WHIPLASH

When a pair of homicidal sadomasochists confront DCI Brock (Light Fantastic, 2004, etc.), it’s the copper who holds the whip hand.

During 27 years on the London Met, Harry Brock has cuffed more miscreants than he can readily recall, and he’s in no bleeding hurry to add to the list. He responds grumpily to the Road Traffic Accident call as not really his line of country, but almost at once concedes there’s more involved than meets the eye. What’s met Brock’s eye—in a ditch adjacent to the smash-up—is a the body of a naked female who died, the police pathologist informs him, 12 hours before the collision, presumably of causes related to the slash-and-thrash marks covering her body. Back at HQ, Brock learns that a Mrs. Alexandra Forbes has been reported missing, and that she fits the description of his mistreated vic. Max Forbes, who does indeed turn out to be the widower in question, manages to be suspiciously stoic at the news of his bereavement. But Forbes is far from Brock’s only suspect. A whole circle of devoted sadomasochists soon surfaces, all of them bent on pleasure, two of them just plain bent.

Solid as ever, though it’s fair to point out that Ison’s civilized procedurals are to Ed McBain’s 87th Precinct series as cricket is to a blood sport.