Library Limelights 160

David Baldacci. The Forgotten. USA: Grand Central Publishing/Hachette, 2012.

John Puller Jr's vacation is more than he expected: Paradise, Florida, looks like an ideal beach town but below the surface it's a smuggling and killing field. The death of Puller's beloved aunt, skeptical local cops, vicious gangs, vulnerable kids, a crooked lawyer, a strange giant called Mecho, suspicious beach activity, and human trafficking pretty well sums it up. Not to mention Puller's father in mid-dementia, a brother in army prison, and two women vying for his attention. As a special agent in the U.S. Army, Puller is experienced with all kinds of villains, but a quiet investigation into Aunt Betsy's death escalates beyond all predictability.

Without being invited, a colleague comes from DC to join him: Julia Carson is an army one-star general; her motives may not be entirely professional. Paradise policewoman Cheryl Landry is another ally. Thousands of abandoned oil platforms in the Gulf of Mexico provide concealment for contraband. Mecho's secret mission eventually coincides with Puller's and they have many odds to overcome against a highly profitable illegal network. It's a macho tale but with Baldacci, always so well-written, the characters brim with life. Bodies and shootouts. Plenty of suspense and action to keep any mystery reader satisfied.

One-liners:

If this kept up there might not be anyone left alive on Orion Street. (204)

The only noise was the sounds from the women readying the weapons. (348)

Two-liner:

"Propositioned, harassed, threatened, even assaulted. Welcome to this 'man's' army, right?" (300)

Funeral home:

As he continued to stare down at his aunt, he felt the creep of moistness around his eyes. But he did not allow it to build. There might be time to grieve later. Right now he had to figure out what had happened to Betsy. Until he had conclusive proof that said otherwise, the letter she had sent had convinced Puller that her death was not an accident.
His aunt had been murdered. 

He left the dead behind and walked back to the living.But he would not forget her. And he would not fail her in death, as perhaps he had in life. (67)

Puller phones his brother:

"Nice to hear you've retained your sense of humour." 

"Most important thing I've got, actually. Maybe the only thing I've got." 

"I can see that." 

"Now, when you get sidetracked it usually means someone is lying all bloody in a ditch." 

"They're not in a ditch," Puller said. "They're in a holding cell." 

"Talk to me." 

Puller conveyed most of what had happened in Paradise over the last dozen hours or so. When he recounted it, he was amazed that he had packed so much into so little time. (146)

Mecho:

He was simply one man working for others. He was paid a wage that could barely keep him alive. And he was one injury away from being homeless. 

As he looked around at the workers next to him, he was actually describing their state of affairs, not his. Money meant nothing to him. He was here for his own purposes and no other. When he was done he would leave. 

Unless he was dead. Then he would stay in Paradise for eternity. (162)

Arrangements:

"Betsy told me she wanted to be cremated. It should be in her will." 

"Mason didn't mention that." 

"Did he give you a copy of the will?" 

"Yes." 

"You should read it. Betsy was very particular about her funeral arrangements. I"m sure she spelled them out to the letter." 

"Thanks. I guess I should have already done that." 

"You're young. You don't think about wills and funeral arrangements." 

"I'm also a soldier. We tend to think of them more than most people." (170)

Gail Bowen. Kaleido-Scope. 2012. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 2013.

I read the Saskatchewan author once a long time ago so why not get an update. Narrator Joanne Kilbourn, now Mrs Shreve, is married to lawyer Zack, a paraplegic. They live a rich, privileged life although Joanne's social conscience is active; with daughter Mieka she plans to build a community play centre. Their equally well-to-do friend (and client of Zack) Leland Hunter is tearing down a slum section of "North Central" in Regina to erect a new neighbourhood of mixed uses, called the Village. Leland is seen as a greedy capitalist by the gangs who live in the deprived area and vociferously protest the plan even as it's in progress. When Joanne and Zack's house is bombed, suspicion falls on Mieka's new love, Riel Delorme.

Throw Leland's son Declan, his new bride Margot, his spiteful ex-wife Louise, Zack's daughter Taylor, a murder trial, two weddings, and one funeral into the story, and you have more than enough activity as they all try to keep level heads. The extended family's interactions are fascinating; it's almost like moving right in with them. But more violence hits them from an unclear dangerous source. Joanne's long-term signature line ‒ Security for any one of us lies in greater abundance for all of us ‒ does not strike me as illuminating. Yet it's a very comfortable read with these characters and their twining stories. Although, you may experience a little lifestyle envy.

One-liners:

It seemed suddenly as if the axis of our lives had shifted. (116)

It was as if the destruction around us had penetrated his body as it had penetrated mine. (141)

As a rule, Zack did not handle leisure well. (292)

Two-liners:

"I feel as if my skin's been ripped off. My default position is always fake it until I make it." (250)

"You're just like my sister," Margot said. "Always able to find the pony in the pile of shit." (259)

"What would you say to a nice tall gin and tonic?"

