Again, Cory's suspense goes beyond caper-detective stuff (The Circe Complex, 1975), but this time the added weight sinks the raft. Young Inspector Eric Hunter has come to a village on Spain's Costa del Sol, and nice Graham-Greeney shadows are cast (briefly) as he picks up the wispy trail of William Bennett, a middle-aged crime novelist suspected of murder back in England and last seen strolling away from his tacky hotel. Hunter's primary clue? The ""annoyingly long-winded and overallusive"" journal that Bennett left behind, crammed with thoughts on marriage, literature, astrology, and music--and revealing a search-within-the-search: Bennett himself has come to Spain to pursue a man who's been impersonating him, a man whom (so the journal says) he eventually meets and communes with. Is Bennett guilty? innocent? schizophrenic? a figment of Hunter's imagination? And what is the significance of Inspector Eric Hunter's own brooded-upon illegitimacy. . . or the fact that Bennett's young son is also named Eric? Even when the absurd (symbolic?) Big Revelation finally arrives, the existentialist vapors here aren't really dispelled, and only readers with a developed taste for philosophical heavy breathing will welcome Cory's sincere but sloppy wade into murky waters.