A decent enough gritty British cop thriller but is never more than run-of-the-mill.
I wasn't won over by way of the story flitted from paragraph to paragraph.
The book is set against a background of jazz music which evokes the dark mystery that unfolds as the pages progress.
I also did like the authors observations,
" A youth with gelled green hair and a gold ring through his left nostril was sitting opposite the inquiry window, dribbling blood and snot into his hands. At the window a middle-aged man in a suit, navy blue pinstripe, was explaining to the officer on duty exactly where he had left his car, exactly why he’d been stupid enough to leave his briefcase on the back seat. Inside the next set of doors, a uniformed constable was squatting down beside a girl of nine or ten, trying to get her to spell out her address. Somebody else was singing the Red Flag. Not, Resnick assumed, someone on the Force"
"There must be some people, Resnick thought, for whom a telephone ringing in" The middle of the night doesn’t spell bad news."
Sheets of white paper, smeared with ketchup or curry sauce, littered the pavements; crushed cartons still holding cold gravy, mushy peas."
Those & many others really prevented the book becoming less than run-of-the-mill!
The book does contain a massive error however
" Some enterprising soul had squirted WD 40 through the letter-box to stun a pair of angry Rottweilers, picked the lock, and walked away with several thousand pounds’ worth of jewellery and furs and the dogs’ studded collars as souvenirs"
The owners first phone call had been to the PDSA, the second to the police.
If the owner had several thousand pounds worth of jewellery the PDSA wouldn't entertain the owner. It's a benefit only organisation. Its just little mistakes like that, that jar! It suggests poor research from the author.
Towards the end it feels as if the story just runs out of energy.
Nonetheless, this was my first read of a novel by the author and I think I'd certainly read another.