"I'd say, 'Where have you been all my life?'" (298)

Assessing someone new:

"Zack, you spent some time with Riel Delorme today. What do you think of him?" 

Zack was slow to answer. Finally, he said, "Well, he's no Wayne Gretsky." 

"Where'd that come from?" 

"Gretsky always knew instinctively where the game was going ‒ not just where his teammates were but where they were going to move next. Riel's right in the middle of the action, but he can't seem to see what's going on, and he can't figure out where the game is headed. I don't get it." 

"Maybe he just doesn't want to see what's really going on. Maybe, with all his good intentions, he's in over his head and doesn't want to face it. Maybe Riel is what Ian used to call 'terminally naive.'" 

Zack nodded approvingly. "Nice turn of phrase." (81-2)

Morning run:

Leland and I ran on cracked concrete past giant machines mired in the mud of construction sites and hoardings covered with the graffiti tags of gangs. No birds sang here. Feral cats yowled over territory and tethered dogs snarled behind welded steel mesh security fences that were indestructible and unscaleable. I slowed when we came to a pair of angry Rottweilers behind a security fence. 

"That bothers you," Leland said. 

"I hate seeing dogs chained," I said. "And I don't understand why dogs are being used to guard a construction site. Nobody's going to steal those machines." 

"No, but somebody could screw around with them," Leland said. "Every development project teaches you something. Sometimes the lesson costs money, sometimes it causes pain, sometimes both." 

"So what have you learned from the Village Project?" 

Leland shrugged. "Too much to go into now, but the dogs are necessary, Joanne. These cretins need snarling dogs to remind them that their actions have consequences." (118-9)

More warnings?

Each of the bronze animals cost $3,000, and we had owned twelve. A thief could have carried out the entire collection in a plastic grocery bag. Breaking into our home had been a huge risk for very little payoff. The intent clearly was to let us know that despite the fifteen-foot fence, the razor wire, and all the security swipes, we were vulnerable. 

Out of nowhere, I remembered the Plains Indians custom of counting coup. If a warrior could walk into the enemy's camp and steal his weapons or his horse, he gained prestige. A member of Red Rage had walked into our home and stolen our horse ‒ a clever urban twist on an old custom. If I hadn't been so terrified, I would have been impressed. (202)

Mick Herron. Nobody Walks. UK: Soho Press, 2015.

Cruise reading ... therefore not the best notes were taken at the time. But still, the most delicious author I've lately discovered. This novel features a taciturn Thomas Bettany, formerly an undercover secret agent. He's notified of the death of his estranged son Liam in a freak accident and returns to London despite a price on his head by vicious criminals he sent to prison. Bettany strives to find feeling and meaning in his lost family, at the same time using all his skills to find someone responsible for the accident.

The story appears darker, more sombre, than the Slough House series but lo and behold, what ugly head should be raised but that of his previous masters at MI5. Dame Ingrid Tearney, to be specific. So some familiar convolutions come into play. Who is playing whom: always the mystery. JK Coe also makes an appearance, to be seen in a later book in Jackson Lamb's stable of slow horses. Bettany knows what he's doing even if no one else does. Visceral image-inducing prose.

One-liners:

Smokers huddled round doorways, making stepping out of a modern pub like stepping into an old one. (53)

He'd learned how to excavate falsehood, scrape away the truths to find the treachery beneath. (105)

JK Coe fainted as his bowels let slip. (133)

Two-liners:

There are a lot of threads in the city. Pull enough of them and you can see the pavements twitch. (165)

He trusted Oskar with his life. But trust required daily renewal. (178)

Blame:

It's your fault she's dead. 

It's cancer's fault, Liam. 

And why do you think people get cancer? You made her unhappy. You were a bastard to her and to me. 

There was a whole deluded industry dedicated to the notion that cancer fattened on the emotions, and not for a moment had Bettany believed his son had fallen prey to it. It had been a weapon, that's all. A stick to beat him with. 

Had he been a bastard? He'd been called worse. (32)

Feeling alive:

Seven years out of circulation, but some things stayed in the blood. Walking back to Liam's, he'd felt alive. He didn't like to think it was the violence that had set him buzzing, but face facts. It hadn't been the beers. (87)

Dame Ingrid summons:

She halted abruptly, and gave him a look so sharp it ought to have had a handle on one end. 

"You've had an upsetting experience. But address me in that tone again, Mr. Coe, and there will be repercussions. Do I make myself clear?" 

"... Yes." 

"An apology would not go amiss." 

"... I'm sorry." 

She blinked regally. Which evidently qualified as acceptance, for having done so, she resumed their stately progress. 

"There seemed no need to warn you," she said. "You're Psych Eval. Junior, granted, but nevertheless. Psych Eval. One would have thought you'd have spared a moment to consider the possible ramifications of your meeting with Bettany." 

"All I was doing was delivering a message!" 

The exclamation mark earned him another sharp look. 

"And all he was doing was verifying its content." (185)