Cover image for
Title:
Midnight fugue : a Dalziel and Pascoe mystery
Author(s):
Hill, Reginald.
ISBN/ISSN:
0061451967

9780061451966
Personal Author:
Edition:
First U.S. edition.
Physical Description:
362 pages ; 24 cm.
Series:
Dalziel and Pascoe novels

Dalziel and Pascoe novels.
Abstract:
It starts with a phone call to Superintendent Dalziel from an old friend asking for help. But where it ends is a very different story. Gina Wolfe has come to mid Yorkshire in search of her missing husband, believed dead. Her fiancee, Commander Mick Purdy of the Met, thinks Dalziel should be able to take care of the job. What none of them realize is how events set in motion decades ago will come to a violent head on this otherwise ordinary summer's day.
Pub Date:
HarperCollins, 2009.
Holds:

Available:*

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Summary

Summary

Reginald Hill, award-winning author of The Price of Butcher's Meat and Death Comes for the Fat Man, returns with Midnight Fugue, a riveting new crime novel featuring Yorkshire coppers Dalziel and Pascoe as they tackle the case of a detective who went missing seven years ago under suspicious circumstances. Taking place within the space of a single October Sunday and alternating between Mid-Yorkshire and London, Midnight Fugue is a riveting, complex mystery that builds to a dramatic, twisting conclusion.


Author Notes

Reginald Hill has received Britain's most coveted mystery writers award, the Cartier Diamond Dagger Award, as well as the Golden Dagger, for his Dalziel/Pascoe series.

(Publisher Provided) Reginald Hill was born in Hartlepool, England on April 3, 1936. He received an English degree from St. Catherine's College, Oxford University and worked as a teacher until 1980, when he retired to become a full-time writer. His first novel, A Clubbable Woman, was published in 1970. During his lifetime, he wrote over 50 books that range from historical novels to science fiction including Fell of Dark, No Man's Land, The Spy's Wife, and The Woodcutter. He was best known for the Dalziel and Pascoe series and the Joe Sixsmith series. He also wrote under the pseudonyms of Patrick Ruell, Dick Morland, and Charles Underhill. He received the 1990 Golden Dagger Award for Best Crime Novel of the Year for Bones and Silence and the 1995 Cartier Diamond Dagger Award for lifetime achievement. He died from a brain tumor on January 12, 2012 at the age of 75.

(Bowker Author Biography)


Reviews 3

Publisher's Weekly Review

The short time frame of British author Hill's strong 24th Dalziel and Pascoe procedural (after 2008's The Price of Butcher's Meat) maximizes suspense without sacrificing either characterization or humor. Andy Dalziel, an irascible dinosaur of a police officer who's only just returned to the Mid-Yorkshire force after recovering from a serious injury, is tracked down by Gina Wolfe, whose policeman husband, Alex, has been missing for seven years. Alex disappeared while under investigation by internal affairs, who suspected him of leaking information to a major criminal target. Gina was on the verge of having Alex declared legally dead, until she received a recent magazine photo clearly showing Alex or his double. Dalziel's decision to assist Gina unofficially in finding out what became of Alex leads to his placing a colleague in jeopardy. Numerous subplots don't slow the pace, a testament to Hill's skill in putting all the pieces together. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Booklist Review

Hill, who has won the UK's Cartier Diamond Dagger Award for his Dalziel and Pascoe novels, produces his twenty-fourth in the series about the two hard-bitten Yorkshire coppers, Detective Superintendent Andy Dalziel and sidekick Detective Sergeant Peter Pascoe. The number 24 is reflected in the plot, which is compressed into a single day. Hill also references a musical fugue, or restatements of a theme, in a somewhat heavy-handed way by the time readers get to the ending, billed as con fuoco poi smorzando, they may have tired of the poorly explained conceit. But there's enough to keep fans of the series happy Dalziel, who has spent the past two books recovering from a terrorist bomb, is back at work full time. A woman contacts him she wants to make sure her husband, a London bobby gone missing for years, is actually dead. The case intensifies, crime spreads, Dalziel and Pascoe trade barbs, and some order has been restored to the world. A must for series fans.--Fletcher, Connie Copyright 2009 Booklist


