A guy breaks his neck in Afghanistan. A strange young woman who does some kind of mysterious work. They each need a flatmate in order to pay the rent in DC. They are introduced by a mutual acquaintance. They click. They move into a fabulously large apartment over a bakery for a miraculously low rent.
Yeah. Just like Real Life, right?
Turns out the chick is a research/investigator type, and has a friend on the police force who turns to her occasionally for help solving crimes. Sigh. You know where this is going, right? Two guys get murdered. Who dunnit? What do the police do? Normal police work tracking down clues? No. They call this chick in even while the forensics people are still on the scene. Sigh.
I had high hopes for this book, but alas, my hopes were dashed on the rocks of Mediocrity and Imitation, in this case imitation not being much of a form of flattery because it wasn’t a very good imitation.
Part One is told in a quasi-Sherlock Holmes voice, with the chick playing the part of Sherlock, explaining in sarcastic detail obvious omissions of observance on the parts of the mind-numbingly stupid roommate and police friend who are cast in the role of the dull Dr. Watson. Very tedious. Very unrealistic.
Part Two is a flashback to the why of the crime, with the fiancee and almost-father-in-law of the perp being deliberately burned to death in a house fire in Ireland. He then goes on a twenty year vigilante quest to find the evil doers and do them in to revenge those deaths, and finally tracks them down to Washington, DC. Oh cripes, shades of The Perils of Pauline. I mean, really.
And somehow, in great leaps of logic, the chick comes up with the solution to the crimes.
And this is the start of a series, for pete’s sake. Kill me now. Please.