Book Review

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Find Them Dead, by Peter James

This is a recent publication by this author, but he is very prolific, so it is actually only, to date, the fourth most recent, according to his official website, www.peterjames.com: the most recent is scheduled to be published this month—September 2022; he certainly keeps Roy Grace busy, although evidently not as busy as the author! Interestingly, but incidentally [and actually insignificantly, with regard to this review], from his personal bio on the website, it transpires that he attended Charterhouse School, of which originally four [then later three, and finally two] members of one of my all-time favourite music groups, Genesis, were also alumni: they appear to have been contemporaries, but whether they knew each other, I can’t say. It is mere speculation that the school had a large influence upon his writing style: he won a poetry prize in 1967; but I think it’s also very likely that his subsequent, pre-author career [read his aforementioned bio for details] also played a significant part. Either way, he has been extremely successful, in terms of sales, since then.

This story is essentially about jury-fixing, but as usual with good crime stories, it is not one-dimensional; also, it is as much a courtroom drama, as it is a police procedural. In addition to a high-profile court case, which Grace’s erstwhile colleague, Glenn Branson, is dealing with, there is a brutal murder, which initially appears to be unconnected to the trial, but Grace’s input supplies the connection. He has just finished a placement with the Metropolitan Police, at a higher rank than previously and, although he felt that his work, identifying the causes of the knife crime epidemic in the capital and attempting to mitigate it, rather than expecting to eliminate it, was useful, he wanted to return to his home ‘turf’, even if that meant again being subordinate to his hated superior officer, Cassian Pewe: the tip-off Grace receives before his return, about an illegal drugs mastermind operating out of Brighton, confirms his decision.

The murder victim is a young lad with Down’s syndrome, and he is the younger brother of a low-level drugs trafficker who has been arrested when importing a replica Ferrari which is found to contain a large amount of cocaine. He pleads guilty to all charges but, although he works for a company owned by the apparently respectable local solicitor who is suspected of being the mastermind of the local County Lines operation, he claims not to either know, or have ever met the solicitor. One of the jurors for the solicitor’s trial is a woman, Meg Magellan, who is currently between executive-level marketing positions; five years ago, she lost her husband and son in a car accident, and her only remaining child, a daughter, Laura, is away in Ecuador, travelling on a gap year. Unfortunately, she is an easy target for the criminals who seem to know her mother’s every move, to ensure that she can influence the jury sufficiently to deliver the ‘not guilty’ verdict which will clear the solicitor.

Naturally, despite her revulsion at what she is being coerced into doing, she will do whatever she can to give the criminals what they want, to keep her daughter safe, even though she only knows of one possible ally on the jury, making her life a misery while the trial proceeds, because she has been warned that revealing her complicity to the authorities will be fatal for her daughter. Grace’s private life isn’t ignored in this story, at the expense of the crime aspects: his wife, Cleo suffers a miscarriage—they already have one infant, Noah, and they wanted to try for another baby—but Grace’s son, Bruno, from his previous marriage, is also with them, although he is not the easiest of boys to accommodate; but all this notwithstanding, he is happy to be home again. This is another eminently readable and—for me—enjoyable entry in the Roy Grace canon, and I am always happy to find new, unread ones. The hardback I read was published in 2020, by Macmillan, ISBN 978-1-5290-0430-4.

Book Review

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Tooth and Nail, by Ian Rankin

This is another of Rankin’s early Rebus books; number three in the series, so the character is still developing, to some extent, but compared to the only other one of the Rebus canon I have so far reviewed, A Question of Blood, he is easily recognisable as the character we know—those of us who are already Rebus aficionados, that is. He is, however, out of his comfort zone, transplanted from his Edinburgh stamping ground to the glowering, febrile fleshpot that is the sassenachs’ capital. The story was originally entitled Wolfman, but Rankin’s American publisher thought this made it sound like a horror novel [although it is, of a sort], so recommended changing the title to the current one for the American market, and Rankin thought it sensible to do the same for his domestic audience.

Rebus has been somewhat unwillingly seconded to the Met, because of a perceived skill—unwarranted, in Rebus’s opinion—in catching serial killers; one of whom, who has acquired the sobriquet Wolfman, has been latterly terrorising London. This being the case, Rebus has to operate without the support of his Lothian and Borders Police [as it was then—the early 1990s—known] colleagues, especially his trusted lieutenant, DS Siobhan Clarke, and he is unsure, with some justification, it has to be said, how well he will be received south of the border; or understood, come to that. He is partnered with Inspector George Flight who, it later transpires, actually requested Rebus to assist them, having read about his prowess, which Rebus considers, not exclusively modestly, to be unnecessarily glamourised. As usual, Rebus is something of a maverick in his conduct, compared to the stolid Flight, but whose fastidious attention to detail & procedure Rebus comes to admire, only too well aware of the ease with which police prosecutions can be derailed by clever barristers [Advocates in Scotland] zeroing in on sloppy police work or behaviour.

