Till now, these David Hunter novels were composed in the shadow of Patricia Cornwall, unrelentingly full of deliquescent body parts, most amply so in "Whispers of the Dead" which was set in the US in a so-called Body Farm. But this latest book marks a change, a shift away from heavy gruesome, and instead runs a plot that's all twists and turns and considerable thoughtfulness.
The opening is highly forensic at first, an excavation on Dartmoor to recover the dead victims of a serial killer. To assist the police, the serial killer is brought out from imprisonment, and an escape attempt turns the investigation of the graves into chaos. But although the book then fast forwards eight years, it's this first scene which will return, and return, because it holds all the clues which will take their time to unravel. There's tension in plenty as the protagonists from the excavation on the moors return, in menace and in confrontation that pulls everything inside out, and inside out again, and again. Passages of tenderness are interspersed, and the menace is heightened as vulnerabilities and feelings are at stake.
The endings - best to put that in the plural because there's at least three - leave no stone unturned, and are not exactly comforting. To the end, the writing is lucid, indeed relentless in its clarity of phrasing and thought, and at times quietly poetic. It left me impressed, and with a sense that Simon Beckett has moved forwards, and is becoming skilled in unwinding bleakness without any longer needing to take us to the autopsy room to bring about the shudders.
Recommended.