HESSMAN'S NECKLACE

In Litchfield’s 1950s-set thriller, a Chicago fixer nearly meets his match during a hunt for a rare necklace.

Trouble is never far away for Ray Stokes, a veteran problem-solver whose leisure activities revolve around stiff drinks and attractive but inscrutable women. However, Ray’s boss, Walter Cartwell, isn’t one to let his top performer lie fallow. He’s fixated on a rare piece of jewelry—a rare necklace, found long ago by Jamaican marine explorer Herman Hessman, which later disappeared from a museum; Walter believes that a church secretary in Boston named Merriam Woodcroft has it, and he hires Ray in a frenzied quest to obtain it, so that he can verify its authenticity. At first, Ray wants no part of the assignment, which seems too pedestrian for his hedonistic mindset. But Cartwell has other ideas, and his iron will prevails (“Let Walter down at your peril; he wasn't the forgiving type”). The trip leads Ray to Arnold Sinclair, a philandering pastor who may be dealing in more than mere donations. Complications don’t take long to ensue, especially after Ray wins the confidence of Arnold’s bedmate, Merriam. It’s the type of premise that will sound very familiar to Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler aficionados, which is a feature, not a bug. Litchfield knows this territory well, dishing out suitably snarky asides on human nature: “She was a job, nothing more.” In keeping with that brief, the prose style is lean, but with all the zingers that the genre demands—whether it’s local riffraff eyeing Ray’s car “like fireflies to a porch light” or a compliment that hits Merriam “like a bumper car.” Every detail seems relevant, and not a syllable seems wasted—a tough trick to pull off. It all results in an appealing tale that also upends stereotypical impressions of ’50s Americana.

A feverish story that effectively turns neo-noir conventions on its head.