles class submarine through the Bosporus into the Black Sea to seek and destroy the Russian freighter before the deadly cargo can be transferred. Complications arise when the FSB at Sochi insists that the Russian-flagged vessel takes on board a group of Ukrainian orphans and their carer and transports them to Odessa. The Los Angeles class submarine tracks down its target and fires…
This is the fourth “Navy Justice” novel by author Don Brown, a former US Navy officer with the Judge Advocate General Corps (JAG). And while the Biblical references and Islamic fundamentalism went way over head, and I struggled with the many characters, I enjoyed the level of technical detail.
The MiG-29 had defeated the American-built F-16 on many occasions in war games conducted by the German Luftwaffe. But the F-15 Eagle was another question. The twin-engined Eagle was not as good as the U.S. Navy’s now-retired F-14 Tomcat, nor was it as nimble as the smaller F-16 Falcon. But the Eagle was much faster than the Falcon, carried more Sidewinder missiles, and had a better long-range attack capability. Still, the Eagle would have its hands full against the MiG.
The novel also reignited my interest in Bathymetry, and gains an extra half star for the maps and diagrams, but I found a few issues questionable.
(view spoiler)[How can a lifeboat be caught in the vortex from a sinking ship when a small boy clinging to a lifebelt escapes? Can Navy SEALS really operate at a depth of 1275 feet? And the elastic timeline on a voyage by freighter between Gibraltar and the Baltic Sea). (hide spoiler)]
California in the late 1890’s is a melting pot. The gold rush attracted gambling houses and prostitutes, followed by schools, churches and law enforceCalifornia in the late 1890’s is a melting pot. The gold rush attracted gambling houses and prostitutes, followed by schools, churches and law enforcement. Transport is by railways or horse drawn buggies or wagons, in San Francisco bicycles are becoming popular, particularly among young women, the suffragettes are lobbying for California to become the 4th state in the union to allow women the vote. Telephones are in the infancy with telegraph wires the routine method of sending messages. Electricity is gradually taking over from gas lights.
It is against this background that Sabine Carpenter and John Quincannon, Professional detectives, take on cases to oust shysters and charlatans, and go undercover to expose a card shark operating in Nevada County. But when gambling leads to murder, Sabine is placed in jeopardy. Back in San Francisco she investigates a robbery for a reluctant misogynist businessman, while John Quincannon takes the train to the drought ravaged San Joaquin Valley to investigate a bogus rainmaker.
This is the sixth in the Carpenter and Quincannon Mystery series, and written by Bill Pronzini without Marcia Muller. It is an easy read after some “heavy" books, but I particularly enjoyed the minor detail: men’s and women’s clothing; the sound of the stamp at the empire mill, foghorns in the bay. Firearms from derringers to hand weapons from the Civil War; all adding to the colour. In Sabine we have a feisty young heroine, still grieving for the loss of her husband while there are signs of an emerging romance between her and John Quincannon.
The slurred words of a drunken woman, handcuffed to the bed, her dead husband in the cluttered kitchen, the wife the apparent p‘They took the dragon.’
The slurred words of a drunken woman, handcuffed to the bed, her dead husband in the cluttered kitchen, the wife the apparent perpetrator…
The violent incident occurs only blocks from Moscow’s Chistye Prudy Metro station, where witnesses claim to have seen the ghost of Stalin on the platform from the late night train. Inspector Arkady Renko is called to the station by Prosecutor Zurin who hands him the witness statements, which range from drunken soldiers who saw nothing, to two pensioners, a female student and film maker all who testify to the image of Stalin. The statements were signed off by Detectives Isakov and Urman, recent recruits to the militia from OMON, the much-feared Black Berets. Arkady follows the detectives to the domestic violence incident, and immediately has concerns at their take on events.
These are just two of the themes in the sixth Arkady Renko novel, to keep a reader on their toes. A woman who owns a matrimonial agency approaches the police to ‘take out” her violent husband. Arkady is in an on-again-off-again relationship with Eva Kazka, a doctor he met at Chernobyl. But Eva knew Isakov from Chechnya, and Isakov has political ambitions. Then there’s Zhenye, the twelve year old runaway chess wizard whom Arkady has taken under his wing, and who has gone missing again.
Arkady had mixed feeling about Stalin, the strongman who killed so many Russian citizens, knowing that his own father, a General, knew Stalin well. In trying to find Zhenye he visits aging chess master Platonov, who is fighting to keep his chess school open from developers wanting to raze the building for a new shopping centre. And through Platonov he gains access to the old guard.
