Novels No. 85

 

John McMahon. Head Cases. NY: Minotaur Books, 2024.

Within the FBI, at least for the author’s purposes, is a small unit called Patterns and Recognition (PAR), bossed by Frank Roberts. Somewhat reminiscent of Slow Horses—agents who’d been transferred, for individual reasons, to a disparaged division—but they want to justify the unit’s existence. The sharpest agent / analyst is Gardner Camden, a man with a finely tuned mind but few social skills. Gard’s partner Cassie is young, flip, and awesome with numbers. Jo (“Shooter”) is the third member, a weapons and hunting expert. Fourth, an earnest new rookie, is Richie who must put up with the badinage of the others. Their strange case initially involves the murders of two known serial killers whose locations had been kept very secret. Both—Ross Tignon in Texas and Barry Fisher in New Mexico—were killed according to the methods they themselves had used after abducting young women. Frank gives the lead to Gardner, but this highly organized killer is always two steps ahead of them.

When he next strikes in San Diego, the killer gets in touch with Gardner, almost taunting him, implying it’s a game of superior intellects. Suspecting he’s familiar with, and has access to, FBI procedures and information, the team finds he’s even able to virtually impersonate FBI Director Banning. They begin to call him Mad Dog, understanding that he’s also a skilled hunter. Following Gardner’s mind as he works at speed to connect the slightest of clues is a treat. But when Mad Dog attacks an unexpected vulnerability, Gardner doesn’t know how to handle the resulting emotion. The plot is far more complicated because the integrity of PAR itself is at stake and Banning may sideline our hero. One might question the extended activity knee-deep in a marsh, presumably in street shoes, but you’re just too busy pulling for the team that needs to counter unforeseen twists.

What a winner! The pace is gripping from the get-go, which means the suspense never lets up. No wasted words here in perfect prose from an author in complete control of his indelible characters. Of course it’s being developed for an online streaming series.

Bits

▪ A snake pit. A border market full of thieves. There were so many less political places to work than the Federal Bureau of Investigation. (33)

▪ We had the ability to synthesize. To see things others couldn’t. To connect disparate elements into one unified story. (79-80)

▪ “Revenge is for people with small brains,” he hissed. “My acts are dictated by my own conscience.” (96)

▪ “He used to tell me that some people don’t take things seriously until they have skin in the game. Maybe that’s what you need, Agent Camden. Something personal, to get your blood pumping.” (97)

▪ I swallowed. I couldn’t control this case. It was evolving in ways that were unpredictable and didn’t follow logic. (139)

▪ “Isn’t that your job, Roberts? To control these ... brilliant freaks who report to you?” (161)

▪ One of the drawbacks of my personality is I struggle with nuance. Fail at sarcasm. (241)

▪ “The level of intelligence you got ... the confidence that comes with how you are ... there’s an arrogance there too. A feeling that knowing something equals solving it. That logic ... equals truth. Those two are not the same, Gardner,” Frank paused. (269-70)

Drew Hayden Taylor. Cold. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 2024.

Fabiola Halan is an experienced journalist who flew to a diamond mine in Canada’s north when the ramshackle Cessna crashed enroute—in a bitterly cold, blinding snowstorm. The battered pilot Merle went off in search of help in the isolated area, with survival odds about zero. But Fabiola lived to tell about it in a book that requires promoting, hence her appearance before a university student audience. The Toronto venue is where Professor Elmore Trent lectures about storytelling in the Indigenous Studies program; separated unwillingly from wife Sarah, he’s conducting a discreet affair with Cree student Katie. Aging Anishnawbi hockey player Paul North and his teammates are bedded in student dorms for their latest tournament’s duration. Clearly this university (remarkably like U of T :-) is a device to pull three individuals together at a pivotal point in their lives.

My pleasure with a largely Indigenous perspective came to a rude halt when a young woman’s dead body abruptly appeared, hacked into pieces by, apparently, a paranormal force. With all due respect to Native stories and beliefs, horror freaks me. And yet, there was no such immediate revelation. So I continued, cautiously, because the characters have engaged me. Perhaps restless Fabiola is fated to meet befuddled Paul. Woops, a second body happens, same horror, but worse: Trent actually sees the creature committing the deed. And Trent knows what it is; his residential school childhood failed to erase his rich inheritance of cultural stories. Questioning his sanity, he also knows it’s up to him to vanquish the beast. Will he convince Paul to be his warrior?

More than one metaphor may be applying here as a cold hungry North bears down on the city. Detective Ruby Birch, like us, finds the entire affair mysterious and sometimes perplexing but she’s up for the coming confrontation. I’m all in with the author’s immersive humour.

Fabiola

▪ Shit, she thought. What a place to die. This was not her land. (7)

▪ Her abilities to get things done usually eclipsed the capabilities of those around her. (14)

▪ Fabiola arrogantly thought this Walden-like, living-in-the-bush, being-one-with-nature shit was highly overrated. Any place you couldn’t get decent Greek yogurt should not be allowed to exist. (28)

▪ “I am very good at compartmentalizing my life. All these tragic and potentially debilitating events could be traumatic, but I just put them in their individual rooms that exist in my mind.” (112)

Trent

▪ “They like you. You have something important in you because only special people are allowed to see them.” (107)

▪ Essentially, he was happy with what life threw at him. He was a gatherer, but Sarah wanted a hunter. (158)

▪ What he was seeing he could not possibly be seeing. There in front of him was nothing that nature or any reasonable God could have possibly created. (169)

▪ They were creatures of legend. Metaphors to keep his ancestors in line. Fanciful stories created for cold winter nights. (203)

Paul

▪ In later years, Paul would still remember the sound of snow crunching under her tires as she drove away, and the squeak of the windshield wipers as they battled the remaining snow on her front windows. (92)

▪ “Hockey sticks are our tomahawks. It’s how we do battle today.” (235)

▪ Fascinating was a mild word for her. ... This woman had done so much more with her life than he ever could have imagined for his own. (237)

▪ “But I gotta say, North, I get the feeling you’re on this team because you got no other place to be. And that’s not fair to the rest of the boys.” (254)