Down among the dead men

Review by Booklist Review

*Starred Review* The much-awarded Lovesey (CWA Gold and Silver Daggers, Macavity and Anthony Awards, among others) has written more than 30 mysteries, with three series heroes. Peter Diamond, detective superintendent of the CID in Bath, is his most well known. Diamond is a wonderfully rounded character whose lines are witty and whose observations about people's characters and motives are brilliantly insightful. In this, the fourteenth in the series, he is pulled away from his beloved Bath by a woman who is a bit like the Wife of Bath: his disgustingly amorous supervisor, Georgina Dallymore, the assistant chief constable. Dallymore insists that Diamond accompany her on a botched investigation review in Sussex, where a detective has been suspended for failing to follow up on DNA evidence that may have incriminated a relative in a murder. Diamond hates investigating other cops and hates the assignment more when he discovers how suspension has unhinged a former colleague of his. At the same time, a Sussex art teacher at a posh school goes missing, and no one, certainly not her students and not even the school's administration, seems to care what happened. The cases of the body found in a car trunk and the missing art teacher, followed by a missing student, connect in intriguing and disturbing ways. Vintage Diamond mystery, spiced by his comic encounters with his supervisor: a must for devotees of character-driven British crime fiction.--Fletcher, Connie Copyright 2015 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

---

Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In Lovesey's less-than-inspired 15th Peter Diamond whodunit (after 2014's The Stone Wife), the chief superintendent's annoying and clueless boss, Asst. Chief Constable Georgina Dallymore, asks him to partner with her on a sensitive internal investigation. The Chichester CID is under a cloud after a senior officer, who turns out to be an old friend of Diamond's, is accused of allowing personal feelings to affect a homicide inquiry. In 2007, Danny Stapleton was charged with murder after he was found driving a stolen car with a corpse in the trunk. But DNA evidence indicates that the investigating officer's niece was in the vehicle as well, though that lead was never pursued. Early on, Diamond suspects that another agenda is at work in assigning Dallymore to the case. In a subplot, an art teacher goes missing from a Sussex girls' school. The byplay between Diamond and Dallymore compensates for a mystery that's not one of the series' best. Agent: Jane Gelfman, Gelfman Schneider. (July) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

---

Review by Library Journal Review

Readers will feel sorry for poor Peter Diamond. In his latest case (after The Stone Wife), the chief superintendent is "forced" to join his irritating and condescending boss, Georgina Dallymore. Even worse, they must leave the familiar confines of Bath and stay in Sussex until they examine fully the possible unethical behavior of Det. Henrietta "Hen" Mallin, who failed to follow up on DNA evidence in the case of the seven-year-old murder of gardener Joe Rigden. They also need to visit an art class in a posh school for girls. When one of the students questions a teacher's disappearance, she also goes missing. As Diamond and Dallymore close in on the surprising perpetrator and tie the cases together, the veteran policeman reveals his usual-and admirable-compassionate side. "The grieving, the long sleepless nights of self-doubt lay ahead. Two brave young women might have been saved if he'd acted faster...." VERDICT Dallymore and Diamond illustrate that good cops and intriguing mysteries can go together. Ideal for those who prefer cerebral rather than graphic whodunits.-Susan G. Baird, formerly with Oak Lawn P.L., IL © Copyright 2015. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

---

Review by Kirkus Book Review

An offer he can't refuse takes Detective Superintendent Peter Diamond from his accustomed perch at the Avon and Somerset Police to a seaside town in Sussex, all in the worst company he can imagine. The summons comes from Diamond's boss, Assistant Chief Constable Georgina Dallymore. An anonymous letter has accused the senior investigating officer at the Chichester CID of improperly handling a criminal investigation. After the SIO's niece, Jocelyn Green, was picked up on a drunk-and-disorderly charge after a fight with another woman, a routine check of her DNA matched that found in the stolen car in which the Chichester coppers found the murdered body of self-employed gardener Joe Rigden back in 2007. DCI Henrietta Mallin, the officer in question, didn't follow up this obvious lead, perhaps because car thief Danny Stapleton was already clapped up as an accessory to the murder, and now she's in hot water. Hoping to rekindle her flirtation with Cmdr. Archie Hahn, the old flame who's asked for help from outside the local CID in sifting the evidence against Mallin, Georgina demands that Diamond accompany her, giving him visions of living in uncomfortably close quarters and dickering endlessly over who's in charge. The situation is even more awkward than Georgina knows, for two reasons. Hen Mallin is an old mate of Diamond's, one he's extremely reluctant to investigate. And the recent disappearance of Constance Gibbon, the much-disliked art teacher at the nearby Priory Park School, suggests new skullduggery Georgina certainly won't want to look into, even in the unlikely event that Hahn authorizes a look. Moving slowly and patiently, Diamond eventually pulls all the threads together, no thanks to his boss. The conscientious mystery is satisfying enough, but it's the increasingly complicated relationship between Georgina and Diamond (The Stone Wife, 2014, etc.) that's most memorable. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