Arkady hadn’t seen such a concentration of Homo Sovieticus for years. Supposedly extinct, here they were unchanged with their bad suits, dull eyes, self-important frowns. These were the bellies that had never missed a meal. He saw none of the elderly that picketed Red Square in the bitter cold for their miserable pensions…
When the bodies of the husband and wife from the domestic incident both turn up in the morgue Arkady suspects homicide, and tries to establish what happened in Chechnya where Isakov and Urman were stationed with the Black Berets. He enlists the help of journalist Ginsberg.
Ginsberg stepped back to take in Arkady whole. ‘A seeker of truth? I was afraid of that. You’ll want a unicorn next. There is no truth. No two people agree on anything: there are only versions. I am a prime example. I can’t even agree with myself…’
With his doggedness, it is only time before Arkady himself becomes a target, first from an attempted garrotte, and then a bullet to his head. In convalescing, he takes a posting to the city of Tver, two hundred kilometres to the north-west of Moscow towards St. Petersburg, Isakov’s birthplace and the scene of a wartime atrocity.
‘Stay away from the Metro, don’t drive, don’t drink, don’t swim, don’t run, don’t play football, don’t get strangled, don’t get hit on the head. Perhaps you should consider a different line of work. For someone in your condition I can hardly think of a worse one…’ ‘I will recuperate if no one else shoots me.’
Hats off to Martin Cruz Smith for keeping so many balls in the air. The reader has much to absorb from visual clues to snatches of dialogue, with the usual dark wit. I found myself flipping back through the pages to check. The violent past of his father’s generation to the recent violence of the present, all grimly delivered up as Arkady sheds light on a cover-up. Recommended for readers of noir crime....more
We popped out of the station and around the corner to a dubious fried chicken stroke internet café where we could look dodgy and technological withoutWe popped out of the station and around the corner to a dubious fried chicken stroke internet café where we could look dodgy and technological without drawing adverse attention...
The Furthest Station (Rivers of London #5.5), is another entertaining – this one novella-length – journey into past/present of the London Underground with DC Peter Grant, apprentice wizard to DI Nightingale of the Folly.
Before the Folly became a de facto branch of the Metropolitan Police...it was a combination Gentlemen’s Club, Royal Society and the unofficial magical arm of the British establishment. Back then, every county had a County Practitioner…
Our filing system was strictly Edwardian, with our ghost-related material scattered through two different libraries, seemingly randomly archived reports by wizards and county practitioners going back two centuries...
This time Peter, Nightingale, Jaget of the British Transport Police, and teenage ghost-hunter Abigail are investigating a series of “haunting” incidents on the Metropolitan Line. The “appearances” occur on the early morning commutes into London, and in each case the hapless victim soon loses all memory of the ghost and incident. One claims to have seen an older man carrying a letter, but the description suggests a time before the railway existed. At first the trio tries to find evidence of vestigium of magic close in to London, when the trains are in service and after hours when cleaning and maintenance take place.
The S8 Bombardier rolling stock is a walk-through train, so there’s no fiddling about with doors from carriage to carriage. Being able to see or move down the whole length of the train increases capacity and is a boon to police officers, fare dodgers and pickpockets alike.
A chance meeting with Alice, a Victorian ghost child, tells of a Princess being held prisoner, which suggest to Peter that someone is trying to get a message across of a missing person. The search widens to the stations of the towns of Amersham, Chesham and Rickmansworth in Buckinghamshire, which falls under the jurisdiction of the Thames Valley Police, and the associated problems therein.
Chesham is where the Metropolitan Line flounders to a stop and you could feel the town vacillating between being nothing more than a dormitory town for London commuters and a county market town with a cookie cutter pedestrianised high street...
This is a fun, easy read; part police procedural, part fantasy, filled with wry humour and some notable trivia, including that the Druid queen Boudicca’s burial site lies at Kings Cross. Well recommended....more
I read Assassins Vengeance and Assassins Retribution back-to-back, and though there is some advancement in the second installment, it really only getsI read Assassins Vengeance and Assassins Retribution back-to-back, and though there is some advancement in the second installment, it really only gets serious in the final one. We learn that Eva’s fiance was killed while negotiating the defection of an engineer, who held the secrets to a bio-weapon, developed by the evil Maxim Kowalski, escaped/ freed from a Russian prison, and that there is a mole in “the Section”. There is more traipsing across Europe using stolen cars and hiding out from the baddies and authorities.
