After a summer filled with racial tension over police shootings, it was only a matter of time before a novel surfaced with a similar theme. Suzanne Chazin presents that problem for her series character, Hispanic cop Jimmy Vega, in the first few pages of her new novel, No Witness but the Moon.

Vega is first on the scene of an apparent home invasion and chases down one suspect. But when the suspect fails to release an object in his hand and begins to turn toward Vega despite orders to freeze, Vega has only seconds to kill or be killed. The suspect is fatally wounded, which is when Vega’s troubles really begin. As other police arrive, it’s quickly apparent that Vega has shot an unarmed man. The only item in the man’s possession was a photograph clutched in his right hand.

Chazin expertly crafts the immediate fallout of the shooting in several emotion-filled, tense pages. Vega reels from what he’s done, while at the same time playing the scene and his options over and over in his mind. His fellow police swiftly take control of the scene and begin piecing together events. Vega is suspended as an internal investigation begins and as tensions within the Hispanic community mount, prompting protest marches and chants of “hands up don’t shoot.”

While that may be enough fodder for most novelists to build upon, Chazin ups the ante by tying the victim of the shooting to the mysterious unsolved death of Vega’s mother years ago. Vega, naturally, uses his unwanted downtime to begin his own investigation.

The novel moves at a torrid pace, swiftly drawing in the reader with its ripped-from-the-headlines shooting, then keeps readers hooked as Vega deals with the emotional and psychological aftermath on his life, career and family. 

The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency of Gabarone, Botswana, takes on a new client in Precious and Grace. True to form, Alexander McCall Smith’s fine process of “getting there” wins out over shootouts and car chases any old day, and his asides—often important clues in traditional whodunits—are, well, just asides.

The series reads like a pleasantly low-key moral tale. It’s all pretty much down to the ruminations of Mma Ramotswe, No. 1’s founder and owner, who has commandeered the series through 17 leisurely installments. “Commandeered” is a bit strong, though. Mma Ramotswe (whose name is Precious, though you’ll seldom hear it) can teach us a lot about the ways of kindly souls and about the sort of real forgiveness that few of us can muster. She’s an acute observer of all around her, and like Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple, her rural country setting never keeps her from spotting the many foibles displayed by her fellows and making important connections about human nature that serve her well.

Sometimes her refusal to judge can get in Mma Ramotswe’s way, even when she tries to hold back the tongue of her business assistant and close friend, Mma Makutsi (whose name is Grace, though it’s not often bandied about). Mma Makutsi’s wayward opinions, however, can sometimes be effectively quelled by the frequent cups of tea dispensed in the No. 1 office. And since everything at the agency proceeds on Botswana time—that is to say, at a steady but hardly rapid pace—there’s ample time to smooth over the wrinkles of human disagreement.

When Susan, a young Canadian woman, appeals for the agency’s help in uncovering pieces of her long-forgotten early childhood in Botswana, Mma Makutsi is quick to jump to conclusions about her motives, while Mma Ramotswe holds back judgment to read between the lines, piecing the reasons together from the woman’s unhappy past. The search for Susan’s old home is nicely punctuated with evocative portraits of the many people in Mma Ramotswe’s rich life: her husband, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni; her sometime assistants, Charlie and Mr. Polopetsi (he of the high-flying but often-plummeting schemes); and of course the outspoken Grace herself.

Readers seeking hair-trigger action thrills will wish to steer clear of the Ladies’ Detective Agency, where, fortunately for the rest of us, the literary payoff is in an entirely different coinage.

Detective Antoinette Conway is doubly unique on the Dublin murder squad: She’s the only mixed-race detective and the only woman. She’s taken a lot of flak in her two years on the squad, and the strain is beginning to show. Though her new partner, Steve Moran, seems to understand and respect her, Antoinette is nearing the end of her rope. At the end of another long night shift, she and Steve are handed a case that at first seems like a textbook domestic violence scenario. A young woman, Aislinn Murray, is found dead in her home after an anonymous tip reported that she hit her head in a fall. The fall turns out to have been caused by a punch, but obvious leads—such as Aislinn’s boyfriend—don’t fit.

