3: Killer Crime Fiction Novels

Hello lovely listeners, cooks, drivers, dog walkers, maybe a gym bunny or two. Thank you for coming back to the Indie Book Club sponsored by Inkspot Publishing. This podcast, our last, is on crime fiction. We couldn’t fit everything we had to say on the subject into one episode, so we’ve split it into two.  Last time we focused on the many ways in which crime fiction, despite promising beginnings, can all go horribly pee tong. Shock value, convoluted storylines, evil, black-hearted villains without a shred of humanity, one-dimensional characters that exist only to move the plot along, unkillable heroes or heroins, monologuing baddies, convenient clues, and my all-time pet peeve, lazy, rushed endings.

Other annoyances include an overreiance on coincidence, shoehorning romance into the story where it doesn’t belong, exposition dumping, unbelievable twists, and desents into silliness. Some books are home to victims that are so unpleasant you don’t really care if they die or not. These are all traps that the unwary crime writer can fall into, and we explored them in detail on our last episode, but this time we’re shining the spotlight on those authors that get it right.  Obviously, this is subjective, but that’s the beauty of doing your own podcast. You get to bang on at length about nothing but your own opinions, basking in the beautiful sound of your own voice. it’s free therapy, really. The best crime fiction works because it’s character-driven. Actually, it doesn’t really matter what genre you’re writing in. If you want to write a book that matters to people, that readers will love, you have to have great characters.

This is the number one rule of good fiction. The readers have to care about the people involved. That doesn’t mean stuffing your book full of saintly people who cuddle bunnies and kittens and give all their cash to charity.  It means creating characters who are real and interesting who readers can relate to. The victims should be fleshed out individuals with history and depth. We don’t need their whole life story. A few touches are enough. A couple of quirks, idiosyncrasies, flaws. There’s a tragedy in a life cut prematurely short. The lost potential, the stolen years, the grief and devastation of those left behind. Those who are forced to pick up the shattered pieces.

Robert Galbra’s troubled blood sees investigator Corman and Stripe being hired by a woman to find out what happened to her mother who went missing 40 years previously. Losing her mother so young has cast a long shadow over her life, one she’ll never recover from. And very naturally, she wants the truth. The villains in great crime fiction aren’t white catstroking nasties in love with the sound of their own voice. Not like me. They’re real people with real goals, real desires.  They’re complex characters with layers, motives, and ambitions. As crime writer Martin Weights once put it, we are all the hero of our own story. And that goes for the baddies, too. They have a reason for doing what they do. And if that reason is sufficiently believable, we will keep turning the pages. As I’ve mentioned, Cormer and Strike, these books are as good a place to start as any.

I listen to the first five books ending with Troubled Blood. I haven’t got round to the latest one, The Ink Blackheart. Nowadays, I don’t read long books anymore. I listen to them on udible. In fact, when I first became a subscriber, I wanted to make my monthly credit count. So, I Googled the longest books on Audible. Amongst others, I found The Count of Monteto Limiza, apologies for the rubbish pronunciation, War and Peace, which was so long it had to have multiple narrators.  I also went through the whole of Anthony Trrollop’s Barchchester Chronicles and the brilliant Palacer series, wonderfully narrated by Timothy West and one of my all-time favorites, Larry McMerryy’s Lonesome Dove. I mean, being tight as a Nat Chuff, I like to get my money’s worth. You know what I mean? Anyway, I also listen to the first five Corin Strike books, all of which are very long. JK Rowling really knows how to write character-driven fiction.

She’s also a fabulous plotter. She has a talent for planting clues without luminous signposts. Corman and Strike is an interesting and wholly believable creation. He’s not an alcoholic, but he had a promiscuous hippie for a mother and an absent rockstar father. And he’s an Afghan vet who’s lost a leg. His prosthetic limb gives him a lot of pain and restricts him in many ways. Corin has a sidekick, Robin Elott. She’s not just a foil to the main guy as Robin was to Batman. She has plenty of spark and initiative of her own, and she gets a lot of airtime as a good chunk of each of the novels are told from her perspective. 

Both Cormand and Robin have troubled private lives. Cormand has a batshit crazy ex-girlfriend who can’t leave him alone, is borderline stalkerish, in fact, and Robin’s fiance is cold and controlling, and it’s obvious to the reader she should run a mile from him, although naturally it takes her a bit longer to realize it. Nevertheless, the relationship unfolds in a very realistic way.  If I have a criticism, some of the plots do get very convoluted, but they’re stylish. And I remember reading a review to the effect that a wise reader should just relax and enjoy it. This is good advice, I think.

