Hancock’s series debut, The Corpse Flower, which featured in this newsletter’s debut, introduced Danish journalist Heloise Kaldan and police officer Erik Schäfer. The somewhat jaded friends don’t work together per se—it’s more that they investigate the same crime in parallel while throwing each other tidbits that help move the case along. Their unusual arrangement swings into gear again when a child goes missing. Lukas Bjerre goes to the same Copenhagen school as Heloise’s friend’s daughter, so the journalist has an in, but that doesn’t make the search any easier. Lukas seems to have simply vanished, with the whole school day having passed before anyone noticed. At the same time, Heloise is going through personal turmoil as she’s unwillingly pregnant, the father “a crummy wolf in permanent press trousers,” according to Schäfer. Adding to Kaldan’s anguish is her inability to remember where she saw a barn that the missing boy might be held in—one that features in Lukas’s collection of photos illustrating his pareidolia, or tendency to see faces in inanimate objects. As the search continues, a suspect’s PTSD forms part of the tale, adding to the feeling that this whole case hinges on mental instability, with the danger to Lukas the one constant in a storm of fear. Kaldan and Schäfer form a realistic and entertaining if gruff duo, one whose work readers will gladly jump into again.
Police Procedural
Everyone’s battling extremes in Mo’s latest Sweden-set psychological thriller-slash-police procedural. Thomas Ahlström loves his toddler son, Hugo, but has a daughter he abandoned when she was the boy’s age. That daughter, Lykke, starves herself for days on end just to have something she can control, but tenderly cares for the shadow lilies growing her in garden. Detective Hanna Duncker, back in her second installment in the series (after The Night Singer), is as determined a cop as they come but is sick of the job’s endless “death, lies, and families.” More of that is on the cards, though, when she and her partner must investigate the disappearance of Thomas and Hugo. Suspects and secrets abound, as do red herrings, and readers will be rapt as one by one, the innocent—of this crime, anyway—drop away and Hanna and Erik face danger over and over to get to the heart of a violent puzzle. At the same time, Hanna is tantalized by possible new details on an old killing; her father was convicted, but now a contact in that case wants to talk. We end on a cliffhanger—bring on #3!
When a member of the Kappa Phi Omicron fraternity is killed when crossing an Athens, GA street, it at first seems like an unfortunate accident. Homicide Detective Marlitt Kaplan is first on the scene because she happens to be nearby, but it turns out that her murder-investigation skills might be needed after all, because witnesses all mention the same odd set of facts. The victim, Jay Kemp, appears to have been run over by…Jay Kemp. Although he didn’t have a twin, a person who looked exactly like him was driving the car that ran him over, and that person was smiling as he gathered speed while moving toward Jay. The victim’s fraternity is the first place Kaplan and her partner hit when gathering facts about Jay, and from the start, things don’t look right. Is the boys’ secretiveness just fraternity culture or a coverup? Nothing is clear, and it’s made even murkier by the intertwining of grudges and dramas with former fraternity members, current members who are on the outs, and the many, many girls in the wings. A slowly unfolding backstory concerning what Marlitt endured when her old friend joined a different fraternity adds to the mystery. This intriguing debut is one for fans of academia gone wrong, such as depicted in the TV series The Chair.
The aftermath of the pandemic combines with desperation and greed in the second in Klingborg’s series, a thriller set in northern China and Myanmar. It stars Inspector Lu Fei, whom we meet while he and his colleagues—idiots every one, if we’re to believe Lu—stalk a man who’s suspected of selling endangered-animal parts that are popular as folk remedies. The government has cracked down hard on live-animal (or “wet”) markets since COVID-19 made them the focus of the world’s attention, and it’s Lu’s duty to make the rigid bureaucracy felt on the ground. Back at the station, a thin, scared girl, Tan Meirong, won’t leave until someone pays attention to the disappearance of her sister, Meixiang, who works in a restaurant that Lu learns has “off-menu” items for rich diners. It’s hard for even Lu to get someone to care about Meixiang, who’s regarded as rather disposable, but he persists, going undercover to the source of the forbidden delicacies. Lu Fei is a character to ponder. He’s mean to his girlfriend and even Meirong, but he won’t let Meixiang go. But mostly readers will be caught up in the exciting international chase that sees Lu hitting the road with little regard for his safety and armed with little except a strong desire to trample odious characters. James Patterson fans, this one’s for you!
Searing heat and searing pain pulse off the pages of Scrivenor’s debut novel, which brings to mind the colonially forged dysfunction described by her Australian countryman David Malouf. The sad tale, in which awful events take on an air of near-inevitability, is narrated by Ronnie, a 12-year-old girl whose best friend, Esther, vanishes one day after school. Esther wears her name “like a queen wearing her crown at a jaunty angle” and even on a normal day exudes a kind of magic, says Ronnie; it’s impossible to her that anything bad could have happened. Still, nighttime comes and Estie’s not home, and the search is on. While the girls’ movements take center stage in Ronnie’s mind, to the reader, there are three centers of gravity here. Yes, there’s Ronnie and Estie. But also starring are their mothers and other weary, disappointed women of the dilapidated town. Finally, there’s a Greek chorus of disembodied children’s voices whose chillingly detached versions of what happened alternate with the more conventionally delivered story. Brace yourself, this is something.
