I'm in process of reading my way chronologically through all 54 books in the 87th Precinct Series. This is possibly the most intricate and tricksy of all so far.
The whole novel is set on Hallowe'en, during one shift, which is of course the graveyard shift from four p.m. to midnight, and all the key players are involved: Carella, Meyer, Hawes, Kling, Brown, Byrne (in an administrative way), Genero, Parker, Eileen Burke, Annie Rawles, Monroe (without Monaghan). Willis only appears in passing (he's recovering from the previous volume where he played the star role).
No fewer than five plot elements are set in motion from early on. First, there's a series of robberies two hours apart carried out by midgets dressed up as trick-or-treaters (that's Carella and Meyer's squeal). It looks like it's going to be amusing but then it's not.
Second, there's a professional magician who vanishes into a trick wardrobe at the end of his school show, but then disappears more permanently, leaving his tricks behind. This is a murder case and it falls to Brown and Hawes (who is generally playing fast and loose these days and strongly attracted to the magician's wife). Here McBain also tricks the reader. Or that's certainly his intention. (I was certainly fooled.)
The hapless Genero gets involved with the disappearing magician plot when he comes across a body part, though he also has another case of his own where he successfully intercepts a gang of four incendiary youths (plot three). Nobody mentions his spelling once.
Fourth, there's the bigot, Parker. He's toying with the whole idea of being a writer, rather than a police officer. He thinks he could write a best-selling crime thriller (how hard can it be?). But he goes to a fancy-dress party as a cop, with a woman he's always fancied and it all seems like safe territory, until ... it connects with one of the other plots.
Fifth and last, there's a killer rapist on the loose and Eileen Burke is playing a hooker. That is to say, she is the decoy for a serial prostitute killer with Annie as her back-up. Naturally Kling feels he has to interfere since his loved-one is at risk, though he lives to regret it. His love-life is frankly doomed. But Eileen should NEVER have been given this job in the first place. It couldn't have happened in real life.
And that phrase 'in real life' is directly relevant too, because part of the trickery involves deliberately highlighting the contrast between drama and 'real life'. So Parker plays a fake cop at a fancy dress party and "For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt like a bona fide detective on the world's finest police force." Meanwhile, the killer rapist plays the part of a comedian. He tells jokes non-stop, although it turns out that he really is a former detective himself (his father is a psychologist). Two characters in this novel tell a lot of jokes, and tell them well, and both of them are deadly serious. Dangerous people, indeed.
And McBain himself plays with the idea of what's real and what isn't. As often, there's a passing reference to Hill Street Blues, the TV series directly inspired by the 87th Precinct books, and also Kojak, which Meyer likes because the hero, like him, is bald. In these novels, in which everything is imaginary, McBain loves to point out how fake TV drama is. In this book (cue spoiler), Carella and Meyer are both shot, albeit not fatally: "This wasn't a cops-and-robbers movie, this was real life." And then the author rubs the reader's nose in it: "No tricks. Real blood. Real pain."
As the book progresses, McBain gets more and more ambitious with the technique of cutting from one plot to another, and intertwining different elements. It's enormously tricksy and extremely clever, but I couldn't respond to it properly until my second reading. And I had to read it twice. Why?
McBain balances the different plot elements so that at least three are equally complex and compelling: the midgets, the serial prostitute killer, and the disappearing magician. In fact, he downplays the Carella/Meyer element because Carella usually steals the limelight. Nevertheless, for me the Eileen-Burke-entraps-serial-killer story stole the show. Utterly chilling. After all, she has already been cut by a rapist with a knife, and she's clearly still traumatised. She and Kling haven't had sex since it happened. She absolutely shouldn't be taking on another, equally dangerous task. Last time round she was a victim, as if to prove that cops don't always survive. It was possible that this time either she would die or (and I thought this second possibility more likely) that Kling would be killed in trying to avert her doom. So I had to belt through the last eighty pages to see what happened to Eileen. I couldn't concentrate properly on anything else, including whether Carella lived or died.
But second time through, I picked up masses that I'd missed while reading at break-neck speed. It is a remarkable work, a masterpiece of ingenuity. And he pulls most of it off with ease and virtuosity, like the consummate trickster he is. Once or twice, the scenes of dialogue in the squadroom are overambitious, working like a screenplay, cutting in and out of different conversations occurring simultaneously. It's more brilliant in concept than in execution, I think, but I relished the idea.
There are card tricks, prostitutes turning tricks, tricks of the mind, tricks of disguise, literary tricks, tricks of role reversal (eg Carella makes the mistakes; Genero turns out a hero, as does Parker). Then there's trick or treat, a hat trick, a con-artist trickster episode, tricks of infidelity. And more.
I think my favourite bit is near the end, where McBain cuts from the serial killer in a bar telling jokes to Eileen ... to the waiting area of a hospital. The beauty of the understatement is a vivid reminder, if any were needed, that the author really does care about these characters. His own emotional investment is huge. See below.
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"On the Eve of All Hallows' Day, a Christian and a Jew kept vigil in the corridor of the Ernest Atlas Pavilion on the fourth floor of Buenavista Hospital.
The Christian was Teddy Carella.
The Jew was Sarah Meyer.
[ ... ]
Sarah had not seen the inside of a synagogue for more years than she cared to count.
Teddy scarcely knew the whereabouts of her neighborhood church.
But both women were silently praying, and they were both praying for the same man.
Sarah knew that her husband was out of danger.
It was Steve Carella who was still in surgery.
On impulse, she took Teddy's hand and squeezed it.
Neither of the women said a word to the other. "