 I have another critique. JK often doesn’t trust her readers and reminds them constantly of things they already know. This happened all the time in the Harry Potter books and is a recurring theme in these otherwise highly absorbing Corrin Strike books. It’s probably because she’s too famous for anyone to dare edit her work. Does anyone know if this is actually true or not? I’d love to hear. It may explain why her books get longer and longer.  Nevertheless, they’re immensely enjoyable, and the lack of a red pen hasn’t done anything to hurt her sales. The books get pretty dark, too. In Career of Evil, Corin and Robin interview an elderly woman, Angelique, a key witness to their case who used to be a prostitute. Angelique takes an instant dislike to Robin, convinced that if she’s a nice, educated, middle-class girl, she’ll judge her.

Her hostility towards Robin is visceral. I’d love to read out some of the dialogue in this scene, but my mom might be listening. Angelique has sold her body all her life, and her daughters and granddaughters are doing the same. Robin wisely leaves Corman into it, judging that he’ll get far more information out of Angelique if she isn’t around, irritating her by simply existing, and she tells Corman she’ll wait for him in the car.  Angelique proudly relates to Corin that one of her granddaughters is earning a fortune in the Middle East. They all want anal these days, The girl had told her, “It’s an unsettling scene and very well-drawn. There’s a bleak kind of paos in generations of women spending their lives this way, born to it as if they can see no other option.

Leaving cozy crime aside, cozy crime really deserves its own episode. Darkness in crime fiction is good. I love a bit of dark crime fiction, but I don’t appreciate gratuitous gore. And for the most part, the best crime writers do a lot with suggestion rather than outright face horror. In crime fiction, the suspense should be driven by the stakes, not because of shock value. As well as great characters, I like atmosphere.  The setting of a good crime fiction book is important. Jumping back in time, Agatha Christiey’s And Then None is one of my favorites. There’s no Miss Marple, no Purro, no one gathering everyone for a fireside chat to unmask the killer in an oho civilized fashion over ginonics. It’s just 10 strangers, all invited to an isolated island by a mysterious host who never appears.  And then they slowly get picked

one by one. It’s agonizingly claustrophobic and the tension ramps up mercilessly. All of them are guilty to a greater or lesser degree of causing death and they’ve all got away with it. But some of them are being punished by their own conscience. Christy was adept at psychological tension. In fiction, this is the best kind. And exploring culpability, guilt, and remorse is seriously interesting stuff.  Why would one person show absolutely no remorse for killing someone whereas another may be eaten away by guilt? He’s now as queer as folk which is lucky as if we were all the same. There could be no surprises and certainly no ction. 

Staying in the past, an episode on crime fiction wouldn’t be complete without mentioning Raymond Chandler and his incredibly atmospheric The Big Sleep. Stylish, clever, and hard-boiled as hell. The book is such a pleasure to read because of its oneliners, and the fabulous Philip Marlo.

Chandler was great at creating the Shady Lady, a woman who was complex, often corrupt, vulnerable, but certainly no pushover. The plot of The Big Sleep is so convoluted that supposedly Chandler himself wasn’t sure who killed the chauffeur. “Damned if I know,” he reportedly said when Howard Hawks, the director of the film, asked him. “The book gets its title from one of Marlo’s musings. What did it matter where you lay once you were dead?  in a dirty sump or in a marble tower on top of a high hill. You were dead. You were asleep in the big sleep. You were not bothered by things like that. Oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. Death is the great Rich or poor, young or old, we all end up the same. My favorite Bond film was Live and Let Die, where Whisper replies to Bon’s famous introduction with names is for tombstones, baby.

One of the reasons we all love crime fiction is because all of us all the time are only moments away from death. And reading novels about it happening to other people is a safe way to explore our own fears.  In our last episode, we talked about a few repetitive tropes that crop up time and time again in crime fiction, such as the dead body, usually female, found in the woods, the alcoholic detective, the rule-breaking maverick cop, the first in the Dublin Murder Squad series by Tana French, crams in as many of these cliches as possible into one book, only to immediately subvert them.

