Library Limelights 214

Brad Parks. Say Nothing. 2016. USA: Dutton, 2017.

A parent’s worst nightmare scenario is that of losing a child. Scott Sampson, a federal judge in Virginia, and his wife Alison, are no different when their six-year-old twins are abducted. They are strongly cautioned to “Say nothing!” — no police, no FBI, not even a word to family members. In this mental agony, Scott has to make daily courthouse appearances as if all is normal. He’s soon expected to make a certain decision on a minor case, according to a message from the kidnappers, but in return only son Sam is released. His staff and colleagues and superiors are puzzled by his bizarre ruling; a judicial inquiry may be in the offing. Alison is breaking under the strain with daughter Emma in danger, whereabouts unknown; her behaviour goes out of character. Fear is fracturing their marriage even as Scott secretly attempts to make investigations.

The biggest patent trial of Scott’s career suddenly looms, the one he will be told to rule on according to the kidnappers’ dictum. He’ll agree to anything to get Emma back, but desperate to figure out the who and the why; his risky out-of-character behaviour is evident to his staff and colleagues. It gets worse: he could be under police suspicion. Related from Scott’s point of view, occasionally we get a glimpse of actions between the two sadistic kidnappers. The pace is relentless. Plenty of twists, legal and personal, ramp the suspense up to a killer climax. In the end, the author omits any mention of traumatized kids. Kvetch: Why is the judge always on his phone when driving a car? Otherwise, a great example of a thriller-mystery.

One-liners:

▪ I suddenly knew what it must be like to sit on a beach when all the water mysteriously rushes away, as happens just before a tsunami. (4)

▪ He burnished his everyman image by shaving his head bald and riding to campaign events on his Harley. (123)

▪ Were there really things neither money nor power could buy? (172)

▪ “First you kick a bees’ nest; then you poke the bear that was there to eat the honey.” (337)

▪ Why resort to something so reckless when they knew they were going to win anyway? (360)

Multi-liners:

▪ When you got right down to it, stripping away all the outer layers of bluster and faux fortitude, I felt like I was made of insubstantial things, all fluffernutter, white bread, and gummy bears. She, meanwhile, was one hundred percent steel-cut oats. (99)

▪ “Mr. Thrift, this is getting very aggravating,” I hollered. “I paid you in cash.” (279-80)

▪ “This is out of control. It’s been that way all along.” (210)

▪ Yes, the little girl in the pictures was happy, smiling, and safe. But the little girl in real life was scared, alone, and in mortal danger. (211)

Judge Sampson’s job:

Some lawyers refer to federal judges as Little Caesars, like the pizza chain, except it’s not totally a joke. We really do have an astonishing degree of authority. Some of my decisions can be overturned or amended by higher courts, yes, but a surprising number of them are, for all practical purposes unassailable. 

With little more than my own gut to guide me, I routinely make pronouncements that will shape the remainder of people’s lives. The wealthiest lawyers in the land kowtow to me. Huge bureaucracies are forced to follow my orders. The most formidable people in our society are but one bad decision away from winding up in my courtroom, begging for mercy, sometimes literally trembling before me. 

I realize it’s the position, not the person, that inspires this sycophancy. I certainly do nothing to encourage it. I am something of a reluctant Caesar. The constant fawning embarrasses me. 

It comes with the job all the same. (19-20)

Questionable conduct:

“Now, of course, I don’t want you or anyone to get the idea that I would allow the politics of the situation to influence the process or enter into my thinking.” 

“No, of course not,” I said. Even though we both knew that was a lie. 

“And I should stress that, at this point, this is just a preliminary inquiry,” he said in that way people did when it was evident something much more than preliminary would soon follow. (123)

Another sad meal:

I ate the Chinese food without really tasting it, sitting across from my wife without really looking at her.She made a few attempts at conversation, but the tumult in my head drowned out whatever she was saying. Eventually she gave up and turned her attention to the food she kept pushing around her plate. The only sound coming from our dinner table was the occasional scrape of a fork. 

