Reading The Scarpetta Factor, Patricia Cornwell’s 17th novel about medical examiner Kay Scarpetta and her gang of detectives and forensic criminologists, is not unlike taking a 500-page romp on a Tilt-a-Whirl.

Diehard Cornwell fans already know the drill, but for the uninitiated: Expect plot twists to snowball at a rate of tricky-to-solve murders, bomb threats and mistaken identities popping up every few pages (with some mafia involvement thrown in, too). In other words, there’s no predicting what will happen to Scarpetta over the course of the novel. The plot loops, spins and changes directions until the very end.

In this installment, Scarpetta is working in New York City to crack the murders of high profile financial advisor Hannah Starr and beautiful waitress Toni Darien—all while serving as senior forensic analyst for CNN’s (fictitious) “The Crispin Report.” Her husband, forensic psychiatrist Benton Wesley, is caught up in the case of a patient who may (or may not) be connected to Scarpetta’s murders. Rounding out the crew are NYPD detective Pete Marino, who shares a sticky past with Scarpetta, and Lucy Farinelli, Scarpetta’s computer investigator niece.

Scarpetta is serious about her work. “The body doesn’t lie,” she thinks during an argument about the timeline of a murder. “Don’t try to force the evidence to fit the crime.” When the crime starts to directly involve Scarpetta—a mysterious package shows up at her apartment; Lucy’s past involves some dangerous liaisons—the plot gets complicated as we fear for our heroine’s life.

Although Cornwell’s prose can be corny and over-dramatic (“She was volatile, couldn’t settle down, and she hated it, but hating something didn’t make it go away . . .”), The Scarpetta Factor is still a rip-roaring read, in no small part because of explicit details and forensic jargon (perhaps aided by Cornwell’s six years as a writer and computer analyst at Chief Medical Examiner’s office in Richmond, Virginia).

The point of view alternates between the main characters. Because of these shifts and the multiple details to resolve, the plot can drag; just when we think we’ll get some resolution—bam!—the narrator changes and 200 pages later we’re still wondering what’s going to happen.

Although frustrating, this technique keeps us hooked and biting nails until the end, the objective of any good crime novel.

In her childhood, Eliza Borné read a Nancy Drew book a day. She can whip through a “Scarpetta” book in about the same amount of time.

John LeCarré is thought by many of his myriad admirers worldwide to be the master of the modern spy novel. In fact, he is perhaps the innovator of the complex and intricately plotted tales of the cold War, which pit the secret services of Great Britain against those of the Soviet KGB. His early The Spy Who Came In From the Cold and the later Smiley’s People series built his deserved reputation, based no doubt in part upon his experiences in years of working in British Foreign Services.

His new novel, rocketing to the top of the best seller lists, is for this reader his best work. The Russia House brings the period under contemplation to the present of Gorbachev, glasnost and perestroika and examines it with meticulous attention.

A brilliant Russian defense physicist of the highest rank, for what he has come to feel are moral and totally compelling reasons, has decided to betray his country and reveal secrets of the utmost importance to the West. By accident he meets and is greatly impressed by a British publisher called Barley Blair: a drinker, facile, talented and eccentric, who is on a business trip to a Russian book fair. He decides that Barley must publish for the West a manuscript that will reveal the secret material, devastating in its impact.

Blair, not particularly interested, is with the greatest reluctance enlisted by British intelligence and the American CIA to deal with the Russian and secure this greatly desired material for them. Blair, sent back to Moscow, meets and is immediately and seriously attracted to Katya, a beautiful Russian woman, the former lover and now trusted friend of the Informant, code-named Bluebird, who is to be the intermediary between her friend and Barley. The intricate plot, not to be detailed here, finally winds to the somewhat ambiguous but ultimately satisfying conclusion.

Le Carré, whose writing improves with every book, is a very good writer indeed; he is, in fact, a fine novelist. The Russia House, while it entertains brilliantly, does much more. The view given us of the working style and techniques of the American and British intelligence services is absorbing and more than a bit frightening, particularly as it reveals jealousy and lack of confidence and trust which exist between the western services. He also makes it quite clear that whatever leaders at the top may appear to feel about the lessening of tension between East and West, the intelligence professionals remain unconvinced, even if hopeful. The Cold War continues on those levels, as always. Whether this is LeCarré’s own view is one of the principal ambiguities. And then, finally, there is the beautiful, lovely, passionate love that blooms for Katy and Barley, at whatever cost to their countries and to themselves. The major characters are engrossing, and the lesser figures, mainly intelligence personnel, are entirely convincing and always interesting. In sum, a splendid novel, read at whatever level.

Alan Zibart, a bookseller for more than 50 years, is the publisher’s father.