The Curator

Washington Poe, (yes that’s his name, explained in a previous book) is still living in his converted croft on Shap Fell although working for the National Crime Agency and in theory based in London. As he tends to ruffle corporate and establishment and, well, almost everyone’s feathers – his own DI says of him: ‘A Venn diagram of the people Poe knows and the people he’s upset would be a fucking circle.’ – he is still in Cumbria.

Cumbria Police have a strange case where severed fingers – so far two from each of three victims – are being left in odd places. The trouble is, no-one can work out why or who. Cue the involvement of Poe, his heavily pregnant DI and Tilly (Matilda) Bradshaw and civilian analyst. Tilly is a savant a dork, or geek with few or indeed no social skills but absolutely brilliant at what she does.

Together they are tasked to conduct a parallel investigation in to the fingers’ origins using their own unique – maverick is too weak and narrow a word – skillsets. To describe where the investigation takes them and the rest of the enquiry team, would be to elicit too many spoilers. Suffice it to say, you will never work this one out.

There is absolute horror in this book and the sort of humour that only people who have seen depravity – Craven is a former Senior Probation Officer – can come up with and really appreciate. There are superb one liners and Tilly’s inability to completely filter her responses and tell white lies, or just simply keep her mouth shut in social situations, is a constant source of amusement.

It is beautifully written with some Marlowesque touches: describing the female SIO in the enquiry as having ‘Cropped dark hair, black trousers and a white shirt. Eyes green enough to start traffic.’ This is writing of the highest calibre, intelligent, taut, demanding, having you reaching for the dictionary when the drop-dead gorgeous, erudite and witty pathologist starts speaking.

There is one character which does not have a speaking part and that is the Cumbrian landscape. It lends its presence, and sometimes absence, to the narrative as much as any of the other formed and rounded actors in the book. Its changing weather, landscapes and seascapes all contribute to the story in differing but significant ways.

Mr. Craven has produced yet another very high quality ‘crime thriller.’ although that phrase seems too banal to do it any justice. I started reading it in the morning in bed and apart from ablutions and coffee did not stop until I finished before noon. I know it is only June, and I have read some cracking fiction in 2020, but this is currently my book of the year and I doubt another will come along to alter that view.