The monster in the box : an Inspector Wexford novel /

BOX 21 (Sarah Crichton/Farrar, Straus & Giroux, $26) has something of that trapped quality. Scene by violent scene, this thriller by Anders Roslund and Borge Hellstrom (in a blunt, uncredited translation from the Swedish) never loses sight of Lydia Grajauskas, who was exposed to violence as a child in Lithuania before being duped into prostitution and ferried over to Sweden to cater to the tastes of rough men with disgusting sexual habits. After landing in the hospital when the Lithuanian diplomat who moonlights as her pimp flays the skin off her back with a bull-whip, Lydia embarks on a daring plan to take vengeance - a plan that involves holding hostages in the hospital morgue and occasionally blowing one up with Semtex. For all their cinematic hyperbole, the authors don't contribute to any further degradation of Lydia, who makes a believably tragic model for all the real women exploited by human traffickers.

Rendell has won three Edgars from the Mystery Writers of America, plus three Gold Daggers, a Silver Dagger, and a Diamond Dagger from the UK's Crime Writers' Association. This is certainly enough to ensure an audience for any of her new works. Her latest, the twenty-second in the Inspector Wexford series, falls far short of the keen plotting and labyrinthine psychology of the best Rendell novels. It starts with a promising enough premise: Wexford has been haunted by his instinct that a certain Eric Targo has operated as a serial killer for many years, starting when Wexford was a young policeman. It's only an instinct, based primarily on Targo showing up at the scene of a woman's murder while it was being processed and giving Wexford a long, knowing look. The problem with this premise is that it is dragged out, as Wexford unburdens himself night after night in pubs, discussing his theory with a friend. His friend grows impatient with this long, inconclusive narrative, and so will the reader. Wexford also works in his reminiscences of how social mores and police work have changed fairly interesting in themselves but also helping to camouflage the story's lack of momentum. The arranged marriage of the daughter of a local Pakistani family, set in the present, sets off all kinds of repercussions that help this poor, limping narrative along. Inspector Wexford fans won't want to miss this one, but they are likely to be disappointed.--Fletcher, Connie Copyright 2009 Booklist

In Edgar-winner Rendell's 22nd Inspector Wexford novel (after 2007's Not in the Flesh), the British police detective confronts a man from his past, Eric Targo, who he suspects is guilty of multiple murders. Years earlier, Targo stalked and taunted Wexford, daring him to press charges. A squat, creepy bully with a purple birthmark disfiguring his neck, Targo has graduated from smalltime thug to prosperous businessman, ensconced in a nouveau-riche spread complete with private zoo and lion in Kingsmarkham. When Targo apparently commits a murder affecting Wexford's own family, the inspector must re-examine how Targo consistently outsmarts the law. The meeting and mating of Wexford and his wife, Dora, also figure in the backward-looking action. While the reminiscing dilutes some of the suspense, Rendell easily outdistances most mystery writers with her complex characters and her poetic yet astringent style. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Inspector Reg Wexford first encountered Eric Targo near the scene where Elsie Carroll was found murdered. Wexford's instincts told him that Targo was Elsie's killer, but with scant evidence, Targo was never charged. Years later, Wexford sees Targo near the scene of another murder and knows without a doubt that he has struck again. The victims have nothing in common, and nothing seems to connect them in any way. But the tenacious inspector manages to uncover an unusual motive in this 22nd installment in Rendell's Inspector Wexford series (after Not in the Flesh). The author's subtle humor shines through Wexford's coworker, the politically correct Hannah Goldsmith. Verdict Although not as engaging or suspenseful as many of Rendell's earlier works, this is still a compelling story that keeps readers coming back for more. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 6/1/09.]-Linda Oliver, MLIS, Colorado Springs (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Chief Inspector Wexford's 22nd case returns to the late 1990sand revisits much older territory as wellin tracing his relationship with a respectable citizen he's certain is a murderer. Half a lifetime ago, Reg Wexford (Not in the Flesh, 2008, etc.) cut his teeth on the strangling of Stowerton housewife Elsie Carroll. Wexford's superiors, suspicious when the mistress of Elsie's husband first declined and then insisted on providing him with an alibi, made him their prime suspect. But Wexford was convinced that the killer was Elsie's neighbor, dog-walking Eric Targo, instantly identifiable by the birthmark on his neck. His only evidence: the disconcerting stare Targo returned when he caught Wexford looking at him. Ever since, Wexford tells DI Mike Burden in an extended series of conversations, he's continued to suspect Targo of several stranglings without any solid evidence. A new murder dismayingly close to Wexford is about to focus his suspicions on Targo yet again. Meanwhile, however, he'll be preoccupied by the disappearance of Tamima Rahman, a student of Mike's wife Jenny, whose family DS Hannah Goldsmith is sure has forced her into marriage or killed her to protect the family honor. Wexford, who can't help noticing how closely Hannah's theories mirror his own, wonders if they're both merely acting out obsessive suspicions. At length, however, the two cases collide with a jolt that shows how Wexford can be both way off-base and utterly right. A less impassioned, more valedictory version of Simisola (1995) with a bonus: more information about Wexford's early years than his celebrated creator has ever shared. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.