A DEFENSE FOR THE DEAD

Message from a dead serial killer: Don’t defame the defunct.

The media have called him Van Gogh because he leaves his victims minus an ear. FBI bullets have ended his career, but his outrage is transcendental, hot enough to flame posthumously, singeing Jimmy Morrissey, a smart Boston lawyer who’s trying half-heartedly to mind a practice that’s less than challenging. From the moment the pair of special agents enters his office, however, Jimmy’s life becomes an exercise in “dancing on the dizzy edge of things.” The good news, the feebies tell him, is that a murderous psychopath has gone to join Jack the Ripper; the inexplicable news has to do with a photo of a beautiful young woman,unknown to Jimmy, that features his name and address in the late sicko’s handwriting. Asked to please explain, Jimmy has no answer. What he does have is a sweet surge of curiosity, and it isn’t long before he discovers an alleged ninth victim has caused the killer to spin in his grave. Donald Gilfillen is a fake, an ersatz version of an authentic Van Gogh. Though separated by the full six degrees from the late lamented perp and his copycat, Jimmy’s been charged with catching a shameless forger and restoring a besmirched reputation.

Strains credulity here and there, but Fredrickson (Witness for the Dead, 2001, etc.) is such a talent that you’ll find a lot to like.