The clues lead Conway and Moran in circles, from an encrypted file on Aislinn’s computer, to the strange behavior of her best friend, to the hints that there may have been more than one man in her life. Plus, Antoinette knows she’s seen Aislinn’s face before, but cannot recall when or where. With leads sprawling fruitlessly throughout Dublin, Antoinette begins to wonder: Is there someone close to the investigation who doesn’t want the case solved?

Tana French excels at placing dedicated and talented detectives under stress, testing them with the case that will strike their unique anxieties the hardest. Antoinette’s intelligence and skepticism are charming, but these traits gradually give way to a surly paranoia. Despite the first-person narration, French provides ample moments for the reader to acknowledge Antoinette’s fears but also question them. Soon, the question of whether Antoinette will survive the case professionally becomes as gripping as the mystery of who killed Aislinn. Though it may not pack the same emotional punch as other French titles, The Trespasser delivers a great detective team in Conway and Moran and a satisfyingly dramatic conclusion. This is an intense and engrossing installment in the Dublin Murder Squad series. 

Homicide detective Max Rupert and lawyer Boady Sanden are longtime friends, but in Allen Eskens’ crime thriller The Heavens May Fall, they’re on opposite sides of the fence, with an ever-widening divide between them.

Max is a widower, still grieving his wife’s death four years earlier by a hit-and-run driver who was never apprehended. Boady hasn’t practiced law since the death of his last client, an innocent man who was deemed guilty even after Boady’s best legal efforts. These characters appear in Eskens’ previous work, The Life We Bury, and are more fully fleshed out in this novel.

On the anniversary of his own wife’s death, Max finds himself heading up the team assigned to the gruesome, perplexing murder of a woman who turns out to be Jennavieve Pruitt, the wife of Ben Pruitt, a prominent attorney, with whom Max has some bad history dating back to another case. Ben has an alibi for the night of his wife’s death, but it’s a leaky one and he needs a good attorney.

Boady, who was once Ben’s law partner, agrees to represent him, thus locking in an adversarial relationship between Max and Boady, one that will forever alter their friendship. Each man approaches the murder through the lens of his own personal loss, each trying to restore an invisible balance while drawing on darker, earlier moments in his life. Max’s vision may be obscured by a need for inner healing; Boady seeks reason and redemption from his past failures or omissions.

This tension-filled book explores the case from each man’s perspective—that of the detective who believes the victim’s husband is guilty of murder, and that of the attorney who believes that his client is innocent. The novel is occasionally clunky and overwrought in style, with a few unnecessarily gory details, but the author’s expert use of the modes of traditional crime fiction, combined with the legal proceedings and intriguing trial scenes, makes an effective combination that results in a fast-moving narrative.

The Heavens May Fall pretends to provide us with all the angles, giving readers a false sense of security, perhaps the illusion of transparency, only to cheat us at the end, as only good thrillers can, by throwing in some unexpected shocks and last-minute story twists.

An Obvious Fact, the 12th novel in Craig Johnson’s popular Longmire series, tries to throw a wrench in the works by moving the titular hero out of his natural element. But Walt Longmire is an element in himself, perfectly capable of functioning in any place and under any circumstance with his usual gruff, hard-fisted dedication to righting wrongs wherever he finds them.

In this case, Walt leaves his usual stomping grounds of Absaroka County, Wyoming, to solve a hit-and-run at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. It isn’t long before an undercover agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms on the trail of a suspected gun-smuggling operation also ends up dead, increasing the scope of Walt’s investigation. Throw in a super-size military assault vehicle, rival motorcycle gangs and a plot to manufacture synthetic polymer weapons, and the stage is set for a thrilling climactic showdown in the shadow of the famous Devils Tower national monument.

