The Next Accident by
Lisa Gardner
Who was it that said that crime fiction could never be literature
because the form did not allow the writer to explore the character of
the murderer?
Not that Lisa Gardner’s book aspires to the condition of literature.
Best-sellerdom has beckoned ,and been achieved, with all that that so
often entails. This is suspend-your-disbelief thriller time with unknown
assailant gradually picking off all those near and dear to FBI
Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy (or as the bureaucracy dubs him,
SupSpAg Quincy, along with a brace of other ugly and unmentionable
acronyms). One of his daughters dead, he turns to Lorraine "Rainie"
Conner, a PI and associate in a previous case. Then the killer targets
Quincy’s wife, Bethie...
It’s race against time, good vs.evil, shoot-out at the OK Corral, a
woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do. To be fair, this aspect of the
book is its strongest point, building to a well-brought about, if
far-fetched, finale. You don’t get to be a best seller without knowing
the mechanics of your craft. Good snappy dialogue too.
Otherwise it’s cliché most of the way. Once a profiler, Quincy is "the
best of the best", he wears an "impeccably tailored suit", his eyes
(blue of course) are "crinkled at the corners". He talks about
"connecting" with his remaining estranged daughter. Bethie, his wife, is
"beautiful", "cultured, sophisticated."
So then, a credible charismatic villain? Once again cliché rules.
Tristan Shandling is tall and handsome with "well-tailored tan slacks"
(clothes, the right clothes, are important in this book).
Disconcertingly he also has eyes that crinkle at the corners. And that’s
about all you get to know about him, indeed as Rainie obligingly points
out, "He’s a black hole." Another opportunity missed.
Rainie, then, surely she’s got to be something special? But Rainie is a
particularly obnoxious character, rude, arrogant and without humour. One
example: a detective, trying to establish an alibi for Quincy after the
murder of his wife, is instantly dubbed "Cro-Magnon" (he also wears a
"cheap" suit, an obviously cardinal sin). Asked by Rainie what the fact
that Quincy remains unbloody in the midst of a bloody murder scene,
tells him, the detective replies, "He took lessons from O.J. Simpson."
Not a bad response from a Cro-Magnon man. But does she laugh? Does she
hell.
The point is that it’s hard to feel anything for these people, a fatal
flaw in a thriller wishing to engage something of our emotions. Ms.
Gardner is well regarded in some quarters, particularly for the first
book in this series The Third Victim. It is difficult to see why. This
is the literary equivalent of the the afternoon movie on Channel 5,
formula-ridden, predictable and instantly forgettable.
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