It’s obviously an occupational hazard of writing murder mysteries that the plots will revolve around identifying who, in a line-up of more-to-less reprehensible individuals, would kill someone. The more dramatic and unlikely the murder, the more psychological knots the author has to tie in order to justify why anyone – outside of a career criminal, an accident, or rage-driven impulse – would kill anyone else. Can there really be that many people who commit murders who do it in a way that allows them a reasonable leeway to get away with it? According to crime fiction, it’s all of them. I don’t know, but then I don’t have any experience in the criminal justice system. I’m happy enough to go along with this because it’s propulsive reading, especially when my head is too full for concentrating on less gripping material. Yet in the final analysis, the outcome tends to be a bit daft. And Casey obviously has to come up with scenarios over and over, testing her ingenuity. One way she gets through it is to make almost every suspect thoroughly detestable.
But then, it isn’t the impressive puzzle-solving that I came to this series for: it’s the ‘slow-burn romance’. I could have predicted Godley would turn out to be a bad egg; between Rob and Derwent, Maeve doesn’t have room for a third lingering love interest. I could have done with Maeve being either more forceful about her concerns regarding her boss, or more internally conflicted. Then again, like with most stories and shows in this vein, she doesn’t have a few key human desires. She describes being sleep-deprived, but she never follows that up with ‘jesus, my job schedule sucks, I like it but not enough to do it every day of the week’. Surely they have a rota system for when they get called to crime scenes? Or time in lieu, if they’re working a case consistently over weeks and months? I cannot believe the entire policing system is built on the backs of a bunch of people who love solving murders SO MUCH that they’ll come in every weekend and stay late every weekday and consent to being called in at four in the morning AS WELL. Get off the grass.
Which brings me to Derwent, who, dear GOD, is the literal worst?! Why does he have a cult following? Was it just this one blogger who thought this way?
The homophobia he exhibits is casual and horrifying and relentless:
‘‘Yeah, much more fun if your rugmuncher mate comes along for the ride.’ ‘Talking about me?’ Liv turned around in her chair. Either Derwent hadn’t noticed her sitting near us or he hadn’t cared. ‘Must be. You’re the only dyke on the team. As far as we know.’ He turned his head, tracking DCI Burt as she walked through the room with her head down, lost in her thoughts.’
‘I could read his thinking quite easily, and I doubted Zoe was having any trouble. No point being nice to a dyke, is there?’
He’s a walking examplar of a man who doesn’t think women are people, and so they don’t count if they’re not going to sleep with him. Speaking of, although Maeve thinks he’s very anti-paedophilia and underage sex, this keeps happening:
‘‘All women turn into their mothers eventually. That’s why I have a strict policy of only shagging girls under twenty- five. Before the rot sets in.’ ‘That’s creepy. And it’s only going to get creepier as you get older.’ ‘I’ll probably go up to thirty once I hit forty- five. A twenty- year age- gap is more or less sustainable, but anything more than that gets boring. You keep having to explain who people are and why they’re famous.’ He grimaced. ‘The first couple of times it’s cute. Then it just gets sad.’’
Not to mention this:
‘The first thing I saw when I came out of Godley’s office was Derwent with his feet up on my desk, picking his nose and wiping it on the underside of my chair.’
Words fail me. I do not know how Casey planned to rehabilitate this utterly reprehensible troglodyte, especially when she didn’t even have the grace to make him distractingly hot. He sounds like the human equivalent of a Staffordshire terrier.
Maeve is also quite casually misogynist and fat-shaming:
‘There was nothing to say a fifteen- year- old had to dress like a stripper just because most of them seemed to.’
WHAT.
‘One was lean and slim- hipped; the other profoundly pear- shaped and out of breath but pounding along with good grace. A personal trainer, I thought, with a highly motivated bride who still had a bit of work to do.’
Given that this has no bearing on the story at all, I presume this exists to demonstrate how Maeve takes in her surroundings and makes accurate (!) judgements on the people she encounters. Yet her intuition isn’t always correct (the Christopher Blacker red herring?) and I don’t think the narrative realises how poorly she comes across. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she deserves Derwent – no woman does – but I can also see why Maeve, as written, would accept his unacceptable behaviour romantically. She’s already doing it professionally:
‘He knew as well as I did that there was no complaint, and that there wouldn’t be one. The last thing I needed was to get a reputation for being a humourless ball- breaker. He made remarks like that because it amused him, and because he could, and because he genuinely thought that way a lot of the time, and he wasn’t going to stop. So I would keep batting back the rude remarks and he would keep making them, and in the meantime there was ice cream to eat. I made it my business to do so as unalluringly as possible.’
UGH. At this stage I plan to continue because again, reading a familiar setting is soothing for my brain, and because I have a sick fascination with how this is going to play out, especially as the books are published closer in real time to now. A now when women go to gyms all the time, and loads of people do marathons, and #metoo has happened.