Fletch turns up in Boston claiming to be researching for his forthcoming biography of Edgar Arthur Tharp Jnr. the famous artist. He's left his fiancee in Italy while she deals with her dad's kidnapping and apparent death and is a little taken aback when he finds a young dead girl in the apartment he's arranged to stay in. All of the evidence points to Fletch as the culprit and an unusual police detective called Flynn eyes him with suspicion but just can't bring himself to make the arrest.
I would have enjoyed Confess, Fletch more had the stakes been higher, but the plot is all about paintings which is too low-key and hardly creates mental images that are likely to stay with you. The procedure of solving the mystery isn't too rewarding either as it seems to be all over the place until the final twenty pages. I ought to be familiar with Fletch's methods by now, but the entire book seems to be Fletch driving around, getting in and out of cars, and having cryptic conversations with mostly bland characters. The only saving grace is Flynn who turns out to much deeper than I first expected.
I'd call this the second weakest of the Fletch series (Carioca Fletch has been the poorest so far), but is still worthy of your attention even if your a casual fan. I hope that Fletch's Fortune is better (I'm reading them in chronological order, not publish order).