This is, however, also an opportunity for Rebus to catch up with his ex-wife, Rhona, who is now living in London with their daughter, Samantha, whose current boyfriend is definitely the sort who sets alarm bells ringing in Rebus’s head, and not just from paternal or proprietorial concern. Rebus’s alienation & solitude is alleviated somewhat by a young psychologist, Dr Lisa Frazer, who coincidentally has Scottish ancestry, and has offered to profile the killer they are seeking; she is also not immune to Rebus’s grizzled charm, so a very probably unprofessional, if not actually unethical, relationship quickly develops, but it does focus Rebus’s mind, to some extent, on the psychological makeup of the man they are seeking; although it is safe to reveal that they also have to consider that they could be looking for a woman. This allows me to say that this is part of the delicious red herring which Rankin throws into this story—I thought I had worked out who the killer was, but nope: I was wrong.

The final section before the killer is caught is quite amusing, and could make for very good television, if the right supporting actor could be found [I’m not suggesting myself here—not because of false modesty—because I know my appearance would be inappropriate], but I fear Rebus’s television career is now in the past, which I regret; the stories, however, will continue to be read & enjoyed for a long time to come. To those of us who already know & love the character, there is no need to recommend this story; other than to add it to the collection, if not already in your possession; but if it should be your first Rebus story, you will not be disappointed and, hopefully, it will ignite a desire to find all of them if possible. The paperback I read was published in 1998 [1992, Wolfman, Century] by Orion Books, London, ISBN 978-0-7528-8355-7.

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The Lonely Hour, by Christopher Fowler

This book, the [somewhat unbelievably] eighteenth in the series featuring this detective pairing [although two of those are short stories], would appear, if the dénouement is anything to go by, to be pivotal; although, having not read any of the previous books, it is altogether possible that this outcome might be a regular occurrence, which is actually quite possible, given the nature of the setup. The two principal characters, British police detectives by the name of Arthur Bryant & John May—Bryant and May: more than a match for any other police duo, har har!—work for a fictitious department of the Metropolitan Police, called the Peculiar Crimes Unit which, to quote the book, is “A specialized [sic] London police division with a remit to prevent or cause to cease any acts of public affright or violent disorder committed in the municipal or communal areas of the city.”  It should be said, by way of context, that this description comes courtesy of the Unit Chief, Raymond Land [only semi-affectionately referred to as “Raymondo”, by Bryant], who is a rather pompous & ineffectual individual.

Despite these characters not existing in a fantasy world, there is something a bit Pratchett-like in the humour, which is definitely a plus, for me, and Philip Pullman is also given a nod; not that it is largely whimsical, because it does deal with the mundane problems of ‘real’ life. There is also an interesting mix of cultural references, including bang up to date with Uber, but also more whiskery ones, including “Ruth Ellis curls”, and the characters Julian & Sandy from Round the Horne. I was gratified that Fowler is careful with his writing, using the correct plural form of cul de sac [culs de sac, not cul de sacs, as I often see], and the feminine filipina, when referring to a Philippine woman; I did wonder, however, if he was trying just a tad too hard to impress us with his articulacy, albeit via the voice of Bryant, who is old enough to have retired years ago, but persists in working to keep his mind occupied; I used to enjoy the increase your wordpower [correct me if I’m wrong] section in Reader’s Digest, but there are too many arcane words in the narrative to list here, and it does become a wee bit tiresome encountering yet another word which one is never likely to need in normal situations [and don’t forget: “Nobody loves a smartarse!”].

The PCU has a pioneering approach: its founding principle is “to seek new ways of dealing with criminality and to ensure that these experimental methods found [sic] purchase within the legal system, creating precedence.” Given “the unit’s unprofessional approach to policing”, and the fact that the PCU only handles homicides, this unfortunately serves to infuriate every one of the twenty-four murder investigation teams within the Met. This story isn’t a whodunnit, because we encounter the perpetrator, albeit initially anonymous, right at the outset, although his backstory slowly emerges, so it is a whydunnit, and the tension builds through the narrative as the PCU team struggles to discover who is murdering a succession of apparently unconnected individuals, and why; although there are two elements which provide a link, albeit tenuous: the murder weapon, and the time of despatch—04:00, referred to eponymously as the lonely hour. Unsurprisingly, there are disruptive dynamics within the department, which hinder its operation somewhat, plus the ever-present threat to the department’s very existence, from the more dogmatic & less flexible overseers in the Met.

I appreciate that I have come to this series at a very late stage, by accident rather than design, so as stated, I don’t know how the pairing of the two detectives originated, and how the PCU was set up, but I like to think that this won’t be any sort of impediment to my enjoyment of any previous stories, should I find any, which I would be more than happy to, having enjoyed this one. Standard police procedurals can be easy to read, even undemanding, to some extent, but I think there is something attractive about the inclusion of slightly quirky characters, as some of these are; if only as an opportune avenue for offbeat humour. The paperback I read was published in 2020 by Bantam; first published in 2019 by Doubleday, an imprint of Transworld Publishers, London, ISBN 978-0-8575-0408-1. Happy New Year!