This first book is actually called In the Woods because that’s where two children disappeared so many years ago, never to be found. One child survived, but has no memory of that day. Years later, he returns to Dublin with an English accent and goes by his middle name. He’s now a detective, fond of the drink, and is sent to investigate a murder near the woods where his friends During the investigation, clues  During the investigation, clues to the original mystery Protocol dictates that he should report his personal involvement, get himself removed from the case, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he jeopardizes his career in the service of good fiction. However, in this case, Tarn French makes it work because there’s no easy slap on the wrist for him. Instead, there are realistic consequences for the deception.

The murder he’s investigating is that of a young girl who’s found on an archaeological dig of a Neolithic settlement. The archaeologists are in a hurry to finish their excavations. As the government has given the ahad for this ancient ground to be entirely flattened to make way for a motorway. 

I don’t want to give away spoilers, but French does not provide easy answers and certainly doesn’t neatly tie up all the loose ends. Her characters have messy lives, complex inner worlds. Her detective is quite self-conscious and vain. He says of himself, “Central casting would definitely think I was a good detective.  probably the brilliant maverick laner who risks his neck fearlessly and always gets his man. He likes natty suits and refuses to wear wellies on a muddy sight as he doesn’t want his trouser legs riding up. He looks down on his colleagues except for his female partner who he’s formed a little unit with. The bond he’s formed with her is properly set up and therefore believable. “Come on,” he says to her as they get out of the car at the murder scene. “Let’s get into character.”

as well as characters and plot. Friends is showing us a modern island, one that’s racing towards its supposedly glorious future at a furious rate without stopping to think about what’s being shed in the process. The Neolithic site is being flattened for a motorway that no one wants or needs, but someone is going to make shed loads of cash out of it. I can’t remember the exact quote, but PD James said that even when writing a detective story, you can say something meaningful about the human condition.  French certainly achieves this. Her books are elevated beyond mere murder mysteries because they include a nuanced portrayal of class, wealth, and corruption in modern Ireland. I really like that each of her Dublin Murder Squad books are told from a different perspective in characters that may have a minor role in one book, step forward to become the main protagonist in others. This is a very clever way of linking the stories together, but giving each one a fresh perspective.

Many of her characters are from workingclass backgrounds and they struggle to reconcile being ambitious and bettering themselves with being true to their roots. Social hierarchies and economic divides remain as entrenched as ever. And she shows the devastating effect of the economic crash of 2008 on individuals and families who are always the ones bearing the brunt of geopolitical realities.  Her second book, The Likeness, centers on wealthy Trinity College students who are insulated by their own conviction of superiority and by money and privilege from ordinary life.

French is good at exposing corruption within Ireland’s institutions such as the police, the political class, and of course the long shadow cast by the institutional abuse of the church leaving longlasting generational trauma. What she’s showing us is a society in flux.  Ireland is changing at a rapid pace and is becoming wealthier and more cosmopolitan, but it’s still riven with deep-seated social prejudices and a rigid class hierarchy. I need hardly say that I love her writing style, too. It’s tight and lyrical, but not flowery. I’ve only read the first in the series, but I’m definitely going to look for the rest. Who else does it A few years ago, my auntie gave me a book by an Australian author, Jane Harper, called The Dry.

She said she’d loved it. It sat on my desk gathering dust for months. I mean, life’s busy, But one day, I was wrestling with a spreadsheet, getting more and more frustrated, and it caught my eye, and I picked it up and started reading. wow. The spreadsheet didn’t get done that day. What The Australian setting is a character in its own right.  Aaron Faulk is a federal cop specializing in financial crimes. And he goes back to his hometown for the funeral of an old friend believed to have killed his wife and son before taking his own life. But why does he leave the baby behind? A drought ravaged small town, a murdered family, a grieving baby. the dust, the tension and suspense. Really excellent stuff. There are no chases, no shootouts, no Houdini escapes.

just the endlessly fascinating interplay of relationships, of secrets, of how the past has an iron grip on the present, and what that detective in Fargo said, “What people are willing to do just for a little bit of money.” I love that film. Again, I’ve only read one of Jane Harper’s books. What is the matter with me? I read so much trash and here’s excellence staring me in the face. I’ll definitely look for her others.  Apparently, Force of Nature is just as good. Aaron investigates the disappearance of a woman during mote A corporate retreat. Those are creepy and horrible enough without anyone going missing. Apparently, it’s a masterclass in group dynamics, corporate secrets, and what people will do when they crack under pressure. Sounds like a must readad to me. I’ll also be looking out for The Lost Man, a standalone novel, which is apparently her best.