That in itself would be enough to satisfy those looking for a fast-paced, action-packed read, but this is a Longmire novel, after all. As such, Johnson obligingly weaves in plenty of humorous banter, emotional bonding and deep characterization to bring his extended cast of Walt, Undersheriff Victoria Morettli and Henry Standing Bear to life. Henry, in fact, is a key focus of the book. At issue is his relationship to Lola, the real-life femme fatale and namesake for Henry’s ’59 Thunderbird, who is the possible mother of his son, the aforementioned hit-and-run victim.

An Obvious Fact is a welcome addition to the Longmire canon and one fans will anxiously wait to see adapted on the small screen. 

So Say the Fallen is Stuart Neville’s seventh crime novel, and the third in his fine Belfast series to feature DCI Serena Flanagan. It’s an enthralling modern-day police procedural that allows readers ample opportunity to appreciate the author’s skill at creating characters of depth and staying power.

Successful businessman Henry Garrick, severely injured in a car accident, has apparently committed suicide six months after the event. Called in on what looks like an open-and-shut case, Flanagan senses that something isn’t right about the scene, and she begins looking closely at the widow’s grief—as well as the behavior of the Garrick’s rector, frequently on the scene in the role of comforter to the bereaved.

Starting with the seemingly obvious death by overdose, the author switches his magnifying lens to each character, viewing them from a variety of angles. Small cracks in their facades begin to appear, eventually opening a chasm of suspicion that Flanagan diligently pursues. As a woman apparently locked in anguish, Roberta Garrick eventually reveals her many facets, possessing stealth and craftiness that becomes more frightening as the story progresses. The detective also shadows the rector, who comes close to confiding in her as he reveals a rabbity, furtive desperation that’s heightened as he confronts the loss of his own religious faith.

Flanagan receives no support from her superiors, who want her to sign off on the tragedy and call it a suicide. But her scrutiny pays off as she picks up on small, odd anomalies of behavior, refusing to abandon her own theory that wife and rector are far more than a picture of innocence. A moving and all-too-believable side story provides a look into Flanagan’s personal life as she finds herself estranged from her husband and kids, who want more family commitment from her just when she’s deeply ensnared in the case.

This novel stands apart from many of today’s thrillers in which scattershot dialogue often adds little more than surface thrills to play-by-play action and wannabe screenplay scenes. Neville reveals an outsize talent for offering real and disturbing insights into his characters and for allowing readers an all-too-rare opportunity to penetrate beyond the shell of a story. This is one of those books that you won’t want to put down until you’ve read it cover to cover.

Author Michael Robertson successfully capitalizes on our never-ending fascination with Sherlock Holmes in his new Baker Street Letters mystery series, now updated with a fifth entry, The Baker Street Jurors.

This satisfying, dryly humorous book follows in the footsteps of the others Robertson has penned in the series. He uses the clever trope of following the contemporary tenants at 221B Baker Street, brothers Reggie (barrister) and Nigel (solicitor), who’ve found that their offices continue to receive mail addressed to the building’s famous former tenant. It’s clear that scores of people believe that Holmes is no fantasy and, what’s more, that he lives on. The duo can’t help picking up on some of the mail and following through on requests for the great detective’s assistance.

The Baker Street Jurors involves a wayward summons for jury duty mistakenly addressed to one Sherlock Holmes, coupled with one of the same for Nigel, who ends up as an alternate juror at the murder trial of a famous British cricket player. The trial comes at the same time as the big championship game, frustrating most of the population of England, who want him acquitted and ready to compete.

It’s odd, though—the jurors themselves seem to be mysteriously falling by the wayside one by one, victims of various strange mishaps, leading to the suspicion that someone’s trying to pack the jury in a particular way.

This isn’t just another legal thriller. It’s so smoothly written it sneaks up on you, as testimony slowly builds the case for and against, without the need for other chapters that revisit the crime. Activities are conducted in a conversational tone, and the author has done a superb job of character build-up, including the presence of one odd alternate juror whose pipe-smoking habits and Holmesian methodology strike a curious chord with fellow jurors. There’s enough background to pique interest, not enough to bore.