I prefer trilogies to have a story line in each part, instead of cliffhanger endings, and would have given up altogether except for the shady character of assassin, Decker, known as “The Caretaker”, and whose resourcefulness saves the day. Happily he melts away in the final pages.
Verdict: had its moments, but light on substance....more
Assassins Hunted, the first in a trilogy, opens with main character Eva Delacourt, a former “black ops” assassin with the “Service”, hiding out in preAssassins Hunted, the first in a trilogy, opens with main character Eva Delacourt, a former “black ops” assassin with the “Service”, hiding out in present-day Cyprus with a young boy called Alex. After three years on the run their cover has been blown and they barricade themselves in a safe room while the apartment is engulfed in flames. The pair are then airlifted to Berlin and moved to a hotel with analyst Nathan Crowe, who was charged with a watching brief over her, but in the lobby Eva recognises someone from her past, a man who should not be alive…
The trio escapes the hotel and takes to the subway/train network, heading south to the Czech border, and reach a safe house in Prague, where Eva contacts another former Assassin, Decker, and locates CIA operative, Scott Lancaster. who tells her there is a ‘code one’ out to eliminate her and Nathan.
This is a novella-length, fast-paced intro to the series but to my reading tastes, light on detail. It’s been some years since I was in Germany, but there was no way then that you could board / change trains without a ticket or ticket inspector. No details on the cities themselves and few on the landscape, even when they reach Italy.
I will reserve awarding stars until I’ve read further titles; but I prefer each to be stand alone rather than a tease into the next. Other books beckon more than this....more
Kit had a resourcefulness and a courage, mixed with a kind of romantic naivety – which I suppose is necessary for any writer – which was very endearinKit had a resourcefulness and a courage, mixed with a kind of romantic naivety – which I suppose is necessary for any writer – which was very endearing and attractive...
Possibly written in homage of Somerset Maugham, Graham Greene and Frederick Forsayth, Cumming's stand-alone novel “The Man Between” sees spy thriller writer, C K Carradine (Kit) approached on a London street, allegedly by a “fan” named Robert Mantis, who gives him his business card. Carradine is in his mid thirites, unmarried but not gay, living a fairly solitary life. He is close to his father, who as a young man was recruited by the “Service”, only to be outed to Moscow by Kim Philby.
The backstory here is a revolutionary group “Resurrection”, initially formed by charismatic Russian activist Ivan Simakov (taken out by the Russians), is engaged in the kidnap and assassination of high profile right wingers, corrupt officials and bloated plutocrats. On his way to meet Mantis Carradine witnesses the abduction of an outspoken female journalist off the street and feels powerless to intervene.
Mantis has “targeted” Carradine, who is scheduled to appear at a writers festival in Marrakech, to undertake some small tasks in Casablanca, and to look out for a woman at the festival, believed to be in hiding but known to be a literary fan, and to hand her a small package.
Carradine is the innocent Englishman abroad; a soft touch for travel scams. The “agency” is involved, an unpleasant Spaniard, a mystery man on a train, unreliable taxi drivers, an English couple attending the writers festival who conveniently owns a yacht. I was surprised how naive Carradine could fall asleep on the train to Marrakech and not have his bag rifled or stolen.
Basically, man finds girl. Rescues girl. Loses girl, set in current times but with a Cold War feel about it. Several twists and not a bad read, but not Cumming’s best....more
(Arkady) had a sense that something was happening, but he didn’t know what or where. In the halls his footsteps sounded ahead of him like another man’(Arkady) had a sense that something was happening, but he didn’t know what or where. In the halls his footsteps sounded ahead of him like another man’s. Most of the officers on night duty were out on the annual push to clear the central city of drunks before May Day; conversely, on May Day it would be patriotic to be drunk. Timing was everything...
Gorky Park introduces Arkady Renko, Chief Investigator with the Moscow militia, set during the former Soviet Union under Secretary Brezhnev. His father, a general in the Great Patriotic War, complains that his son only visits when he wants information. His marriage of 10 years to Zoya is on the rocks; she rails against his lack of ambition, that he is not an active member of the Party, giving them access to stores to buy consumer goods. His friends and colleagues have troubles of their own, especially as one of his officers is a KGB informant.
