NOBODY has a finer finesse with fear than Connolly. Perhaps because he’s Irish, his work has a poetic Gothic touch with a devilish twinkle in its eye.
I’ve been hooked on the adventures of far-from-ordinary private eye Charlie Parker since his blood dripping debut, Every Dead Thing in 1999. Since then, awards and bestsellers have come thick and fast, and still Connolly keeps producing beautifully crafted macabre masterpieces like this one. Still haunted by his own demons, including the watchful and restless spirit of one dead daughter and a live one disturbingly displaying some of her father’s psychic abilities, Parker has retreated to a beachfront house in a small town in Maine to heal following a near successful bid to kill him in previous book The Wolf in Winter. Of course, his funny-but-lethal gay hitmen buddies, Louis and Angel, are keeping a watchful eye, but there’s no way, Parker’s going to ignore the links between a body washing up on the beach followed by the murder of his only neighbour. Inexorably he’s drawn into a horror story that began in the Nazi concentration camps. Someone is still cheating justice by tying up loose ends. Old evil never sleeps in a Parker thriller. Review by Alex Gordon.