Nothing But Lies

I have a very vague memory of Lyndon Stacey being pitched as a pretender to Dick Francis’s crown some years ago, and an even vaguer memory that the books were competent without setting the racing world alight. We’re not frequenting the racecourses of the UK here, though. Instead, the lead character is a former police dog handler.

Daniel Whelan has left the police under a cloud after battling against corruption. He’s now working for a haulage firm, but has a sympathetic boss and his old dog Taz by his side still. So he gallops to the rescue when a former colleague, Jo-Ji Matsuki wants help protecting his partner, who thinks she is being followed.

There’s a vague horsey link there still, as Tamiko, who claims a man in a grey hoodie is watching her, is a keen horsewoman and competes in regional events. So Daniel finds himself driving a horsebox …

Nothing But Lies suffers from a couple of odd decisions and some erratic editing. Occasional Americanisms creep in, such as program for programme. And Temple Meads, as in the railway station, is two words. It’s not unusual for crime writers to invent towns and villages and police forces, but Bristol Met (rather than Avon and Somerset police) jars rather when the rest of the setting is pretty much true to form.

And Stacey backs herself into a corner with that old chestnut of whether you should write in dialect or try to portray accents. The Japanese angle, for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, seems a tad forced. I’m sure there are people with Japanese ancestry in the UK police force, but it’s not that consistent with immigration into the country. Jo-Ji seems more British than the British, but Tamiko’s fractured English gets a bit old quickly – and difficult to read.

Aside from this, it’s a solid book and a very respectable page-turner for a quiet weekend. It’s tightly plotted and features some exciting final scenes and some creepy night-time ones along the way. Definitely a book to read with the lights on!