There were few more dangerous positions, (Arkady) had distilled from experience, than to be the best friend of or married to a drunk, and the entire country was drunk half the time.
He is called to Gorky park, a popular spot, where an unusually mild April has brought on an early thaw in the snow, revealing of the bodies of two men and a woman, all shot through the chest at close range and the two men in the head. Their faces had been erased and fingertips chopped off to hamper identification. Arkady is used to handling homicides resulting from drunkenness, and these murders have the hallmarks of a state-sanctioned assassination. But before he can secure the area Major Pribluda of the KGB arrives, contaminating the crime scene. The two men have crossed before.
The female victim is wearing ice skates, reported missing in February by a former student dissident Irina Asanova, a girl from Siberia, working as a prop manager for Mosfilm. She is naturally suspicious of authority and uncooperative. Amongst his findings the pathologist Lyudin states that one of the men had a form of root canal treatment not available in the USSR, suggesting he was a foreigner, and that the case should be handed over to the KGB. The suggestion is dismissed by Prosecutor Iamskey, who says all foreign subjects have been accounted for and insists that Arkady continue the investigation. Arkady says he will do so only if Major Pribluda of the KGB hands over all of the taped conversations of foreigners for January and February that year. The Major agrees and the team is given space in the Hotel Ukraina. Meanwhile, while checking the crime scene again at night Arkady disturbs a man with an American accent who attacks him.
When listening to the tapes at the Ukraina of a party held by the Americans, Arkady recognises the angry voice of Irina Asanova discussing Chekhov. But the main person of interest is a businessman who imports Russian furs into the USA.
The American’s name was John Osborne. His room at the Rossiya was just off Red Square, most likely a real suite with cut flowers. The Ukraina was a railway station in comparison to the Rossiya. Osborne’s Russian was good and strangely suave. But Arkady wanted to hear the girl’s voice again.
Reluctantly Arkady is drawn into a web of deceit and corruption at the highest level, with the intention that he fail. When a key witness and a colleague are gunned down Arkady tries to save Irina from the same fate, only to learn that he is being framed for a murder of a friend. In one scene Arkady skilfully evades the police by hiding in plain view with criminals. Not knowing who to trust he finds an unlikely ally in Major Pribluda...
Martin Cruz Smith has produced an intense yet finely-balanced murder mystery, one that keeps a reader guessing and on his toes. Though I found the shootout at the end a bit contrived this does not detract from the flavour of the novel. I particularly like the way he captures the psyche of the Russian people, drawing a picture of the food, transport limitations, restrictions on movement and association.
The Russian murderer had great faith in the inevitability of his capture, all he wanted was his moment onstage. Russians won wars because they threw themselves before tanks, which was not the right mentality for a master criminal.
This is the third of the Arkady Renko novels I have read, and I look forward to tracking down the others in the series....more
Shortly before his departure he dressed in one of Herr Klemp’s egregious suits and stalked the discos and nightclubs along Sheinkin Street in Tel AvivShortly before his departure he dressed in one of Herr Klemp’s egregious suits and stalked the discos and nightclubs along Sheinkin Street in Tel Aviv. Herr Klemp was all that he, and by extension Mario Delvecchio, was not – a loquacious bore, a womanizer, a man who liked expensive drink and techno music. He loathed Herr Klemp, yet at the same time welcomed him, for Gabriel never felt truly safe unless wearing the skin of another man…
Gabriel Allon is in Venice, working as art restorer Mario Delvecchio, and living with Chiara, daughter of the chief Rabbi, when the Israeli Embassy in Rome is the target of a car bomb, followed by gunmen firing on those attempting to escape. When Italian authorities track the perpetrators to an abandoned apartment in Milan, they find there an encrypted CD, which they hand over to Tel Aviv. Decoded, it holds a dossier on Gabriel with photos of him and Chiara in Venice.
The pair are recalled to Israel, and under the watchful eye of former spy-chief, Ari Shamron, Gabriel assembles a team to hunt the mastermind behind the Rome attack, and it is Dina who suggests a link to the "Black September" terrorist group. Gabriel goes undercover as a German businessman, to follow up a lead in Cairo...
On one level author Daniel Silva produces a thriller as two men stalk each other in a cat and mouse game of the highest stakes: Gabriel the reluctant assassin in the service of his country, is ably supported by his team; his adversary al-Kalifa, a man paranoid of betrayal, clinically uses and disposes of anyone to further his cause. At another level and in long passages we learn the history of the establishment of the State of Israel and the conflict that arose in Western Galilee, from both the Jewish and Palestinian perspective.
