Vine Street, by Dominic Nolan.

 

          Dominic Nolan’s latest novel is a mighty tome in size (You’ll need strong wrists for in-bed reading) and scope as he takes us into superb thriller territory starting in 1935, when vice-squad detective Leon Geats is summoned to a mean Soho address where the body of a prostitute has been found strangled by one of her stockings knotted round her neck.  The Flying Squad are the lead investigators – what do the vice squad know, being less than elite (they are known as The Dirties) – and it isn’t long before the lead Flying Squad detective declares that the death is a suicide.

            Leon, an expert reader for years of everything happening in Soho – the ponces, their prostitutes, ethnic gangs, in fact everything in that London area that corruptly generates money, is horrified and infuriated by the Higher-Up’s casual verdict;  the willingness to let someone literally get away with murder because the Coppers couldn’t be bothered working the case through to its conclusion – she was only a whore anyway.

            Until more bodies are eventually discovered, and the authorities finally decide to put on more manpower to apprehend The Soho Strangler, as he is now called by the Press, and Leon is teamed up with Flying Squad detective Mark Cassar – who is less than enthusiastic.  Dead whores don’t rate very highly with him until, despite his initial lack of interest, he finds that working with Geats is a lot better than being the most junior member of the Flying Squad.  Together, they hope to crack the case, Geats to get justice for the steadily mounting number of murder victims, and Cassar for the status he longs for in his career.

            Mr Nolan effortlessly steers the reader through 1930’s London, introducing intriguing characters high and low;  a couple of the Mitford sisters make an appearance, along with Oswald Mosely and his Blackshirts, but by the start of World War Two,  the murderer has still not been caught. He   continues killing, cleverly disguising his crimes amidst the wreckage and chaos of the Blitz.  And his modus operandi is particularly cruel:  every victim has been whipped till they are bloody by a razor strop;  some have been shot in the head but are kept alive for a time of the murderer’s choosing.  Geats and Cassar are beside themselves with frustration and the lack of concrete evidence available, and aghast at the authorities for eventually blaming an innocent mentally disturbed man for the crimes.  Case closed!

            Mr Nolan has proved himself a master of the unpredictable as he takes us up to 2002 and the unmasking, and I would be very surprised if any reader could foresee the outcome.  This is indeed a great read.  SIX STARS!   

              

              

 

The Waiter, by Ajay Chowdhury.

 

 

           London writer Chowdhury is the winner of the inaugural Harvill Secker-Bloody Scotland crime writing award – not bad for a debut novelist who ‘kicked around for ten years’ the idea of a disgraced Kolkata detective moving to London, before turning his thoughts into a suspenseful, well-plotted story from which Book Two has just been published (the Fates and Covid willing).

            Ex-Detective Kamil Rahman has been forced to leave his Kolkata home thanks to his utter disgrace in digging too deep into his first big murder case;  sadly, by trying to emulate his remote, austere father, retired police commissioner Adil’s impossibly high principles, he has exposed unbelievable levels of graft and corruption – nothing new about that, except that his investigations (even when forcefully ordered by his boss to look the other way) reveal the rot at the highest level.  He is sacked from his position – on charges of bribery and corruption(!) – then informed that it would be better if he left the country.  If he knows what’s good for him.

            So much for principles, thinks Kamil, as he waits tables in family friend Saibal’s Indian restaurant in London.  Life couldn’t get much worse, he thinks, as the family prepares to cater for the 60^th birthday of Rakesh, millionaire family friend and benefactor – ‘I worked my way up from Kolkata’s slums, now it’s my chance to help my friends!’ – and Kamil prepares for a night of mindless boredom filling people’s glasses and plates, only to be shocked by the fury displayed by Rakesh when he sees Kamil, who has never met him, then by a hysterical phone call from Rakesh’s young trophy wife at the end of the night, urging the restaurant family to return and help her, for Rakesh had suffered ‘a terrible accident!’  Which turned out to be no accident, but murder most foul.

To make matters worse, Kamil can’t resist examining the crime scene before the police arrive, taking pictures of various interesting anomalies – then inadverdently polluting the crime scene, almost making himself a suspect to the police.  So much for his ‘detection’ skills:  maybe a waiter’s job is all he deserves!

            Mr Chowdhury does a great job of portraying the teeming, vital, colourful society within a society in East London;  his character drawings are a delight and his plotting, composed of flash-backs to Kamil’s initial disgrace followed by his current situation, is very good indeed.  Most of all, the reader is entertained, and that’s not easy to do in this genre. Book #2, ‘The Cook’, has just been published.  Can’t wait!  FIVE STARS.  

              

 

Again, Rachel, by Marian Keyes.

 

          Queen of the Chick Lit genre Marian Keyes needs no introduction;  it’s a safe bet that whichever of her titles one reads, the entertainment factor will be sky-high – as it should be, for Ms Keyes has a knack that other writers would kill for:  the Unputdownable-till-it’s-finished factor, and ‘Again, Rachel’ ticks all the boxes.

            We return to Ireland and the Walsh family, Mammy, Daddy and their five incorrigible daughters, not to mention the next generation, soon to generate stories of their own.  Third daughter Rachel is happy with her life now;  after several false starts (and stops), she has moved on and is head Counsellor at The Cloisters, the rehab centre which set her on a better path (Rachel’s Holiday).  She has a new house, new interests (GARDENING!!  Who knew??) and a hot new man – well, not so new anymore;  they’ve been seeing each other for two years and are starting to think of moving in together.  Life is good.

            Until she is informed that her ex-husband Luke is returning from the States for his mother’s funeral.  It is expected that she pay her respects by attending.

            Luke Costello was the love of Rachel’s life, but he left her after an unimaginable tragedy:  she doesn’t want to mention his name, let alone see him again.  But she does, because it’s the right thing to do.  And he brought his girlfriend with him, but hey!  She has a new man, so who’s to care?  Except that her sisters think he’s wonderful, as does her Mum who is planning her 80^th birthday SURPRISE party, and wants him to come along.  As if all the tragedy, tears and heartache never happened.  Well.  That’s okay – he can come, but Rachel won’t, so there!

            This is what Ms Keyes does so well:  intersperse sorrow with marvellous Irish humour in ways that stops the reader’s heart from becoming too full.  All her characters – and there are many, for we meet Rachel’s charges at the rehab centre, too - are beautifully drawn portraits of want and need and lack – and hope, for none of them want to be an addict.  But they are. Ms Keyes walks the talk here, for she is a recovering alcoholic, and ‘knows the condition well’.  No-one could ever accuse her of not knowing her subject, likewise I’m sure, with her wonderful Walsh family:  we can recognise in every one of them similarities to ours.  This is feel-good, heartwarming writing at its best.  FIVE STARS.