Philip Kerr’s The Lady from Zagreb
(Putnam) opens on the French Riviera, in 1956. But that’s just
prologue; the story proper begins in the summer of 1942, in Berlin.
Bernie Gunther, a captain in the SD (the Nazi security service, or
Sicherheitdienst) has been assigned to the Berlin police,
investigating homicides and other serious crimes. But Bernie, despite
his barely veiled cynicism and smart mouth, has shown a useful talent
for delicate inquiries and judicious solutions on behalf of his Nazi
masters. Indeed, he has just returned from Prague, where he solved a
murder at the villa of the late SS-Obergruppenführer
Reinhard Heydrich, head of the German security services, even as an
assassination plot unfolded against Heydrich.
Back in Berlin, Bernie finds himself
under the direct command of Minister of Propaganda Joseph Goebbels,
also head of Germany’s gigantic UFA film studios, who has a
personal assignment for him: track down the missing father of
Croatian-German actress Dalia Dresner (Goebbels, a notorious
womanizer, calls her “Germany’s Garbo”), neé Sofia Branković.
Bernie falls hard for the beautiful Dalia, who returns his feelings,
and sets off into the chaos of wartime Yugoslavia to find her missing
parent. The passages set in war-torn Croatia
are bone-chilling, not just because of the German SS troops, who
routinely shoot first and ask questions later, but more especially
because of the ultra-nationalist Ustaše militia, allies of the Nazis
but unpredictably and prodigiously vicious. It is among these barely
sane irregulars that Bernie finds Dalia’s father, once a priest,
now a militia leader known as Colonel Dragan, famous for the speed
with which he can slash Serbian necks. Goebbels and Bernie agree to
lie to Dalia, telling the screen star that her father is dead.
And speaking of excellent series
featuring brilliant heroes, let’s not forget Donna Leon’s
Venetian detective Commissario Guido Brunetti, whose saga has now
reached 24 entries to go along with four other titles including
2013’s Gondola, a lavishly illustrated history of Venice’s
trademark water vehicle. Leon’s most recent novel, Falling
in Love (Atlantic Monthly Press), echoes two earlier entries: her
first, Death at La Fenice, in which Italy’s pre-eminent
soprano, Flavia Petrelli, is suspected of poisoning a famous
conductor; and Acqua Alta, her fifth, in which Brunetti
investigates the brutal beating of an old friend at the diva’s
villa. This time, Petrelli – in Venice to perform the lead role in
La Traviata – is being stalked by a mysterious admirer who
has been trying to overwhelm her with enormous and numerous bouquets
of yellow roses, and eventually, some very expensive jewelry. But things escalate beyond
overenthusiastic fandom when a young singer is attacked after Flavia
expresses admiration for her voice. Then other people close to Flavia
are attacked, and Brunetti begins to fear that someone will die
before the mysterious and anonymous admirer is revealed.
All this time, of course, Brunetti is
engaged in a peculiarly Italian version of office politics with his
boss, Vice-Questore Giuseppe Patta, and boss’s right-hand man,
Lieutenant Scarpa. Patta’s secretary, the all-powerful Signorina
Elettra, aids Brunetti in his battles. This time, the Signorina is on
strike against Scarpa, though no one else, due to Scarpa’s unfair
suspension of a veteran officer. She will not complete Scarpa’s
paperwork, pass on messages to or from him, perform any research for
him or even talk to him. This amusing subplot continues through the
entire novel, to a satisfying and perfectly Italian, i.e. convoluted
conclusion.We also get to spend time with
Brunetti’s delightful wife, son and daughter, usually over
mouth-watering meals, and with his wife’s noble parents, whose
gossipy conversation helps more than they know in solving the crimes
their son-in-law investigates. The backstage scenes at the opera
house are excellent, an unvarnished look at the grit and sweat behind
the sets and under the costumes, the makeup and the lights. As the stalker’s aggression
escalates, so do Brunetti’s and the diva’s fears. More of
Flavia’s friends and acquaintances are threatened, or even
attacked, and Brunetti is hard-pressed to stay ahead of the
perpetrator. The ending is brilliant, taking place on the Traviata
stage set at La Fenice, and with about as much drama as the opera
itself.
In Steve Burrows' A Siege of Bitterns (Dundurn)
Canadian-born and -raised Detective Chief Inspector Domenic Jejeune
comes to the Norfolk town of Saltmarsh with a shiny reputation earned
by cracking a high-profile case in London, a beautiful journalist
wife, Lindy, and a passion for birding that seems perfect for the
seaside marshes in his new bailiwick. But before he can add anything to his
life list of birds seen, he is called out to a gruesome murder:
Environmentalist, author and TV personality Cameron Brae has been
found hanging from a tree limb, with a bag over his head and his arms
and legs chained. There are no suspects, no apparent motive and very
little in the way of forensic evidence. Urged on by his superior, DCS Colleen
Shepherd, who had gone out on a limb to hire him, and by the local
MP, Beverly Brennan, Jejeune and his team, swing into action. But
Jejeune’s insistent focus on local birdwatchers’ life lists –
and of one of Brae’s notes that seems to indicate he has spotted an
extremely rare American bittern –seems frivolous to everyone,
including his boss and his team, especially the formidable DS Danny
Maik. But the investigation moves forward nonetheless.
At first, it seems no one has a bad
word to say about Brae, known as The Marsh Man after his popular
television program. But the deeper the police probe, the less
clear-cut his reputation appears. He’s a difficult man to love, it
seems, and environmentalism is as prone to professional jealousy as
any other profession. The list of possible suspects comes to include
Brae’s gunsmith and activist son, his ex-wife, his current wife –
the much-younger pop singer and “party girl” Mandy Roquette –
rival birders, an academic environmentalist envious of Brae’s media
profile, and two businessmen/developers who have come into conflict
with him over the years, particularly one who wants to drain the
area’s signature salt marsh to accommodate more wind-powered
turbines.
Another death complicates the
investigation, and extends the list of possible suspects. But Jejeune
manages to negotiate the complex local relationships and webs of
obligation and influence successfully, and to win over his new
homicide team as well. And as it happens, the behaviour of a flock of
rooks – more properly a “clamor of rooks” – provides the clue
that leads to the wholly unexpected conclusion.
- Jack Kirchhoff is a writer and editor in Toronto.
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