There are references to earlier books in the series, with London art dealer Julian Isherwood and aging Israeli academic and spy Eli Lavon playing minor roles, but this one can be read as a stand alone....more
In every successful swinger relationship, there must be a set of rules, so everyone knows their place, and so no one is offended or taken advantage ofIn every successful swinger relationship, there must be a set of rules, so everyone knows their place, and so no one is offended or taken advantage of. Different couple practice different rules depending on their own preferences.
As I enjoyed A R Torre’s counter-culture thrillers I decided to check out one of her chick-lit titles. No violence or drug-fuelled ramblings here: attractive Julia Campbell is an intern with a prestigious law firm, and is warned against one of the partners: divorce specialist Brad De Luca, has a reputation as a womaniser, guided by a moral code of rules among swingers. Inevitably their paths cross, and she finds herself drawn to the towering figure years her senior, with a bulk outstripped by his own ego. He asks her out to lunch, she (initially) turns him down but smitten for a challenge he (eventually) whisks her away to Las Vegas for the weekend as his female “companion”.
After a day of pampering while Brad conducts business, he takes her to dinner at a high-end restaurant, where the wheels begin to slide, if not fall off: Brad is a gastronome and Jools is confronted with a 4-tier starter of seafood, which he attacks with gusto. He and the waiter are dumbfounded to find she has stacked all she could behind empty shells. (For readers with no aversion to shellfish, imagine filling your mouth with lavatory cleaner). That’s the game-changer and he asks her what she wants. She passes it back to him: what does he do in Vegas without a female “companion”?
Out with the cigars and a few hands of Baccarat later, he takes her to a “Gentleman’s Club”, where he leaves her in Montana’s capable hands to show her around while seeking his own gratification. When he is not back at the table Jools tells Montana ”I want to get trashed....” Montana is only too happy to oblige and they attract quite an audience.
This is not one of those dominant / submissive novels; Torre’s female characters are strong and aside from all the bumping and grinding (and sucking) it is essentially a love story of two people who find what they want and need in each other. They openly discuss his divorce and her parents’ empty marriage, infidelity, jealousy and sex without emotion. Brad de Luca fears loneliness and Jools needs someone to make her feel sexy and special and who wants what she wants. The minor characters too are all well-written.Verdict: above its class....more
One of the latest in the JD Robb’s series, Lieutenant Eve Dallas reluctantly meets forensic archaeologist Dr. Garnet DeWinter for a drink in an upmarkOne of the latest in the JD Robb’s series, Lieutenant Eve Dallas reluctantly meets forensic archaeologist Dr. Garnet DeWinter for a drink in an upmarket winebar in New York (one of property magnate husband Rourke’s, naturally), when the bitching is curtailed by celebrity gossip columnist Larinda Mars, staggering into the bar from the ladies, oozing blood and dies in Eve’s arms. Cue the instant crime scene lock down, Det Peabody and e-whiz boyfriend summoned to the scene to interview witnesses, along with husband, to assess the damage.
Larinda Mars works for Channel Seventy-five, the same company as Eve’s friend, crime reporter Nadine Furst, except that the victim has supplemented her income from blackmailing and extortion of the rich and nervous at the shallow end of the gene pool, where appearance is prized above substance.
The action takes place over 2 days (short for a police procedural, extremely short for forensics) but we learn the cause of death and that, due to reconstructive surgery, the victim is at least 10 years older than she looks, and has systematically wiped out her past.
Much of the story surrounds the victims of the victim, searching for motives and a possible killer, opening old wounds and secrets in Eve’s and Roarke’s lives that were better left undisturbed. Best character for me was the make-up artist, always discrete yet able to give Eve positive leads.
The usual gang are here; Sommerset and Galahad the cat, Detectives Trueheart and Baxter for the heavy lifting, Peabody needs a good slap. Feeney and Whitney hover on the sidelines and appearances by Mavis and Mira are mercifully short. Nadine is less bitchy than usual while Roarke’s twinkling eyes and magic fingers not only set Eve’s body humming, but are good when is comes to opening up a vault.
Verdict: a reasonable read, but maybe my interest is beginning to wane???
“If sadness is normal, it makes no sense to me to treat it with drugs as though the brain is broken.”