I just couldn’t reconcile the discrepancy between the Alison I saw—and felt with my own hands―and the Alison who seemed to be operating the rest of the time. That Alison was this shadowy figure, darting in and out of view in the hazy distance. And my only real lens on her was a six-year-old who barely understood what he was seeing. (231-2)

Proof of life:

Another round was coming. Emma’s cries were building, like she was anticipating something terrible. I could make out a pleading, “No, no, no, no—“ 

Then there was another shriek. It was so sharp it momentarily overloaded the phone’s simple speaker.Then suddenly, there was video. And it made me wish the screen had just stayed black. (235)

Taylor Adams. No Exit. 2017. USA: William Morrow, 2019.

One night in a snowbound Rockies rest stop is enough terror for a lifetime. Darby Thorne is on her way home to see her dying mother, stopped by the whiteout road conditions. Four other motorists are stranded with her, but one is a kidnapper. Darby discovers a child called Jay imprisoned in one of the vehicles. It’s not difficult to figure out that Lars owns the van in question, and the suspense accelerates from there ... all night long. How dangerous is this man? Can Darby risk telling the other three what she discovered? She vows to rescue Jay but there is nowhere to go in the storm. All communications are out.

Lars knows she knows. And he has an accomplice. When Darby manages to release Jay, all fellow travellers are then involved, like it or not. They are virtual prisoners in a violent standoff. Time after time Darby tries to outwit them, unsuccessfully, and suffers near-asphyxiation, gunfire, a broken hand, being drenched with diesel fuel, and threatened with a nail gun. In and out of the rest stop building, the action races. Some of Darby’s gymnastics are awesome. Despite gaps in credibility, the dread is unbearable. Such that I wanted the torment to be over. A remarkable first novel. (Short extracts only, so as not to reveal surprises.)

One-liners:

▪ She’d try to play cards with Ashley, maybe chat with Ed and Sandi. (52)

▪ And now here she was, walking through the woods with a .45 aimed at her back, searching for a dead child. (185)

▪ Darby’s voice wobbled with adrenaline, with two strangers inside and two killers at the door outside. (226)

▪ “Please, Darbs, just tell me, so I don’t have to hurt you.” (271)

Multi-liners:

▪ “Listen up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse. “If there’s someone in there, make a noise right now.” (51)

▪ She’d left her phone in her purse. On the edge of that porcelain sink, inside the men’s restroom. (112)

▪ “Stay away from the goddamn window, Sandi. They’re going to shoot you.” (202)

▪ She’d slumped into a crouch when she lost consciousness, her back to the door, a sour taste in her throat. She was afraid to look up at her right hand. (275)

The suspect:

Lars watched as they returned. 

He was back at his sentry post, a few paces to the right of the front door in the lobby’s natural little blind spot. He was trying vainly to refold a map of Mount Hood, but he tilted his head to follow Darby and Ashley as they crossed the room. Darby kept her head down. Her gray Converse squeaked, her socks still squelching with melted snow. 

No eye contact. (100)

Reprieve:

Ed had no clue that he might have just saved everyone’s lives by bumbling back inside when he did with a bag of instant coffee. 

Now he reached through the security shutter and dispensed hot water. “It’s not quite boiling, but it’s enough for tea. Should be okay for some shitty coffee.” 

“Manna from heaven,” said Ashley. “Sweet, sweet caffeine.” 

“Yep, that’s the idea.” 

“You’re my hero, Ed.” 

He nodded, his patience for Ashley’s chitchat clearly wearing thin. (152-3)

Fear upon fear:

She desperately hoped thirty minutes was a realistic estimate for when the police would arrive, and not just a dispatcher’s wild guess. Between the jacknifed semi and the blizzard, there were a lot of possible complications that might not be visible from an alert desk inside a warm sheriff’s station somewhere. What if it wasn’t thirty minutes, but forty? An hour? Two hours? (260)

Outside the door:

Perched against a vertical world of firs, white spruce, and rocky summits, the Wanashono visitor center looked like a nut to be cracked. The snowfall had ended; the sky had opened up to a pristine void. The clouds were thinning, revealing a pale crescent and piercing stars, and the world had changed with it, drawn in the icepick shadows of new moonlight. A moon begging for blood. (205)

M.R. Hall. The Burning. UK: Mantle/Pan Macmillan, 2014.

