Femme Fatale: a rollicking romp

It doesn’t matter if you’ve not read the two earlier encounters with Daniel Beckett, the Soho-based private investigator, raconteur, womaniser, fashionista, badass mofo and international man of mystery – you pretty much get the measure of the man in the opening three chapters of Femme Fatale. He flirts, fights, flirts some more, struts his peacock…

The Poison Artist: a cup half-empty

The first half of this sinister, surreal psychological thriller is deeply intoxicating, darkly beguiling and more than a little bewildering. It’s magnificent modern gothic which unleashes a powerful fever dream upon the familiar mechanics of the police procedural. One chapter we’re in a research lab, running mass spectrometry to identify peculiar samples from a series…