Book Review

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Crossing the Line, by John Sutherland

This book was first published in 2020, but an updated version, with an epilogue written in December of that year, was published in 2021 by Weidenfeld and Nicolson, London, ISBN 978-1-4746-1237-1. The epilogue included the author’s response to the pandemic, to the time of writing of course, but also events which had happened between finishing the first publication in 2020 and the end of that year and were relevant to the theme of this book. The title, in conjunction with the cover image of the blue & white striped tape used by police to close off crime scenes, might lead one to suppose that this is an account of instances of when police officers have ‘crossed the line’, or transgressed against their calling, but in fact, the subtitle immediately removes any doubt: Lessons from a Life on Duty. John Sutherland was a Metropolitan Police officer until his retirement after twenty-five years of service, and he is very well aware of the low regard with which officers of all ranks are nowadays regarded, from across the whole spectrum of British society [meaning England & Wales; Scotland & Northern Ireland having their own police services].

It isn’t until well into the book that the author reveals that he suffered a nervous breakdown in 2013, although he was able to return to work after a period of recovery, but that revelation does give some perspective to his observations, because as well as being obviously articulate, he makes it clear that he is not an officious disciplinarian, seeing no need to question the status quo. He is obviously distressed about societal disintegration which he sees as the catalyst for the majority of crime, but he also analyses why this should be, and how it can be rectified. He is unequivocal that the majority of police officers are conscientious, joining the service from a genuine desire to help people, and he separates the areas of crime affecting British society today into ten different ‘challenges’, as he refers to them (although there is inevitably some overlap), and the subject areas are clarified in my brackets:

        I: Drunk and Incapable; [alcohol]

      II: Possession with Intent; [‘drugs’]

     III: Just a Domestic; [domestic violence]

     IV: On a knife Edge; [knife crime]

      V: Places of Safety; [mental health]

    VI: Learning to Listen; [community relations]

  VII: Keeping the Peace; [public disorder]

VIII: The Rise of Extremism; [extremism]

   IX: A Question of Belief; [sexual offences]

     X: On the Register. [child abuse]

Item VII is an area where opinions are generally distinctly polarised: the right to freedom of expression; in this case, the right of the British National Party to operate a bookshop. Although Sutherland, who was still in his probation and hadn’t completed his riot training, missed the violence by the time he arrived on the scene of an earlier riot in October 1993, he takes what he considers to be an impartial view: “Though I may despise the BNP and all they stand for, I am still bound by duty and law to protect what’s theirs.” This has a bearing on the research I did for my biography of Wilfred Risdon, Black Shirt and Smoking Beagles, and the right to express contentious views is just as controversial now as it was in the 1930s.

I can’t share his implicit support for the “respectable folk from rural communities” who participated in “a large demonstration [arranged by the Countryside Alliance] to protest against government proposals to ban fox hunting”, which descended into a standoff between officers & demonstrators near Parliament Square. He says that “At the time, I didn’t hold any particularly strong personal views about fox hunting, but I was very clear what I thought about people trying to break into Parliament.” In my view, “respectable folk from rural communities” can become violent very quickly when their ‘right’ to slaughter innocent non-food animals is called into question. After the incident, “The then Commissioner, Sir John Stevens, admitted that the disorder had taken the Met by surprise. He also confirmed that the force would identify lessons to be learned from the events of the day and that they would examine the actions of individual officers to see whether any had overreacted in their treatment of protestors. And that is exactly as it should be, because the police don’t always get it right. On occasions, whether individually or collectively, they get it terribly wrong. The death of Ian Tomlinson during the G20 protests of 2009 represents a particularly grim reminder of just how badly things can end.”

So, a commendably even-handed exposition, and he can now comment as an ex-police officer: “I will defend with my last breath your right to protest: about human rights, about foreign wars, about basic poverty, about government policy, about state visits by the leaders of totalitarian regimes, about austerity, about any of the myriad things that matter to you. Now that I am retired, I might even line up alongside you. And I will defend your right to challenge the police to be better at what they do, to act with restraint and to say sorry when they get things wrong. Indeed, I will join you in making that challenge. But I will never defend violence or criminality of any kind. Those are the things that render a just cause lifeless.” Room for subjective judgements there, of course. He does try to end on a positive note, but unfortunately, it only serves to signal that there is plenty of room for improvement: “… hope is not a passive thing: it demands action. We know what needs to be done; we just have to get on and do it. We need to understand that, while the cause could not be more urgent, nothing of lasting worth is going to be accomplished overnight…it is going to take time to mend all that has been broken. It might actually take our lifetimes. In the meantime, we need to recognise just how much it is costing to get things wrong and to start spending our money in a completely different way: independent of political agendas, guaranteed for the long-term and focused relentlessly on the first things that must always come first.”

Whatever your place in British society, this is a book worth reading, to go beyond the stereotype presented by the media and those with axes to grind; police officers are human beings too, and improvements to the system under which they work might have been made, but in June 2021, there are obviously still problems with the Metropolitan Police, perceived or otherwise: Guardian article from the 24th of June here. The Daniel Morgan inquiry, recently concluded, has also not helped inspire public confidence: article from The Canary here.