It’s about two brothers investigating the mysterious death of their third brother found dead in the outback. Apparently, it’s deeply atmospheric, and I have no trouble believing this, and it’s full of family secrets. If you’re as nosy as I am, this is a no-brainer book by. My uncle also gave me an excellent crime book. Where family’s concerned, I like to be fair. The Devil’s Peak by Dion Mayor, set in South Africa. It shows a post-apartite country which is not at all at ease with itself. The old tensions have simply been crisscrossed by new ones.

Our detective Benny Gryle is a drunk, but we can forgive Mayor this small cliche as he describes in detail exactly how Benny has descended into alcoholism and what it has cost him and also what it has cost his family. Benny investigates a series of murders where the victims have been responsible for killing or abusing children and have somehow escaped justice.  It’s a grippingly tense thriller as the murderer Tabella Impa Pell, also known as Tiny, is a former ANC freedom fighter acting out of a deep rage and grief for his murdered son. This is no spoiler, as Tiny’s story is told alongside Benny’s. Tiny is highly trained, intelligent, and resourceful. And Dexter, he’s cleaning the swamp of some real nasties. So, it’s almost impossible for the reader to pick a side.

The book does a great job of portraying modern South Africa and highlighting the long-lasting effects of child abuse without it ever becoming a sermon. I listened to this book on Audible, not because but because I had to hurry up and finish it for my book club. The narration is excellent, and as I am South African, not that you can tell as I’ve been here so long, I can assure you that the various South African accents are done perfectly. 

Belinda Bower’s rubbernecker is worth a mention. Her protagonist is a young man with Asperger syndrome who takes an anatomy class in order to better understand death. His father died in a hit-and-run accident when he was a child. Patrick is a methodical plotter and Bower is very good at arousing sympathy for him. As is usual for anatomy students, he works on the same cadaver during his studies, and he begins to suspect that the body he’s been assigned has not died of natural causes.  Patrick has zero social skills and is not good at expressing himself. So, his path to obtaining justice for his poor cadaver is not smooth. There’s one careless clue left behind by an otherwise meticulous killer that is slightly annoying, but in all other respects, it’s a highly entertaining and very different crime novel with a unique protagonist.

An episode on crime has to have some representation from the Scandi Noir school. I read all the Steve Larsson books when they came out and loved them, although I do remember that Elizabeth and Male always seemed to be making coffee. I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t read any Henning Manuel, supposedly the pioneer of Scandi noir. But a brooding detective in small town Sweden, sounds right up my alley.  I’m currently reading The Hidden Child by Camila Lackberg and I’m enjoying it, but I can’t comment on how it unfolds yet. My favorite though is Yesbo and his brooding alkey detective Harry Hull. It’s probably pronounced Harry Hurler, so apologies to the Norwegians, although I expect they’re used to it by now. Yes, he’s an alcoholic, but next to the Brits, the Scandies are probably the heaviest drinkers on the planet. Also, he tries really hard to keep it in check.

all the great crime writers, certainly the ones I rate, Nesbo is great on character. One of his minor characters is a young boy, Jonas, whose mother goes missing. Quoting here from the snowman, he thought about something his mother had asked.  why Jonas hardly ever brought his friends home to play anymore. He hadn’t known what to answer. He hadn’t wanted her to be sad. But now he became sad instead. And then in an interaction with his father. He hadn’t raised his voice yet. There was an irritation that made Jonas cringe.

He never quite knew what made his father so angry or now and then even whether he was angry until he saw his mother’s face with the anxious droop around the corners of her mouth which seemed to make Dad even more irritable. Nesbo is a master at giving us information and revealing character at the same time. Nothing is wasted. The dialogue is great, too. Very realistic, very spare. Here’s an example that is so scandi.

I’ve changed it a tiny bit so I don’t reveal who her sorry is talking to. I can say it’s a woman. And if you’ll forgive me, I’ll have a go at the accent, too.. Are you an alcoholic, ex?  I had a father who was sorry I’m going to give up the accent as it’s just rubbi I’ll just start again. Are you an alcoholic ex? I had a father who was h was that why you didn’t want to visit him in Bergen? You avoid visiting people because they have an illness. I don’t know. You may have had an unhappy childhood because of him or something like that. He couldn’t have made me unhappy.

