Who killed the ladykiller?
David Rogers never met a gal he didn’t want to chat up. He was a consultant, he told them, but was vague about which hospital he was affiliated with. He bought them fabulous trinkets, always paid for in cash, and assured each of them that marriage was a certainty. After all, he loved them, didn’t he? Well, not really. The lothario kept a string of lovelies hoping, so it’s unlikely that one of them shot him dead. It’s up to Bill Slider, of Shepherd’s Bush CID, to discover Rogers’ nemesis and in the process learn about an ex-wife and former best friend, both of whom lie about their recent contact with Rogers and decline to gossip about a long-ago accusation of patient diddling that forced Rogers from a lucrative practice. More enquiries turn up a current wife sworn to secrecy about their relationship as well as Rogers’ passion for weekly night-fishing in a power boat worthy of a billionaire. In order to keep secret what elapsed during those excursions, more must die before medical malfeasance reaching as far as Holland and China is brought to a stop.
Nobody cozies up to domesticity better than Harrod-Eagles (Fell Purpose, 2010, etc.). Only a die-hard misanthrope would disdain a chance to spend time with Slider and his wife and son.
