Synopsis: The historical tale of Detective Simon Ziele, a man who lost his fiancée in the 1904 General Slocum ferry disaster and thereafter flees New York City for Dobson, New York, to escape the memories of her death. But months into his tenure, he catches the worst homicide of his career: a young woman brutally murdered in her own bedroom in the middle of the afternoon. His investigation quickly takes him to Columbia University criminologist Alistair Sinclair and one of his patients. But what could lead this Michael Fromley, with his history of violent behavior, to target such a proper young lady? Is Michael really behind the murder or is someone mimicking him? Ziele must discover the truth in this story of a haunted man on the trail of a killer while on the run from his own demons.
Spoilers set to kill.
Because everyone compares this with Caleb Carr’s masterful novels, and I couldn’t help thinking of them too when I read the synopsis, I’ll continue with the comparison even though it doesn’t go Pintoff’s way. Even without Carr’s books to refer to as a model of sorts, this novel wouldn’t be a stand-out. Not for me. Maybe it’s because I read a lot of detective fiction, but I fingered the guilty party way ahead of Alistair and Simon. For two guys who are supposed to be really clever and ahead of the curve, they were incapable of looking within their inner circle and they blew it. The signs were very clear in both situation and in behavior. And maybe it’s because my husband’s former boss, also named Horace, eventually was indicted and is now serving a long sentence for embezzlement that I first suspected him. When Fred showed up in the end, seemingly by coincidence, I knew he had to be in on it, too. I wasn’t shocked when he pulled a gun. Creep.
Anyway, as far as the characters go I found Simon to be stilted, insecure and a weird candidate for a cop. He spoke strangely and the way the book was narrated just came across as maladroit and stiff. This is supposed to be a street detective fresh from the cesspit that is New York in 1900? No way. He’s way too awkward and unsure of himself. I didn’t buy it. The pining for the dead fiancée was sort of nice at first, hey we’ve got a sensitive guy on our hands, but after a while it just seemed part of the whole wrongness about Simon as a cop. He has no vice, no hang-up, no outlet for his grief over his loss. Made him less human despite the angst.
And Alistair is a frigging bore. Always lecturing, always grandstanding. Ugh. Unattractive. At least he wasn’t trying to out-Kriezler Kriezler. He wasn’t weird and inscrutable. He wasn’t eccentric and brilliant. He wasn’t mercurial and Holmesian. Thankfully. He was fording his way into a new field and it rang mostly true; his need to convince person after person that the work was worthwhile, his need to explain theories and techniques, his need to attach himself to a university etc. The foundation though I found to be a bit of a stretch…and the self-funding and all that. Seemed a bit too much too soon if you know what I mean.
The bits about contemporary police procedures were interesting, as were the bits about women’s Suffragism and their struggle to win the vote. Those elements were nice and not overly done. But, something was missing. None of it was personal in the way that Carr made it personal. And the emotional pitch wasn’t as acute either; I didn’t really feel tense during my whole reading. No one was desperate. No one was at their wits end, no matter how much Simon opined that he was and I’ll probably give the next installment a miss.
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