A tattooed skeleton discovered in a bog in England’s picturesque Lake District is the
first clue in Val McDermid’s The Grave Tattoo (St. Martin’s Minotaur, $24.95, 400 pages). It’s a jigsaw puzzle of a mystery that ranges from the notorious 18th-century naval mutiny on HMS Bounty to the strange connection of one of the mutineers with poet William Wordsworth.
If that isn’t enough, there are four murders within a week in the course of a hectic hunt for the long-lost manuscript that illuminates the secrets of the past and links Wordsworth to Fletcher Christian, who may or may not be the body in the bog. With such ingredients to hand, Ms. McDermid cooks up a feast of a book. She even tosses in an intriguing wild card in Tenille, a tough black London teenager who is the daughter of a local gangster with unexpected paternal instincts.
Tenille almost steals the scene from Jane Gresham, a Wordsworth scholar heading for a literary coup if she can find the precious manuscript hidden in a previously peaceful village. Tenille clings to Jane as her only friend, especially when she finds herself fleeing a murder scene, and the tenacious 13-year-old’s journey by bus and foot to the Lake District is a highlight of the book.
Ms. McDermid moves her plot at a gallop, emphasizing the difficulties of tracking a priceless artifact despite the reluctance of laconic locals who don’t trust strangers and get murdered as a result.
The quest is further impeded by the fact that Jane is also being stalked by the killer, who is rapidly ridding the town of elderly members who have knowledge of the manuscript. The interspersing of the chapters with documentary excerpts, purportedly written by Fletcher Christian and preserved by Wordsword, adds historic weight and makes this latest McDermid not only wildly inventive but a very good read.
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Neil McMahon’s Lone Creek (HarperCollins, $24.95, 328 pages) isn’t by any means a shoot-’em-up, but this book does bring to mind memories of classic Western sagas, especially those in which the lone cowboy battles the forces of wealth and corruption that intrude on his pristine environment.
Mr. McMahon’s Hugh Davoren is no Clint Eastwood squinting into the sunset, but he is a native Montanan who returns to his roots in the small town that holds mixed memories for him, only to discover that something wicked is afoot. The cast of characters is familiar, from the wealthy and villainous outsiders investing heavily in the Pettyjohn Ranch to a beautiful but treacherous wife who reminds Davoren of his first and equally untrustworthy love. And of course there is the tough but noble Madbird, the Indian sidekick who comes to Davoren’s rescue.
Davoren’s discovery of two savagely slaughtered horses launches a series of violent events that not only put him in jail but puts his life at risk when he decides to investigate the sinister goings-on in his home town.
Mr. McMahon knows his territory and its history, and although the plot is predictable almost from the beginning, he maintains tension at a high enough level to capture interest.
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You might be tempted to wear gloves and a muffler when snuggling down with Jim Kelly’s The Coldest Blood (St. Martin’s Minotaur, $24.95, 352 pages), a taut little thriller set in the bleak midwinter of Christmas in the Cambridgeshire fens of England.
The falling temperature becomes part of the plot as journalist Philip Dryden finds himself threatened by his investigation of a crime that evokes echoes of his own childhood. Mr. Kelly’s own background makes the small-town newspaper scene ring clear and true, from the gathering of local stories to the financial miseries well known to most reporters.
The situation of Dryden’s wife, Laura, struggling against a desire to end a life crippled by a coma resulting from a car accident, provides a poignant subplot to the darkness that pervades the past of local priests involved in child abuse. Moreover, Kelly’s characters are as sharply drawn as his frozen setting.
The monosyllabic Laura has her own tragic strength, though in terms of color she can’t compete with Humph, the local taxi driver with an apparently inexhaustible supply of miniatures of single malt scotch in the glove compartment of the car in which he transports the press.
Muriel Dobbin is a former White House and national political reporter for McClatchy newspapers and the Baltimore Sun.
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