In the sequel to Norwegian by Night, Police Chief“If sadness is normal, it makes no sense to me to treat it with drugs as though the brain is broken.”
In the sequel to Norwegian by Night, Police Chief Sigrid Ødegård has been exonerated for shooting a knife-wielding Kosavo refugee at a siege near the Swedish border. Yet it does not lie well with her, wondering if she could have done more to diffuse the situation. She takes leave to visit her father, who has received a disturbing letter from her brother Marcus, who had taken an adjunct professor post in America, and is now listed as a missing person. He sends Sigrid to find him.
Set in Upper New York State prior to the election of Barack Obama as POTUS, as with the previous book Miller writes in the third person, present tense, switching between America as seen through an eyes of an outsider (Sigrid): the food, buildings, judicial system and a firearms policy that defends the rights of an individual over the collective good, and Sheriff Irving Wylie (Irv), a divinities graduate with a great sense of humour and humanity, trying to keep a lid on a powder keg racial situation. Weeks earlier a twelve year old black boy was gunned down in his yard by a white police officer, who was exonerated. The boy was the nephew of Lydia, Marcus’ lover, who fell to her death from an unfinished building. Sheriff Irv wants to work closely with Sigrid to bring her brother in for questioning, while fielding political pressure from above.
“The pickle that I’m in Chief – and this has nothing to do with my love of ambiguity or women, because let’s face it, they’re a matched set – is that I’m worried your neo-zen-pragmatism is going to slow us down...”
Matters escalate when a reporter sensationally publicises Sigrid’s shooting in Norway, and links her to a white-supremacist bikie gang. Throw in a prostitute who works all the angles, a bitter black community and a trigger-happy leader of the local SERT (Special Emergency Response Team) and the Sheriff needs all the help he can get to diffuse the situation.
Irv has always been suspicious of Joe Pinkerton. He grew up in a tough part of Brooklyn, was sent the navy to get straight, turned himself into a SEAL, and didn’t so much get straight as master the skills to be grade-A asshole.
Sigrid learns that her brother enjoyed hiking in the Adirondacks and senses that he may be hiding out there, and is determined to find him ahead of the authorities. She draws on the raw courage displayed by American octogenarian Sheldon Horowitz, who led a young boy to safety from his violent Kosavon father, while skilfully eluding the Norwegian Police.
This is a genuinely funny yet touching book; brilliantly written and thought-provoking. The ending came as a surprise, and shows that if enough good people display genuine leadership, a community can be brought together. ...more
(Clarke) looked at him again. ‘When was the last time you actually left the city – for pleasure, I mean?’ He gave a casual shrug as she continued to s(Clarke) looked at him again. ‘When was the last time you actually left the city – for pleasure, I mean?’ He gave a casual shrug as she continued to study him, this time taking in his clothes. ‘James likes the officers under him to be presentable.’ ‘You might be under him from time to time, but not me…”
In Standing in Another Man’s Grave Rebus is semi-retired and working cold cases with the SCRU, but hopes to return to CID with Lothian and Borders Police now that the retirement age has been raised. By chance he is there when Nina Hazlitt arrives from London wanting to speak to the unit’s founder, Gregor Magrath, now retired. Hazlitt’s daughter Sally went missing during millennium celebrations at Aviemore, not far from the A9, and Nina has been watching other cases of MisPer women disappearing along the same route over the years. The latest case is of Edinburgh teenager Annette McKie, which is being investigated by Rebus’ former protégé, DI Siobhan Clarke with assistance from computer-whiz DC Christine Esson, the team headed by the suave DCI James Page.
Rebus is co-opted to the CID investigation, even though evidence linking the MisPer cases is thin, and revolves around a photo taken on McKie’s cell phone and sent to a friend at school with whom she plays computer games; this matches an earlier case. But was it taken by the MisPer or a serial abductor, and is it misdirection?
He leaves Edinburgh and drives north along the A9, interviewing the navvies working at roadworks around Pitlochry where Annette McKie was last seen; saluting whiskey distilleries as he passes them, leading him to remote roads through the Scottish Highlands, making new friends and enemies. But beyond the police procedural and the inevitable media scrum, there are the back stories of the MisPer themselves, where all is not what it seems.
There is something comforting about a Rebus novel; it’s like slipping on a favourite pair of runners: the main character seeks justice for the victims and closure for the families, and is not above bending the rules. His lifestyle of whiskey and keeping company with underworld figures does not endear him to Malcolm Fox, head of “Complaints”, nor to the self-serving career detectives, or his dry wit.
