The tagline for this novel is “One
murder. Fifteen suspects. Can you uncover the truth?” It is set in a country
village, Lockwood, where “life revolves around two interlocking family dynasties...
A person’s closeness to the alpha family – the Haywards – determines their
social status.” Many of the villagers form the Fairway Players, an amateur
dramatic society who are currently producing All My Sons. Martin Hayward is chair of the Fairway Players, his
wife, Helen, is the secretary and leading actress, and their son-in-law, James,
is directing the play. Martin and Helen raise an appeal for their
granddaughter, Poppy, a young child with a rare form of cancer (or has she?)
who needs unsubsidised drugs (or does she?). Everyone is dodgy, and there are affairs,
blackmail, official work complaints, obsession, past secrets and mysterious
circumstances, so when someone is murdered (over halfway through the book), it
seems likely that anyone could have done it.
What elevates the novel above the
usual run-of-the-mill cosy murder genre is the way in which the narrative
unfolds through emails, text messages, newspaper articles and interview transcripts.
A couple of law students, Charlotte and Femi, are assigned the case by their Senior
Partner, Roderick Tanner QC, and they read through all the documents, trying to
keep track of events, motives and alibis. Periodically they paste post-it notes
asking pertinent questions or drawing attention to relevant information. Also
every now and then they confer to recap events so far with text comments such
as “Are you clear what happened at the Yogathon? Could you possibly summarise
it for me? Please.”
It is an obvious device and one which
the author subtly highlights. Isabel likes to email her every thought so that
Sarah-Jane replies, “You were standing right here only moments ago. Why not
just speak to me?” After being duped, one character tells another, “It seems
there’s only so much you can know from letters. A man can hide a world behind
words” and when Mr Tanner supplies extra information, he suggests, “As usual
with this case, the meat is all between the lines.”
Into this milieu enter a couple,
Sam and Kel, who have returned from Africa where they worked for Medicin Sans
Frontiers and left under a cloud. There are scams from people claiming they
want to invest in charities and offering quick returns on funds, and Tish
Bhatoa, the woman supposedly providing the drugs for Poppy’s treatment, is also
suspicious. Tish knows Sam and Kel from their overseas medical exploits, and precious
African artefacts are mixed up with heroin addicts and a break in. The summing
up ponders, “The African connection, and how something a world away can have
such a profound influence.”
Isabel is on the outside and desperate
to break in, to which end she joins the drama group and attempts to make
herself useful by rehearsing lines with other actors and taking the minutes at committee
meetings, but surely she can’t be as ditzy as she pretends. Actually, her version
of the minutes are hilarious and a highlight of the book. After she has sent
them out (complete with ruminations, recriminations and things that probably
shouldn’t be repeated), Sarah-Jane reproaches her, “There’s all sorts of
nonsense in there that we never even mentioned at the meeting. What’s more,
it’s full of your opinions. That’s not the point of the minutes. No one cares
what you think.” Working at the same hospital and eager to find new friends Isabel
introduces Sam and Kel to the drama group, and she combines the interests of
theatre and law, surmising, “A courtroom is very like a theatre. It has a
stage, an audience and actors – it’s just the barristers know their lines while
the witnesses improvise.”
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