Detective Chief Inspector Phil Benholme of the Barshire County Constabulary has earned the reputation of being "soft" because he always thinks about the feelings of others. "If you were about to be run down by a train, you'd worry about the engine driver," as his ex-wife says. So when an elderly Indian scientist, the Nobel Prize-winning Professor Unwala, is found beaten to death and Benholme's own teenage son appears to be involved, he bends over backwards to make sure that the boy gets no preferential treatment--and almost destroys a complicated investigation in the process.
H.R.F. Keating, one of the crown jewels of the British mystery scene, takes a break from his famous series about India's Inspector Ghote to give us a subtle, sad story of crime in the blighted London suburbs that perfectly matches today's reality. The murder scene is a once-comfortable house next to a new expressway where foreign trucks and cars roar by. "What must once have been a long stretch of lawn, big enough in times long gone for croquet, was now a short, ugly area of uncut tussocky grass." It's a place where teenagers come to buy drugs; where racist gangs flourish; where rumors about sexual deviance and hidden treasure can quickly turn deadly. Bullied by impatient superiors and sneered at behind his back by most of his ambitious colleagues, Benholme struggles to behave decently and do his job. His creator has done likewise, here and in such other deserving titles as The Perfect Murder, Asking Questions, and Inspector Ghote Caught in Meshes. --Dick Adler
Detective Chief Inspector Phil Benholme of the Barshire County Constabulary has earned the reputation of being "soft" because he always thinks about the feelings of others. "If you were about to be run down by a train, you'd worry about the engine driver," as his ex-wife says. So when an elderly Indian scientist, the Nobel Prize-winning Professor Unwala, is found beaten to death and Benholme's own teenage son appears to be involved, he bends over backwards to make sure that the boy gets no preferential treatment--and almost destroys a complicated investigation in the process.
H.R.F. Keating, one of the crown jewels of the British mystery scene, takes a break from his famous series about India's Inspector Ghote to give us a subtle, sad story of crime in the blighted London suburbs that perfectly matches today's reality. The murder scene is a once-comfortable house next to a new expressway where foreign trucks and cars roar by. "What must once have been a long stretch of lawn, big enough in times long gone for croquet, was now a short, ugly area of uncut tussocky grass." It's a place where teenagers come to buy drugs; where racist gangs flourish; where rumors about sexual deviance and hidden treasure can quickly turn deadly. Bullied by impatient superiors and sneered at behind his back by most of his ambitious colleagues, Benholme struggles to behave decently and do his job. His creator has done likewise, here and in such other deserving titles as The Perfect Murder, Asking Questions, and Inspector Ghote Caught in Meshes. --Dick Adler