Ageing detectives Maurice Mundy and Tom Ingram of the Met’s Cold Case Review Team travel to Essex to review evidence in a 10-year-old case of murderedAgeing detectives Maurice Mundy and Tom Ingram of the Met’s Cold Case Review Team travel to Essex to review evidence in a 10-year-old case of murdered schoolboy Oliver Walwyn, who died of head injuries and whose body was found in a pond off a village green. But while interviewing the boy’s mother and later the investigating officer they learn of a second murder in Essex on the same day, of a prostitute found in a ditch. That murder is part of an ongoing investigation into the deaths of several call girls in the region, and by re-interviewing an eye-witness from the time they glean information on a vehicle seen in the area.
‘It had all stagnated, and what do we do? Me and Tom…we make two home visits and hey presto, we hand them a very likely suspect. But they’re unhappy. What planet are they on?’
Aside from stepping outside their brief of cold cases, the maverick Mundy has reservations about one of his first assignments as a rookie uniformed police officer, the arrest of an intellectually-impaired man for the vicious and bloody murder of an ageing actress who he worked for doing odd jobs. Mundy visits him in prison, where he has served 28 of a 30 year sentence, maintaining his innocence. And as Mundy finds out, someone in the Met doesn’t want him probing…
A Peter Turnbull mystery is always pleasant, like watching “Midsomer Murders” as the various threads weave and unravel. An easy read at less than 200 pages, the language is at times stilted, as if a police officer is reading from his notebook, but the emotions and affections expressed are genuine, and there’s the trivia, which I enjoy.
‘Fletcher’ was an arrow maker in medieval times...the feathers at the rear of an arrow are the arrow’s “fletch”....more
Dean was a bit of a mistake...he stopped a whole lot of things from happening in our lives, Piero’s and mine. Especially mine. Motherhood’s a special Dean was a bit of a mistake...he stopped a whole lot of things from happening in our lives, Piero’s and mine. Especially mine. Motherhood’s a special joy of course. But sometimes joy’s not everything it’s cracked up to be.
When Clarence Brown entered widow Cass Tuplin’s takeaway at Rusty Bore in the Victorian mallee country, blood dripping from his sleeve and hands over a wad of notes to rent Ernie’s tumbledown shack by Perry Lake, it triggers a sequence of events no-one could have foreseen. A dead body turns up and then goes missing, a suspicious briefcase, a new admirer, and of course, ferrets. Younger son Brad is an environmentalist incapable of holding down a job, elder son Dean is the local cop who refuses to take his mother's concerns seriously, forcing Cass to investigate herself.
Seemed like Brad was getting kind of close to Madison. How close? I didn’t fancy being mother-in-law to a load of hissing ferrets.
He had nice hands, square, solid hands. They’d known exactly how to fix that door, would probably be good at other things as well. Knocking up a coffee table, working on your broken bedhead. Hands that were lingering and warm and would know how to hold your shoulders...
The only sound was something scratching in the roof. A small and scuttly something, possibly a rat type of something. I opened the door. I listened, plate balanced in one sweaty hand. No telly noises., no stomping around the house sounds, no bathroom sloshing. I slithered in, as noiseless as a scrap of whispered scandal.
Only thing I didn't like was the absence of chapter numbers, especially when I lost my place (why do Victorian authors do that???)
Verdict: a wonderful romp, written with a delicious dry wit....more
If there was something that people would pay for… it was black magic. And brew was going down a bomb. Hecate had never seen so many become so desperatIf there was something that people would pay for… it was black magic. And brew was going down a bomb. Hecate had never seen so many become so desperately addicted in such a short time. But it was equally obvious that the day the sisters produced a slightly less potent product he would have to get rid of them. That was how it was. Everything had its day, its cycle. Like the two decades under Kenneth. The good times. And now with Duncan, who if he was allowed to go his merry way would mean bad times for the magic industry.
In the Hogarth-Shakespeare series, noted authors take on the bard’s classic works, giving them a contemporary twist for a new readership. Norwegian author Jo Nesbø has re-imagined the warlord drama of Macbeth, under Scottish King Duncan, shifting it to the 1970’s Scotland of a bleak industrial town, where the polluted air lingers still around silent factories, and where high unemployment, drug addiction and gambling at the two casinos are the norm.
