Crime writers of both genders — from a variety of countries — frequently grumble about the fact that American crime heavyweights (customarily white, male and late-middle-aged) are accorded a gravitas that others struggle to achieve. But I’m afraid this column can offer the grumblers no succour this week, as it begins with three novelists who comfortably fit that description.
Michael Connelly may be the most consistent of US writers, his face clearly belonging on the Mount Rushmore of crime fiction. For 25 novels, his hard-bitten detective Harry Bosch has been at the centre of caustic investigations covering the whole canvas of American society, but perhaps the valedictory air of Desert Star (Orion, £22) is not to be trusted — Harry seems to have unassailable longevity. The ex-cop has hung up his gun, but Renée Ballard (Connolly’s other principal protagonist), charged with re-activating a cold case unit, tempts him out of retirement to investigate a decades-old murder. Long-term admirers need not hesitate; Connolly’s writing chops remain in good working order.
As are those of his contemporary Robert Crais, whose Racing the Light (Simon & Schuster, £16.99) begins with the disappearance of a porn star and Crais’s duo Elvis Cole and Joe Pike on the trail of a sinister male and female pair, known, bizarrely, as “The Meatball” and “The Scarecrow”. The author tackles societal issues — corrupt business cartels and mendacious politicians — along with his familiar interrogation of male friendship. Three decades after the inauguration of the Cole/Pike series, it remains in rude health. And still with mature male American writers: a nod for This Train (No Exit, £9.99) by James Grady. The cinematic new novel is perhaps not as richly textured (and is less complex) than his earlier work — notably Six Days of the Condor (which lost three days in its film version) — but it takes the reader for a ride on a hurtling train through the heart of America. A slew of dexterously drawn characters (including a sinister manipulator) brave a host of dangers from bombs to ingenious heists. It’s the third novel this month by an American Master that merits attention.
Tim Sullivan’s writing credits include the films A Handful of Dust and Where Angels Fear to Tread, and he worked on the classic Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes series — so it’s hardly a surprise if both elegant writing and a firm grasp of the crime medium are in his purview. The Politician (Head of Zeus, £20) is the latest in his Bristol-based series featuring DS George Cross of Avon and Somerset Police. We’ve had sleuths on the autistic spectrum before — almost a superfluity, in fact — but Sullivan’s copper is among the most distinctive. After the death of a local female politician who has died during a burglary, Cross realises that her fearless intervention as a blogger and campaigner against a construction company may have led to murder. Assertively written fare.
Two British writers of considerable accomplishment are on form with their latest offerings. Charlotte Northedge’s The People Before (HarperCollins, £14.99) has a London family moving to a secluded location in Suffolk, with disturbing results. This is every bit as accomplished as Northedge’s debut The House Guest, with the same precise and finely tuned use of language, by no means always a given in the genre. And The Sanctuary (Hodder, £16.99) by Emma Haughton is a persuasive attempt to reinvigorate the locked-room thriller, set in a mysterious refuge, the eponymous Sanctuary in the Mexican desert. Zoey, her memory a blank, wakes up there, and despite its outwardly ameliorative demeanour, she finds it a place from which some residents will not leave alive. Haughton’s transition from young adult thrillers to pulse-raising adult crime novels is proving to be a very canny move.
Steve Cavanagh has cornered the market in British iterations of the John Grisham/Scott Turow-style legal thriller, with razor-sharp dialogue a speciality. The Accomplice (Orion, £12.99) sports courtroom shenanigans delivered with customary authority. When the wife of a serial killer is arraigned for multiple homicides, Eddie Flynn decides to defend her – what he doesn’t need is the killer’s own ruthless intervention, targeting witnesses. Equally assured are new entries by two of the Icelandic ‘Ice Queens’, Deceit by Jónína Leósdóttir (Corylus, £9.99) and Red as Blood by Lilja Sigurðardóttir (Orenda, £9.99). The former has Reykjavik detective Soffía out of her depth with a single-handed investigation into a slew of malicious acts across the city, while the latter has Sigurðardóttir’s heroine Áróra searching for both a woman who has disappeared from her home and her own missing sister. Cool narratives that may raise the temperatures of readers; both are translated by Quentin Bates.
Finally, the recent kerfuffle over the Agatha Christie estate’s querying of Val McDermid’s publishers using the description “Queen of Crime” (claiming it belonged solely to their celebrated property) might be a suitable occasion to reread both McDermid’s work and handsome new editions of Christie’s The Mysterious Affair at Styles and The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (both HarperCollins, £14.99). Readers may find that both crime queens deserve the regal appellation.
Barry Forshaw is the author of ‘Simenon: The Man, The Books, The Films’