Library Journal Review

Over the years, Hill has employed interesting-and sometimes jarring-narrative techniques, and the 24th installment (after The Price of Butcher's Meat) in his Yorkshire-set series featuring detectives Andy Dalziel and Pete Pascoe is no exception: the novel takes place in the course of a single day. Dalziel is still adjusting to being back at work after his injuries and long convalescence. He is asked to help Gina Wolfe, wife of long-missing detective Alex Wolfe. Dalziel quickly sees that the case is much more complicated than it appears, and he and the team spend a dizzying day uncovering leads and trying to protect Gina from dangerous characters from Alex's past. Verdict This complicated mystery with great characters and a fast pace will attract Hill's loyal following and fans of British police procedurals. Hill is a very talented wordsmith as well, and his works should appeal to those seeking out well-written, carefully crafted crime novels.-Beth Lindsay, Washington State Univ. Libs., Pullman (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Excerpts

Excerpts

08.10--08.12   'Shit,' said Andy Dalziel as the phone rang.   In twenty minutes the CID's monthly case review meeting was due to start, the first since his return. In the old days this wasn't a problem. He'd have rolled in late and watched them bolt their bacon butties and sit up straight. But if he was late now they'd probably think he'd forgotten the way to the Station. So time was short and Monday-morning traffic was always a pain. Nowt that using his siren and jumping a few red lights couldn't compensate for, but if he wasn't on his way in the next couple of minutes, he might have to run over a few pedestrians too.   He grabbed his car keys and headed for the front door.   Behind him the answer machine clicked in and a voice he didn't recognize faded behind him down the narrow hallway.   'Andy, hi. Mick Purdy, remember me? We met at Bramshill a few years back. Happy days, eh? So how're you doing, mate? Still shagging the sheep up there in the frozen north? Listen, if you could give me a bell, I'd really appreciate it. My number's . . .'   As the Fat Man slid into his car he dug into his memory bank. These days, especially with recent stuff, it sometimes seemed that the harder he looked, the darker it got. Curiously, deeper often meant clearer, and his Mick Purdy memories were pretty deep.   It wasn't a few years since he'd been on that Bramshill course; more like eight or nine. Even then, he'd been the oldest officer there by a long way, the reason being that for a decade or more he'd managed to find a way of wriggling out of attendance whenever his name came up. But finally his concentration had lapsed.   It hadn't been so bad. The official side had been slightly less tedious than anticipated, and there'd been a bunch of convivial colleagues, grateful to find someone they could rely on to get them to bed when their own legs proved less hollow than they'd imagined. DI Mick Purdy had usually been one of the last men standing, and he and Dalziel had struck up a holiday friendship based on shared professional scepticism and divided regional loyalties. They exchanged harmonious anecdotes offering particular instances of the universal truth that most of those in charge of HM Constabulary couldn't organize a fuck-up in a brothel. Then, when concord got boring, they divided geographically with Purdy claiming to believe that up in Yorkshire in times of dearth they ate their young, and Dalziel countering that down in London they'd produced a younger generation that not even a starving vulture could stomach.   They'd parted with the usual expressions of good will and hope that their paths would cross again. But they never had. And now here was Mick Purdy ringing him at home first thing on a Monday morning, wanting to renew acquaintance.   Meaning, unless he were finally giving way to a long repressed passion, the bugger wanted a favour.   Interesting. But not so interesting it couldn't wait. Important thing this morning was to be there when his motley crew drifted into the meeting, seated in his chair of state, clearly the monarch of all he surveyed, ready to call them to account for what they'd done with their meagre talents during his absence.   He turned the key in the ignition and heard the familiar ursine growl. The old Rover had much in common with its driver, he thought complacently. Bodywork crap, interior packed with more rubbish than a builder's skip, but -- courtesy of the lads in the police garage -- the engine would have graced a vehicle ten times younger and five times more expensive.   He put it into gear and blasted away from the kerb. From the Hardcover edition. Excerpted from Midnight Fugue by Reginald Hill All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.