The Last to Disappear, by Jo Spain.

 

 

         The last woman to disappear in Jo Spain’s taut thriller is a temporary Hotel tourist guide in the winter wonderland of Lapland in Northern Finland, but unlike the others, her body surfaces thanks to the efforts of an ice fisherman on the lake looking for other prey.  It is the height of the tourist season, being close to Christmas, and the town of Koppe depends heavily on its tourists:  ‘The Home of Father Christmas!’  ‘See the Northern Lights!’  ‘Skiing – Saunas – ice swims!’  A dead body could be very off-putting, so the local police inform the unfortunate woman’s British family that she has had a fatal accident, and would anyone care to come and collect their loved one’s remains?

            Alex Evans, Lobbyist (he hates his job but loves the money), makes the trip, for the awful news has left his parents in disarray;  his mother is felled by a heart attack and his father won’t leave her side – Alex himself feels enormous guilt because he didn’t get on with his sister Vicky;  he considered her irresponsible and a spendthrift and, at the age of 26, capable of making more mature decisions about her life:  now she’s gone, and he didn’t even let her know his new phone number months after he changed it.  He is bereft.

            And totally unprepared in his Burberry raincoat and leather shoes for the subzero climate of Koppe;  fortunately local police chief Agatha Koskinen is aware of his ignorance and has brought boots and jackets to the airport, saving him from certain weather-induced death - and the awful news that the post-mortem has revealed that Vicky’s death was not accidental:  she has been murdered.

            It was agonising enough to have to be the family member to identify ‘the body’, but to think that his sister met her death by someone else’s hand infuriates Alex. He decides to stay on for a few days to see what he can find out and, apart from hearing about the other missing women (the locals are great gossips), it is clear that Agatha has a murky history of her own:  this is the Town of Secrets, as well as Santa Claus.

            There are parallel flashbacks to 1998 throughout the story, recounting the circumstances of the first young woman to go missing and revealing the Viper’s nest a small town can be as people try to survive in a land of extreme weathers.  Jo Spain has painted a bleak but beautiful picture of life, love and lust in a cold climate and all her characters are credible and well-drawn without being the least formulaic.  This book is the ideal holiday read (if you’re lucky enough to have one!)  FIVE STARS.

             

 

Black River, by Matthew Spencer.

         

 

         Matthew Spencer’s debut novel  is bolstered by the fact that he knows irrefutably Whereof he Speaks:  as a journalist for twenty years of a prominent Australian newspaper, he is well-versed in the way news is reported, and how influential (or not) certain people can be in its presentation.

            One of his main protagonists is a sad-sack, mid-forties journo, usually consigned to the very minor news stories, suddenly promoted to a huge murder investigation, solely for the fact that he used to go to the posh high-anglican school that is the scene of the crime – and the police are not letting anyone onto the grounds.  Does he know, from his schooldays, any secret ways in to have a snoop around?  Well, of course he does, as would any other Prince Albert schoolboy.  Adam Bowman can’t believe his luck:  is he finally catching a break?

            The police are investigating the murder of the 17 year-old daughter of the school chaplain, and they are hoping it’s not linked to two other vicious rapes and murders of teenage girls who lived near each other in river suburbs.  The investigating detectives don’t have a lot to go on, except that the killer leaves strange ‘t’ signs close by and really likes his ‘work’, according to the police behavioural psychiatrist;  in fact he likes it so much it won’t be long before he strikes again.  He has been baptised BMK (Blue Moon Killer) by one newspaper, because both his killings so far have been on a Blue Moon.  The police have certain extra evidence which they arrange to release gradually – to keep the killer on the back foot –exclusively through Adam Bowman’s newspaper:  Bowman’s Editor is ecstatic, and Bowman should be feeling the same, but his feelings are the opposite, for returning to Prince Albert has stirred up many traumatic memories:  this was the place where his parents’ marriage crashed and burnt after the terrible accidental death of his little brother, leaving Adam with scars that will stay forever.  This is why he’s an alcoholic.

            But he can still get the job done, and matching him drink for drink is Detective Sergeant Rose Riley, who relies on her gut instinct as much as hard evidence – and there’s something off about Adam Bowman.  Nobody is above suspicion.

            Mr Spencer is a no-frills writer – there’s nothing fancy or romantic here, just the hard facts of living – and dying, as his characters play their roles capably in his fast-paced plot.  But Sydney and its rivers is the star, wild and crowded and beautiful, as always.  FOUR STARS.

             

 

City on Fire, by Don Winslow.

