I liked Peter Spiegelman's Dr. Knox quite a bit, so I kept my eye out for more of his work. This is his debut novel from 2003, set in New York and starring private eye John March.
March is, as befits a modern PI, a bit of a tormented soul, having lost his wife in a mysterious affair which is alluded to early on and then revealed in bits and pieces as we go along. March is the rebel son of a Manhattan financier clan, who rejected his family's high-class ways and pursuit of filthy lucre to become a sheriff's deputy somewhere upstate, where the aforementioned tragedy took place. Back in the big city, he broods, goes for long runs and makes an occasional buck doing investigative work for a lawyer pal.
Said pal has a client who is being blackmailed by somebody with access to the records of a big federal investigation of a shady bank (think BCCI). The client had some dealings with the bank's star crook, now vanished, years before. The blackmailer claims to have evidence from that association that will put the client in federal prison. March is assigned to put a stop to all this. He will, of course run into trouble with the usual hard cases, flinty-eyed feds, enigmatic females, etc, turning up murders old and new and sustaining non-negligible physical damage along the way.
Nothing all that original here, but the tale is well told, with convincing inside dope on financial shenanigans, big-time lawyering and other arcane matters. The style is sometimes just a bit heavy on description; I don't really care exactly how everyone is dressed. But the story moves along smartly, the New York setting is deftly featured, there are some surprises, and Spiegelman made me care about what happened, which is pretty much what we want from a book like this.