Kenneth, the corrupt Chief Commissioner of Police has been replaced by Duncan, with a zeal to stamp out corruption and restore order to the town. His assistant is Malcolm, aided by head of anti-corruption Lennox, while Duff is head of the narco branch. He and Macbeth, who heads the SWAT teams, have been friends since the orphanage they both escaped.
In the opening scene Duff, acting on a tip-off, tries to intercept a drug shipment organised by bikie gang the Norse Riders, shadowed by Macbeth and his men, including long-term friend and stalwart, Banquo. Not all goes to plan with the bikie chief evading arrest, and Duff is summoned by Duncan. Duff aspired to be the new head of organised crime, a role given instead to Macbeth, a man seen to be a ‘one of the people’. Not everyone agrees with the appointment, including ‘Lady’, Macbeth’s common law wife who runs the Inverness casino. She sees the promotion as making Macbeth Duncan’s stooge, insisting that the only way to control the town is to kill Duncan and take on the role of Chief Commissioner himself...
Macbeth drove along the dirty road between the old factories. The cloud hung so low and Monday-grey over the chimneys that is was difficult to see which were smoking, but some of the gates had CLOSED signs or chains secured across them like ironic bow ties.
Needless to say, that this being Macbeth, foul deeds are afoot while ambition sees the ruthless elimination of competitors. Innocents are murdered, others manage to escape, there’s a suicide or three, a massacre, while in the background the crime-lord Hecate orchestrates events. The witches from the original play now run a drug lab under the disused central station, and I particularly liked how when Birnam Wood moves to Dunsenay morphs into a railway engine.
The book seemed over long at times, and the corruption and violence reminded me of Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett, set in Poisonville, California between the wars. There are moments of whimsy similar to Mick Herron, but overall Nesbø has successfully brought a classic noir thriller to a “Game of Thrones” generation.
I dreamed of the creases at the edges of Leo’s turned-up mouth. His endearing hopeless jokes. The blue-green eyes, cool with a hint of smoulder. WhiteI dreamed of the creases at the edges of Leo’s turned-up mouth. His endearing hopeless jokes. The blue-green eyes, cool with a hint of smoulder. White T-shirt stretched across those gladiator shoulders as he pulled me close, a long molten kiss followed by a line of kisses down my neck...
Got mixed views on this one. I like that the action has moved from Rusty Bore / Muddy Soak / Hustle in the Victorian grain belt, to Hattah-Kulkyne NP, Mildura and Ouyen. Ditto the side actors: sleazy developer and council planning officer; environmental consultants; birdwatchers led by the formidable Dorothy; Troy with the spider’s web tattoo on his neck, who is a mate of Gav (...works part-time in the Hustle Foodworks. Skinny fella with an unsuccessful moustache.)
The character I don’t enjoy is busybody Cass Tuplin of the Rusty Bore takeaway, unlicensed crime investigator and mother of two twenty-something sons, both boring for different reasons. And don't get me started on the ferrets. The first book was clever, inventive. But now I feel it’s going over the same ground....more
Set in London in the 1980s, three men die in a fireball and a fourth escapes when a heist on a security truck masterminded by Harry Rawlins goes wrongSet in London in the 1980s, three men die in a fireball and a fourth escapes when a heist on a security truck masterminded by Harry Rawlins goes wrong. The Fisher family of rogues tries to take over Rawlins’ patch, to get hold of the ledgers Rawlins kept, meticulously detailing past robberies and others planned, the money trail and men involved. An embittered DI Resnick from the Met is on the tail too, shadowing Rawlin’s widow, Dolly, who, after a period of mourning gets the other widows together to pull off the heist themselves, and escape to a country with no extradition order.
This had glimpses of the “The Great Train Robbery” twenty years earlier, and might have worked if not for the characters themselves. The first 100 pages were mawkish before we get into the heist proper; Dolly the stand-out, brave, tough, organised, able to adapt when things go wrong, but the other women came across as a wailing self-obsessed knitting circle, who would stand out like a sore thumb in another part of London, let alone overseas. The males too seemed one-dimensional, the villains violent or stupid, the police little better.
Okay, so in the early eighties computers would be mainframes (IBM), with the police typing up their reports, and no mobile phones. I get that. But surely banknotes could be traced? This was one of the “Queen of Crime Drama’s” earlier works and from the blurb on the cover I was expecting something better.