I was born like that. Unhappy, maybe. What about you? Harry hunched his shoulders. Goes without saying. Isn’t that just perfect? 

By the way, thinking about accents, I have to digress a bit and tell you my absolute all-time favorite joke. A Swedish man walks into the chemists. He says to the pharmacist, “Good afternoon. I’d like to buy some deodorant.”  The pharmacist replies, “Ball or aerosol?” “Neither,” he says. “I’d like it for me armpits.” 

and also that the stoic Xenon considered suicide a worthy action when death was more attractive than life. When he was 98 years old, he dislocated his big toe. This upset him so much that he went home and hanged himself. I enjoy these little factoids. If I have a tiny critique, and this is very pnicity, there’s a little bit of luminous signposting, but not too much.  For example, very early in the book, Harry is practicing his double handcuff technique on the leg of his desk. And I bet that comes in handy later on. Special mention should go to Dan Bartlett, the translator, as he’s done a really good job of rendering the dialogue and the language in a very believable way. Not that I have any knowledge whatsoever of Norwegian, I have to admit, but it includes enough realistic English slang that it doesn’t read like a translation.

 Now, we’re coming to my absolute favorite crime book, which I’ve saved for last. It’s not only a crime, but a spy thriller as well.  I definitely want to devote an entire episode to spy thrillers as there are so many excellent ones and it’s a whole genre separate from crime. However, the author of this book keeps winning crime awards. So that’s why I feel justified in including him in both categories. 

We’re talking about Mick Herren and his beyond excellent book, Slow Horses, the first in his Jackson Lamb series. I read this book when it first came out years ago and was totally blown away by its brilliance and I reread it for this podcast. I hope you appreciate the dedicated research I forced myself to perform. This book deserves to become a classic for so many reasons.  In no particular order, let’s take a look at them. Firstly, the writing. Mick Haron writes with incredible wit and style. And yet, from the reader point of view, it’s utterly effortless. He never tries too hard. I’m sure that he sweats over the occasional sentence like the rest of us. But all the heavy lifting he may or may not do in private is entirely invisible. His editing is sublime, as the pros zips along beautifully with not an excess word anywhere.

The book is full of delightfully sharp little observations and exchanges which are darkly funny. I’ll give you just one tiny example. A mother and son are discussing putting her father into an old folks home. Is it his money you’re Asked the son. No, darling. I just want him to be unhappy. Okay, without giving any spoilers, I have to give another one. Jackson finds two of his slow horses over a dead body.  He says, “If you were having issues with him, we could have just called HR.” Second, the characters. Jackson Lamb is an overweight slob who looks as if he’s been thrown through a charity shop window. His clothes are stained with takeaway food. He doesn’t exactly worry about his booze or his carb intake. 

Without giving any spoilers, I have to give another example.  Jackson finds two agents hanging over the dead body of a third. He says, “If you were having issues with him, we could have just called HR.” Secondly, the characters. Jackson Lamb is an overweight slob who looks as if he’s been thrown through a charity shop window. His clothes are stained with takeaway food. He doesn’t exactly worry about his booze or his carb intake, and he shamelessly burps and farts in company without fear or favor.

Lamb oversees the slow horses, the agents who have cocked up big style in some way or another, earning themselves a place in slow house, which is not in slow and it’s not a The ass end of the spy world, running computer printouts, checking databases, going through people’s garbage, running boring surveillance jobs, trolling websites and chat forums. As Heron describes it, screen watching was virtual surveillance, trolling among the mutant hillbillies of the blogersphere, where arguments spat like a boiling chip pan, and rage brooked no grammar. Each of his slow horses are there for a different reason. Some are desperate to escape to get back among the thorbreds, but they’re generally, with one or two exceptions, there for a very good reason.

The title of the book is so perfect. Even a slow horse has a certain majesty. And the tortoise can win a race once in a while. Then there are the villains. No Tutonic white cat strokers here. His baddies are those who’ve been tempted by greed or Who’ve been corrupted by fear, by money, the desire to protect themselves. Those playing by Moscow rules. London rules. Cover your ass.  He’s adept at portraying office politics, screw-ups, petty betrayals. The system is often what’s at fault, as it has such a terrible effect on human nature. Erin’s villains are far more likely to be failed bureaucrats, bent politicians, vain, glorious spooks rather than master criminals. Causing harm may not be their original intention, but if it happens, they’re utterly ruthless in the cover up. Remember folks, it’s not the crime, it’s the cover up that gets you every time.