In too many circles in rural Ireland, doing anything fancier than, say, living in a cave is just asking for the accusation that you have “notions’‘ about yourself. The O’Reillys, racehorse owners in Dingle, Co. Kerry have embraced their notions, going as far as to have a butler (A BUTLER!) and marble floors, but their shady ways keep them immune from (open) ridicule. Dr. Dimpna Wilde, a native of Dingle who hit the road years before, is forced back into the O’Reilly’s grimy orbit when the clan’s patriarch is found dead on Dingle’s famously beautiful beach. Dimpna’s father, a vet, is accused of killing Johnny O’Reilly with an animal euthanasia drug. Dimpna, also a vet, steps right into work in her father’s practice; her new base serves as a way for O’Connor to humanize this kind, smart protagonist and as a means for the character to reacquaint herself with the townspeople and their complicated relationships. Some tense and emotional (but never cruel or gory) scenes await as Dimpna helps Dingle’s pets and farm animals; similar emotions are engendered by the murder mystery, which sees our protagonist revisiting painful scenes from decades past, including a rape. With an almost anthropological exploration of rural entanglements paired with a perplexing mystery, O’Connor’s series debut is a winner.
n some places it’s easy to make good choices, and then there’s Bad Axe County, Wisconsin, where Sherriff Heidi Kick has clawed her way out of addiction and onto the right side of the law. Her deputy is likely the one using the office computers to exchange risqué communications with prisoners (the men’s comments, such as “if you have children of your own that is not at all a problem with me,” could be a novel of their own). The same deputy’s husband is causing Heidi headaches through his leadership of Kill the Cult, a group that gathers to protest a nomadic religious group that’s moved into a local abandoned storage facility. Cults, whether fiction or nonfiction, are always a big draw, but the undercurrent of strength shown by the sheriff, which is complemented by others who find their way to the right decisions when things heat up, is the quiet draw here. Galligan has created a flawed character to follow in Heidi Kick, who’s at once jaded by her past and her surroundings and ready to spring into action when needed. And boy is she needed. A nonfiction book by an ex-cultmember would be a great companion read to this: try Tara Westover’s Educated.
What’s stranger than an eight-year-old Gretchen White standing over her murdered Aunt Rowan holding a knife dripping with blood? That child growing up to be a sociopath who works for the Boston police department and uses her access to investigate the crime, which she can’t remember. There’s a lot to learn here, and part of it is Dr. White’s lesson that her sociopathy is a neurodivergence, not a moral failing. Its core element—the inability to empathize with others—makes Gretchen an unlikely but effective psychologist, as her feelings don’t get in the way, as well as an oddly endearing villain. She’s highly aware of her emotional shortcomings, but others are too, and her vulnerability to the possible machinations of those surrounding this crime keeps the psychological twists coming. From the warped, rich family to the local woman desperate to find who murdered her sister—a separate crime that might be related to Aunt Rowan’s death—everyone’s a mess here, and everyone has motives and history that are painstakingly revealed and entwined. One for fans of Dexter and other characters we should loathe, but don’t.
Taylor, Sarah Stewart. The Drowning Sea (Maggie D’arcy Mysteries #3). June 2022. 352p. Minotaur.
I tiptoe warily toward books set in my home country, Ireland, fearing they’ll be all priests and mist, but Taylor mines a thoroughly modern Ireland for her thoughtful tale. The setting is West Cork, long a bohemian area that attracts foreigners who like a slower way of life. Taylor shows it being overtaken by the ultra-rich while the local bad boy made good, who owns everything from the gastropub to the manor house, is building a hotel that has locals staging protests and sabotaging construction. The beauty of the area is already working against it, then, when a body washes up on the beach. He’s a member of the area’s Polish community, one of the young people who ease the lives of the rich but struggle themselves, and his death begins to scrape away the veneer of niceness on the town’s past and present. Women steer this story, starting with the series’ star, Maggie D’arcy, a Long Island police officer who’s visiting Ireland but may stay with her new boyfriend and their respective children. There is also a young Polish officer who reluctantly lets Maggie into some aspects of the investigation and an artist whose nebulous memories of a possible past crime seem related to the present-day violence. Tana French fans will love this intricate, relationship-fueled crime story and its strong women characters.
As it destroys, fire creates mysteries in Hawtrey’s past and present-day London. The Great Fire in 1666 is the fulcrum of the historical story. Before the devastation, we find Christopher Wren politicking as he seeks to build his dream dome at St. Paul’s Cathedral, while stingier planners want to continue the never-ending repairs to the existing roof. Initially outsiders to any drama, courtier to the queen Margaret Dove and Etienne Belland, Margaret’s forbidden love (he is both a foreigner and, as the king’s fireworks maker, a lowly tradesman), find themselves drawn into the fray. When their friend is killed in St. Paul’s during the fire, there may have been more to it than met the eye, and the two continue their romance while looking into what really happened. In the modern city, Nigella Parker and Colm O’Leary are police officers assigned to investigate what becomes a deadly series of fires, by an arsonist who arranges both burned wooden bodies and then real charred victims in poses that seem to mock churches. Like Margaret and Etienne, these two shouldn’t be together—they tried it once and nope—and like their 1666 counterparts, they must fight what appearances seem to dictate and what their instincts tell them to be true. Adding to the atmospheric, absorbing mystery is the depth of research Hawtrey has obviously done on both the Great Fire and St. Paul’s and its famous creator. Try this alongside Robert J. Lloyd’s The Bloodless Boy, which also recreates 17th-century London.