Understated humor lifts this tale a cut above the ordinary. While Nigel is a central character, it’s Mr. Justice Allen, the trial judge, who steals the show. As jurors succumb one by one to odd accidents, he can be heard to issue the warning “Don’t run with scissors” and other droll admonishments, or to comment on the jury members’ bad note-taking habits such as making “sketches of male and female naughty bits.”

Readers who pick up this book will want to visit Robertson’s earlier books and learn more about this treat of a series.

Imagine the guilt and fear you would have to live with if, while you slept, your sibling were abducted from your shared bedroom. Protagonist Julia Gooden has lived with those feelings for 30 years. She was only 7 when her brother was kidnapped, and can’t remember anything from that night other than not locking the outside door because she didn’t want her brother to think she was a baby. The daughter of an alcoholic mother and a grifter father, she lost her only anchor with her brother’s snatching.

Now a crime beat reporter, Julia calls the investigating officer on the anniversary of her brother’s unsolved disappearance to see if anything has surfaced. He responds kindly, showing his concern for her mental health, but has no new leads. Obsessive and fearful, Julia is abnormally overprotective of her own children, ages 2 and 9, and her marriage is strained to its breaking point.

The horrific kidnapping of Julia’s 2-year-old reignites her feelings of helplessness. But this time, Julia doesn’t give up; as a journalist, she is in a position to investigate her son’s situation. Her emotions are running high as she tries to determine if the kidnapping of her child is related to her brother’s, or if it’s merely a random, unfair coincidence. While many facts makes a plausible case the kidnappings are connected, there is enough mystery and second-guessing in The Last Time She Saw Him to satisfy diehard suspense readers.

Journalist Jane Haseldine’s debut novel rings with authenticity as she, like Julia, is a former crime reporter. This is a harrowing read.

Lately it seems that each new crime debut must include some idiosyncrasy—the detective must have a quirk that sets him or her apart from the many crime solvers populating the suspense genre. They’re overeaters, opera lovers, poets, phobics, depressives or wise guys. Debut author David Swinson goes one step further, presenting his antihero, former cop and current part-time PI Frank Marr, as effectively part of the problem of drug-related crime he’s often out there solving.

In The Second Girl, Swinson makes sure we know only too clearly how Marr’s own drug addiction affects his day-to-day; how it can cloud the faculties and hold judgments hostage to the need for the next fix and a consistent resupply. Marr’s secret is a heavy one, though he stays away from crack and heroin, sticking to powder cocaine, pills and booze. But he’s constantly at risk of discovery by colleagues and friends. The only person who knows of his addiction is his former deputy chief, who forced the detective’s “early retirement” but left his record clean, due to both the fragility and success of the many cases Marr successfully resolved.

Marr has been on a days-long stakeout at the house of a D.C. drug gang. Only thing is, he’s hoping to score drugs for his own use on the sly. Instead, complications present as he searches the house and discovers a teenage girl, abducted and held captive. In the wake of the publicity Marr receives following her rescue, he gets tapped to help some former police colleagues search for another missing teen. He reluctantly agrees, walking an even more precarious line of possible discovery.

Readers learn in detail what it’s like to plan one’s whole life around scoring that next hit, maintaining a level of personal control and evading discovery. Just as lying and subterfuge are part of the world of crime Marr investigates, they are equally part of his own daily grind.

The crime story in The Second Girl is itself mildly interesting, and it’s clear that this detective doesn’t play by any rule book. He’s alternately clever, intuitive and violent in his pursuit of these street criminals. It’s Marr’s addiction and its effects on his life that take center stage here, and they’re given first-person immediacy in this fast-moving yet still introspective narrative. It’s often nerve-wracking, sometimes gruesome, but in the end carries a note of wearying sameness throughout.