---

1 "Are you sure this thing works?" Danny asked Mr. Singh, the gizmo man.      "You want demonstration?"     "I'd be a mug if I didn't."     "No problem. Where did you leave car?"     "A little way up the street."     "What make?"     "It's the old white Merc by the lamppost."     "Locking is remote, right?"     Danny dipped his hand in his pocket, opened his palm and showed the key fob with its push button controls.     "Very good," Mr. Singh said. "We can test. Go to car and let yourself in. Step out, lock up and walk back here. I am waiting on street with gizmo."     Danny was alert for trickery. He wasn't parting with sixty-odd pounds for a useless lump of plastic and metal. But if it really did work, he could be quids in. Thousands.     The gizmo, as Mr. Singh called it, looked pretty basic in construction, a pocket-sized black box with two retractable antennas fitted to one end.     No money had changed hands yet, so the guy had nothing to gain by doing a runner. Danny stepped out of the little coffee shop and did exactly as suggested. Walked to the Mercedes, unlocked, got in, closed the door, opened it again, stepped out, locked, using the smart key, and walked back to where Mr. Singh was standing outside the shop with the gizmo in his hands.     "You locked it, right?"     "Sure did," Danny said.     "Where is key?"     "Back in my pocket."     "Excellent. Leave it there. Now go to car and try door."     Danny had walked only a few steps when he saw that the lock pins were showing. Just as promised, the car was unlocked.     He was impressed. To be certain, he opened the door he'd apparently locked a moment ago.     "Good job, eh?" Mr. Singh said when Danny went back to him.     "Nice one. Who makes these things?"     "Made in China."     "Wouldn't you know it?"     "Simple to operate. You want to buy?"     "How does it work?"     "Okay. You know how key fob works?"     "Using a radio signal."     "Right. Sending signal from fob to car. Programmed to connect with your car and no other. But this gizmo is signal jammer. Breaks frequency. You think you lock up, but I zap you with this."     "Let me see."     Danny held the thing and turned it over. "All I have to do is press this?"     "Correct. All about timing. You are catching exact moment when driver is pointing fob at car."     "Hang on. There's always a sound when the locks engage. And the lights flick on and off. If that doesn't happen, the driver will notice."     "Did you notice?"     Danny hesitated. "There was traffic noise and I was thinking of other things."     "So?" Mr. Singh flashed his teeth.     "In a quiet place the driver would notice."     "Don't use in quiet place. Street is better, street with much traffic."     Danny turned the jammer over and looked at the other side, speculating. "How much are you asking?"     "Seventy, battery included."     He made a sound as if he'd been burnt. "Seventy is more than I thought."     "Fully effective up to fifty metres."     Danny handed it back. "I don't suppose it works with the latest models."     "Now I am being honest. Very new cars, possibly no. Manufacturers getting wise. Any car up to last year is good. That gives plenty choice. To you, special offer, not to be repeated. Sixty-five."     Danny took a wad from his back pocket, peeled off three twenties and held them out.     Mr. Singh sighed, took the money and handed over the jammer.     "Before you go," Danny said. "There's something else. This gets me into the car, but it doesn't let me drive it away. I was told you have another little beauty for that."     Mr. Singh's eyes lit up again. "Programmer. Which make? BMW, Mercedes, Audi?"     "I need a different one for each make, do I? How much will it cost me?"     "Two hundred. Maybe two fifty."     Danny whistled. This was getting to be a larger investment than he planned, but he thought about the top-class cars he could steal. "Let's say the Bimmer."     "BMW three or five series I can do for two hundred."     "Is it difficult to operate?"     "Dead easy. All cars now have diagnostic connector port. You plug in and programmer reads key code."     "Then what?"     "Code is transferred from car's computer to microchip in new key. You get five blank keys gratis as well."     "So I can drive off using the new key? Have you tried this yourself?"     "No, no, no, I am supplier only. Supplying is lawful. Driving off with some person's car is not."     "But you can show me how the thing works?"     "You come back with two hundred cash this time tomorrow and for you as special customer I am supplying and demonstrating BMW three series programmer." Next afternoon special customer Danny drove away from Brighton with the programmer and the pride of a man at the cutting edge of the electronic revolution. In his youth he'd used a wire coat hanger to get into cars. He'd graduated to a slim Jim strip and then a whole collection of lock-picking tools. But the days of hotwiring the ignition were long gone. In recent years anti-theft technology had become so sophisticated that he'd been reduced to touring car parks looking for vehicles left unlocked by their stupid owners. For a man once known as Driveaway Danny it had become humiliating. The Mercedes he was driving was twelve years old. He'd liberated it in July from some idiot in Bognor who'd left it on his driveway with the key in the ignition.     Everything was about to change.     He would shortly be driving a BMW 3 series. It wasn't easy to nail one. For more than a week he patrolled the streets of the south coast town of Littlehampton (which isn't known for executive cars) with his two gizmos in a Tesco carrier bag. The new technology called for a whole new mindset. He wasn't on the lookout for a parked car, but one that happened to drive up while he was watching. He'd need to make a snap decision when the chance came. If the chance came. Late Sunday evening it did. After a day of no success he was consoling himself with a real ale at his local, the Steam Packet, near the red footbridge over the River Arun. He lived in a one-bedroom flat a few hundred yards away and liked to wind down here at the end of a long day. The pub was said to have existed since 1840, trading under a different name, because the cross-channel ferry that departed from there hadn't come into service until 1863. Welcome Aboard the Steam Packet, announced the large wooden board attached to the front with a profile of a paddle steamer--and in case the maritime message was overlooked, the north side of the pub had a ship's figurehead of a topless blonde (in the best possible taste, with strategically dangling curls) projecting from the wall. With a little imagination when seated in the terrace at the back overlooking River Road and the Arun you could believe yourself afloat. This was a favourite spot of Danny's, nicely placed for seeing spectacular sunsets or watching small boats chugging back from sea trips. But at this moment, alone in the half-light at one of the benches around 9:30 on a September evening, his thoughts were not about sea trips or sunsets. He'd just decided he'd wasted his money on Mr. Singh's gizmos. How ironic then that this was the moment when a silver BMW drove up and came to a halt in the parking space across the street. Excerpted from Down among the Dead Men by Peter Lovesey All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

---