Basil Thomson (1861–1939)

Another entry in the Inspector Richardson mystery series. It’s best described as a cozy police procedural. No gore, really no nastiness; the reader isn’t attached to the victim.

Even though I’ve read all but one in this short series, I still find them somewhat less than great. He plots are good; the procedures are just right (author Thomson spent many years as a high official at Scotland Yard); but…there’s really no emotional involvement. They’re just puzzles to be solved. Inspector Richardson is a man to admire, but even he is fairly muted.
Here, a beautiful young woman is murdered and the police must follow a obscure set of clues, and work with France’s Surete as well.
Sort of recommended.… (meer)

Oh boy.

This is a decent mystery/police procedural written in 1934 by Basil Thomson, who was quite a character in his own right.

The third book in the Inspector Richardson series concerns Naomi Clynes, who is found dead in her apartment. The inspector, who is rising very rapidly in the ranks because of his dedication, willingness to follow up every lead closely, and a certain flair or intuition, isn’t satisfied with the initial belief that Miss Clynes had committed suicide. The plot flows nicely, there’s a tiny bit of humor, and some pleasant characterization.

The problem with book is repeated, casual, mild but extremely annoying, antisemitism. I considered not finishing the book but did go on to the end.

Be warned, and adjust yourself accordingly.… (meer)

A very solid, no-nonsense police procedural from 1936. Our lead detective, Inspector Richardson, has moved quickly up the career ladder, and this book shows why: he’s not afraid to listen to civilians and enlist their aid, he doesn’t jump to conclusions, he can admit a mistake and alter course, and he’s a skilled but not oppressive interrogator.
Mr. Pomeroy is pottering about in his garden one morning when he’s visited by some people interested in leasing a bungalow like his. When he checks to see if his wife would mind this early-morning intrusion, he finds Mrs. Pomeroy dead in the bath. And naturally he’s the premiere suspect.
The ensuing investigation involves several diverse plot lines, some of which are easily seen by the reader. Richardson keeps at it, untwisting the threads until he finds the solution.
While characterization is limited, and ambiance nonexistent, this book still held my interest. Nothing over the top, no foolishness, a tiny amount of welcome humor; I’d recommend this to those who like mysteries from this era, and who don’t want a lot of gore with their murders.… (meer)