Death by Hollywood by Steven Bochco
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The author of Death by Hollywood has won ten Emmys for shows like Hill Street Blues, LA Law and NYPD Blue, but this is his first and, so far, only novel.

The story revolves around a murder witnessed by a peeping Tom writer and its subsequent investigation by veteran cop Dennis Farentino. When the cop finds a Latino stud dead in his bedroom the chance of answering the questions who and why seem remote with no leads to go on. Farentino, however, is a Columbo fan and decides to let the story come to him, which it duly does in the shape of Bobby Newman, a washed-up screenwriter looking to turn the murder into a screenplay after he witnessed it via his telescope from high up in the hills. Bobby has been a naughty boy, he visited the crime scene and removed evidence before the police had a chance to act.

Farentino does the Columbo thing and lets Bobby reveal himself as his lead, but he then becomes involved with Newman's estranged wife. Newman, meanwhile, has hooked up with the murderer and he's fallen in love. Criss-cross applesauce ftw. Newman then decides to frame his ex-wife and so crosses swords with his cop buddy. Just in case you were worried, there's a twist in the tail too, if you can keep up with who's tail is whose and who's twisting it. There's more sizing up here than in a gents outfitter's on a Saturday afternoon.

The style of this book is interesting, the narrative (present tense) is given by a third party, veteran Hollywood agent Eddie Jelko. The story is delivered in a conversational style, reminiscent of an experienced cop chatting over a cup of coffee. Yes, there are nods to the genre but it fits the style of the narration and its a fast read, so no real harm done. There's also plenty of observation on humankind, of the fallibility of people involved in relationships, crime or violence. With Bochco's TV background it's not too hard to think he slipped into character here as easily as most of us ease into our favourite chair.

Death by Hollywood rattled along for me. The language and descriptions pulled no punches, they are realistic and hit hard, the wit is sharp and street-smart ("He works his ass off staying fit, on the theory that if you’re going to abuse yourself, you gotta be in shape for it."). A quick, entertaining read, in a contemporary pulp style (“Exactly,” she says, giving him that smile that puts a little ache in him he never thought he’d feel again.), which I found to be a decent yarn about Hollywood's supporting cast.