Just ask Richard Nixon, Bill Clinton, those involved in the post office persecution scandal, NHS officials covering up for transfusing infected blood. Once you begin the cover up, it’s almost impossible to row back from it. And you have to double down on every lie, no matter what the cost. Then there are the victims. Mick Herren should write a masterclass in how to humanize a victim. A 19-year-old British boy of Pakistani origins is kidnapped.  His captives tell him they’re going to film themselves chopping off his head and will release the footage on the web. Naturally, he’s terrified and he’s kept in a dark room devoid of anything except a bucket. He has no idea why he’s been chosen. Except maybe he does. Thing is, this boy is a business studies student, but he really wants to be a stand-up comic.

It must have been tempting for Heron to give him a great talent to make him a potential Michael McIntyre or Ricky Jves, but that would be too obvious. Instead, the boy has always been too scared to stand up. He’s never been brave enough to take the In that cold, dark, bare room, knowing he’s about to die, he berates himself bitterly for this. As a reader, this is just heartmelting. He’s only just a baby.  He should have all the time in the world to develop a backbone for the stage. Who wasn’t terrified of public speaking, let alone stand up when they were young? In fact, so many people go through their whole lives being terrified of making a tit of themselves. During his horrifying incarceration, he has nothing to do but think. He distracts himself by inventing comic riffs which no one will ever hear.

He realizes, as Heron puts it, that he’s developed an ability for time travel as he ra through his memories of the past, such as it is in his very short life. He imagines countless scenarios where the heavy hitters swoop in to rescue him. But I can’t say more. If you haven’t read it, you absolutely must. It’s not just crime. It’s not just a spy thriller. It’s a great novel, and I’m sure it’ll stand the test of time.  One thing I’ve often thought about is whether crime fiction gives criminals ideas and tips. We all know that if we want to get away with a crime, we should leave no traces such as fingerprints and DNA. There are some police procedural books which explain in detail how forensic teams go about gathering evidence at crime scenes. Tana French and Jeffrey Divas spring to mind. Apparently, there are disturbing cases of real life copycats.

Mark Twitchell, the Dexter killer, was so obsessed with the character, he tried to imitate Dexter’s methods. On the flip side, crime fiction can inspire real life life investigators. Sherlock Holmes introduced the idea of forensic science before the police ever used it. Patricia Cornwell’s books also supposedly caused the adoption of better forensic techniques in real life investigations.  Also, crime fiction educates the public what to look out for and arguably plays a role in preventing crime. Also, the truth is that most criminals won’t be winning mastermind anytime soon. The vast majority are impulsive, reckless, and not very bright. They’re more likely to be caught because they don’t think to clear their search history, and they’ve googled how to get rid of a body on their mobile.

Apparently, the writers of very realistic crime books such as Cara French, Jeffrey Diva, and Michael Connelly actually consult with the police and emit certain techniques from their books to avoid giving criminals an edge. But for the most part, most crime fiction is pretty far-fetched and stylized, so it can’t be used as a how-to manual. The premises are becoming more and more unbelievable as crime writers have to scrabble around for fresh plots because their audiences have become more knowing and  So, it’s too easy to reach for the shock Going back to the books, there are plenty of others that deserve to mention, but I think I’ve banged on long enough. To sum up, I love dark crime books, but not gory ones that are filled with gratuitous violence. I adore great writing. For me, that means pros that doesn’t draw attention to itself, descriptions which are fresh, observations which ring true. Above all, I love characters I can relate to. F.

Scott Fitzgerald said, The characters should always drive the plot. They are not there simply to serve it.” Great crime books have endings that are surprising but inevitable. The reader should think, ” Crikey, of course I should have thought of that myself.” But then have to admit to themselves that they’t. We would love to hear from you what you think. Have I missed your favorite crime book out? You can get in touch with us on Insta.  We’re at Inkspot Pub. Also, please go on our website where you can sign up for our newsletter. As for this podcast, what to do. Please subscribe, and share it with of course, your crime fiction loving friends. At some point in the future, we’ll also devote an episode to cozy crime, but that’ll have to wait. I’m looking forward to seeing you for our next episode, which will be on ta romance. Cheerio.