Unbelievable, how a “simple” case of house fire with three victims turns into a highly convoluted mystery. Bristol Coroner Jenny Cooper plans to call an inquest, especially on learning the adult male and two daughters had actually died by shotgun. The youngest child in the family is missing. Rumours of criminal complicity swirl among the neighbours, but alternate theories vie for official attention, continually shifting as new information comes to light. Besides interviewing the neighbours, Jenny has input from sympathetic DI Ryan, the dead man’s widow Kelly, a dubious lawyer, and others. Jenny’s assistant Alison Trent also contributes her acerbic share of expertise, albeit with an uncharacteristic lack of impulse control; severe injuries from a car accident leave her on temporary return to duties.

Other cases on Jenny’s desk include the suicide of passport officer Daniel Burden; to her astonishment, it develops a connection to the fire inquest. Suspending the fire inquest at times, her investigations lead into personal danger, but from what source she can’t tell. The intricate complications and consequences are typical of this most excellent series; only Jenny’s uncompromising search for the truth can dig out relevant influences from the past in order to conclude both inquests. Her private life also has its share of ups and downs; whether Michael the pilot should move in with her is not her most urgent personal problem. Little did I know that CBC is producing a television series based on Jenny’s adventures, called Coroner.

One-liners:

▪ “I appreciate your long association with Mrs Trent, but this really is nothing less than gross misconduct.” (274)

▪ The coroner’s duty was not to the family of the deceased but to the truth, no matter how uncomfortable or distressing that might be. (298)

▪ Ten hours ago she had been so sure she had made the breakthrough, now all she could hear was Simon Moreton’s warning to stick to brutal logic. (353)

▪ She wanted the world to hear precisely why it was that the most important piece of evidence in her case had been wilfully withheld from her. (364)

Multi-liners:

▪ “I just want it to be over,” she said between sobs. “I don’t care why he did it. What difference does it make?” (148)

▪ “They say he hanged his own dog, when he was a kid. If you can do that, you can do anything.” (171)

▪ “Don’t mind her,” she heard Alison whisper. “She takes a little while to warm up in the mornings. Never had that trouble myself.” (177)

▪ She glanced anxiously towards the partially open door to Jenny’s office. “Will there be a DNA test?” (247)

▪ As Jenny turned, she shot Alison a look warning her to behave. Alison rolled her eyes and stabbed her fingers noisily into her computer keyboard. (247)

Alison works late:

“You’re not still there?” Jenny said with a hint of rebuke. 

“I’m fine. You don’t have to treat me like a cripple.” 

“It’s half past five on a Friday night before New Year. You’re released.” 

“CID turned up an address for Daniel Burden’s next of kin. A brother in Somerset. We think he might be away on holiday – he’s not answering his phones.” 

“Then leave him a message.” 

“I can’t relax with that hanging over me.” 

“Go home. Have a glass of wine. Forget about it.” 

“I’ve been at home for six months, Mrs Cooper. I’ve drunk France dry.” (102-3)

Jenny’s ally Ryan:

“ ... I get the impression you haven’t told her about what happened inside the house.” 

“Do you think she’s ready for it?” 

“As she’ll ever be. I always think it’s better to hear the facts straight than drive yourself mad imagining things that didn’t happen. If you want to tell me what you’ve got, I could share it with her.” 

“No, it’s OK. I’ve some more questions for her anyway. I should go and see her.” 

“If you’d rather not face her alone, I could always come and hold your hand.” 

“Won’t your super have something to say about that? I thought this was no longer a police problem.” 

“It’s a holiday. He doesn’t have to know.” (133-4)

New theory coming:

The image of the levelled, snow-covered site where the house had stood returned to her, and with it the sense that had been with her that afternoon when the police had been so eager to demolish the burned-out house: something important had been erased. She pulled out her phone and called up the thirty seconds of video footage she had taken before the great clawed machine had moved in. The picture was dark, almost sepia. It scanned over ghostly, soot-stained walls and charred timbers; a child’s swing and upended toys in the garden. But it was something else that caught her eye: in the far background of a sweeping shot of the garden she noticed a section of wire hanging loose from the high fence surrounding the property. (223)

Abuse:

“You worked with abused kids, Mrs Cooper – you know how they behave.” 

Jenny had to agree. Layla could have been a textbook case: sexually precocious, reckless, drifting into petty crime. In her former career in child protection, she had dealt with girls removed from sexually abusive situations at a very young age, who, after ten years of stable family life with adoptive parents, would nevertheless exhibit much of the behaviour you would expect from those who had continued to be abused. It has often seemed to Jenny that if harm was done early enough, it became woven into the fabric of the being. (248)