 

            

Homer's classic‘The Iliad’ gets a 20^th century makeover here by the great Don Winslow in the first book of a new trilogy.  And what a trilogy it will be -  if he gets it right - as he transfers the Grecian siege of ancient Troy to avenge Spartan king Menelaus for the abduction of his breathtakingly beautiful wife Helen by Trojan prince Paris, to the modern setting of Rhode Island, U.S.A.

            August, 1986. A summer clambake is being held by the local Italian mob boss.  His Irish counterparts who run the docks and the unions also attend, for the two sides have had a peaceful co-existence for many years, dividing the various rackets equitably between them – you could almost say they were good friends until …..

            “Danny Ryan watches the woman come out of the water like a vision emerging from his dreams of the sea.

            Except she’s real and she’s going to be trouble.

            Women that beautiful usually are.

            Danny knows that;  what he doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s going to be.  If he knew that, knew everything that was going to happen, he might have walked into the water and held her head under until she stopped moving.

            But he doesn’t know that.”

            Winslow’s Danny Ryan is a minor captain in the Irish gang led by John Murphy, and through his eyes we see the disintegration of trust and vengeful territorial incursions that start after Murphy’s son Liam makes a pass (oops!) at Pam, gorgeous new girlfriend of Italian mobster Sal Antonucci.  Liam earns a huge beating for his attempts to touch the untouchable, so severe that he nearly dies in hospital, BUT!  The beauteous Pam visits him to apologise for causing him to come within an inch of losing his life – and the Gods must have laughed themselves to a standstill at their devious manipulation of events, for she ends up forsaking the brutal Sal and retiring to a safe house with Liam when he’s well enough to leave hospital.

            The new hostilities soon degenerate into outright war, with all its attendant tragedy:  Murphy’s gang is on a hiding to nothing through lack of numbers, including the loss of his son Pat, Danny’s best friend, in a brutal and bloody ambush.  It’s time for Danny to decide his own fate, especially as his wife is dying and he has a young son to care for. It’s time to desert the sinking ship.

            Everyone speaks like a 1940’s Private Eye in this novel, which I thought was overkill;  some of the dialogue sounds almost like parody but as always, Mr Winslow has created sufficiently compelling new characters and situations out of the ancient verses (the new version of the Trojan Horse is particularly convincing), that his story can only improve.  And there was even an excerpt from Book Two at the end.  A taste of better things to come?  FOUR STARS.       

 

Managing Expectations, by Minnie Driver.             Non-fiction.

         

           

            From the time she reluctantly became an 8 year-old boarder at a school she loved going to as a day-student, actress and writer Minnie Driver has questioned situations that she thought unfair,  loudly and vociferously at times as she did when not wanting to return to stay at school, demanding other drivers trapped at the same traffic lights to ‘Call the Police – She was Being Abducted!’ while her mother stoically eyed the road ahead.   As all witnesses were British, stiff upper lips were shown and an air of faint embarrassment persisted until the lights changed, freeing everyone to heave sighs of relief.

            Minnie has blessed us with a book of reminiscences, a ‘memoirish’ book, as she says - well, it’s quite the most charming Memoirish book I have read for some considerable time, and I can’t help wishing that Other People’s Memoirs were even half as entertaining:  book sales would go through the roof!

            Minnie questions everything, especially everything she considers unfair, and when she was a child, there were many situations that earned her  attention, especially when her father had Minnie and her sister for the summer holidays in Barbados.  His new girlfriend was there too, and Minnie disapproved loudly of her micro-bikinis, asked her how long she was staying, then asked her if she was twenty or thirty years younger than Minnie’s dad.    Ah, the sweet satisfaction of girlfriend tears!  Until her father demanded an apology, which 11 year-old Minnie refused to give, and was staggered to be evicted from the holiday home and sent back to England.  By herself.  And thereby hangs a tale, of revenge, chastenment, and character-building – but of whom? 

            Due to unavailability of flights, Minnie was stranded for a day at a plush Miami hotel – with her father’s credit card details to hand:  she wrought her revenge in the Gift Shop by starting out with one travel bag and had to purchase another two.  She doesn’t record her father’s reaction to her excesses, but her sister was thrilled to get some duty-free ‘Charlie’ by Revlon, something her father would never have allowed because he said ‘it smells like a tart’s window-box’.  Which all proves that Minnie is a force of nature, and does indeed make her mark upon the world – as she should.  And just in case readers are persuaded that Minnie Driver is 100% unconquerable and never has a bad day, there is much poignant proof to the contrary:  life, as we all know, is unknowable.  In her words:  ‘the story doesn’t necessarily begin or end where it should:  happy endings are overrated, and happy endings are almost never the end.’  This book is funny and wise and true.  Everyone should read it.  SIX STARS. 

 

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.