After reading You’d Better Believe It (1985), Welsh writer Bill James’ enjoyable first book in his Harpur & Iles police procedural series, I was very curious to try his more famous (or perhaps infamous) follow-up, The Lolita Man. Its plot, about the hunt for a killer of young girls, is certainly a nightmare scenario for parents and communities alike. But this book, like James’ previous one, seems designed to subvert genre expectations, and the emphasis isn’t so much on a sadistic serial killer and a race against time – a trope replayed ad nauseam by bestselling practitioners like Jeffrey Deaver and James Patterson – as it is an exploration of the delusions and weaknesses of killer, victim, and cop. To me, that makes Bill James’ investigation into the psyches of the people involved far richer than those authors who just fill in a formula and cash in their checks.
As with Believe It, the arrhythmic heart of this story is detective Colin Harpur, a flawed but essentially good person who wants to see justice prevail but knows well that the machines by which to work and live are blinkered and corrupt. It is Harpur who takes on the burden of guilt and the accompanying emotional baggage to find the criminal. In contrast, Assistant Chief Constable Desmond Iles is motivated by the pressures of press and publicity and by a pissing-match rivalry with the County police force to end the case, while outgoing Chief Superintendent Cedric Barton complains with self-pity that a serial killer has messed up his planned retirement. When a friend of Harpur’s two daughters is abducted, Iles insists on a humiliating hourly countdown on a whiteboard to shame and spur on his team, but it is Harpur who takes the crimes of the Lolita Man personally.
Although the book presents the principal narrative from Colin Harpur’s perspective (through third person limited P.O.V.), we are also given excerpts from separate diary entries written by the killer and by the targeted victim, Jennifer “Cheryl Ann” Day. This certainly allows us to learn the mindset of two crucial characters, but I feel like the choice dilutes the power of viewing the investigation solely through the protagonist’s eyes. The early-chapter diary entries mean that readers have more information than the police, and while that can generate suspense – we know which evidence is important when it is discovered, for example – it also splinters the world-building: now the narrative is not just Harpur’s but rather shared between Harpur, Cheryl Ann, and the man his hostage has nicknamed Dark Eyes.
As with Believe It, the arrhythmic heart of this story is detective Colin Harpur, a flawed but essentially good person who wants to see justice prevail but knows well that the machines by which to work and live are blinkered and corrupt. It is Harpur who takes on the burden of guilt and the accompanying emotional baggage to find the criminal. In contrast, Assistant Chief Constable Desmond Iles is motivated by the pressures of press and publicity and by a pissing-match rivalry with the County police force to end the case, while outgoing Chief Superintendent Cedric Barton complains with self-pity that a serial killer has messed up his planned retirement. When a friend of Harpur’s two daughters is abducted, Iles insists on a humiliating hourly countdown on a whiteboard to shame and spur on his team, but it is Harpur who takes the crimes of the Lolita Man personally.
Although the book presents the principal narrative from Colin Harpur’s perspective (through third person limited P.O.V.), we are also given excerpts from separate diary entries written by the killer and by the targeted victim, Jennifer “Cheryl Ann” Day. This certainly allows us to learn the mindset of two crucial characters, but I feel like the choice dilutes the power of viewing the investigation solely through the protagonist’s eyes. The early-chapter diary entries mean that readers have more information than the police, and while that can generate suspense – we know which evidence is important when it is discovered, for example – it also splinters the world-building: now the narrative is not just Harpur’s but rather shared between Harpur, Cheryl Ann, and the man his hostage has nicknamed Dark Eyes.
Still, there is much in The Lolita Man to engage and entice, and James is puckish enough as a writer to constantly surprise, to zig when you most expect a zag. One remarkable surprise for me is the character of Iles himself. While he was only an incidental and largely offstage character in the series début, he comes into his own here, and he is far from commendable or kind. Desmond Iles is the embodiment of the political animal: one eye on promotion, constantly assessing his colleagues to see if they are allies or threats to his power. The most unflattering trait is Iles’ obsession with two commanding officers from the neighboring County force, who could become squad captains if they should arrest the killer before Iles’ men do. Much of his anger manifests as constant verbal attacks on his rivals’ Irish Catholic heritage, and when we learn at the end that at least one of the captains has just as much prejudiced bile for Iles and his Protestantism, the fact does little to absolve Iles and his bad-faith tirades.
Because he is a political animal, Desmond Iles takes care to (usually) cloak his anger and epithets in either cold reasonableness or boys’ club jocularity. James builds into this character’s communication with others an ability to change tone and sincerity on a dime; he can berate Harpur with one sentence and be matily confidential with the next. It is as if Iles is always calculating his speech so that the words that seem most heartfelt are the ones that should be most suspect. A novice writer wouldn’t touch such contradictions, and indeed wouldn’t create a character with such a chasm between speech and intention. But in Desmond Iles, Bill James can deliver false piety, blarney, and blame in one paragraph. The result is quite humorous and makes Iles a slippery and dangerous conversationalist, the cogs always turning, the accusations always ready:
Because he is a political animal, Desmond Iles takes care to (usually) cloak his anger and epithets in either cold reasonableness or boys’ club jocularity. James builds into this character’s communication with others an ability to change tone and sincerity on a dime; he can berate Harpur with one sentence and be matily confidential with the next. It is as if Iles is always calculating his speech so that the words that seem most heartfelt are the ones that should be most suspect. A novice writer wouldn’t touch such contradictions, and indeed wouldn’t create a character with such a chasm between speech and intention. But in Desmond Iles, Bill James can deliver false piety, blarney, and blame in one paragraph. The result is quite humorous and makes Iles a slippery and dangerous conversationalist, the cogs always turning, the accusations always ready:
When the Chief had gone, Iles said quietly: ‘It distresses me to see him suffering. In a way, he’s too fine for this job, Col. There’s true nobility in him, a rich grandeur. Of course, that will go unrecognized by those above, and someone like [rival CO] Ethan will pick up the honours. Arise, briefly, out of your dung-heap, Sir Vincent Ethan. Incidentally, Harpur, it looks to me as if there’s been a fucking leak from here to next door.’
For the second time, the author chooses to deny the troubled Detective Harpur the final decisive act in the case; perhaps true to life, Harpur is not Mickey Spillane, sending his quarry to Hell with a burst of gunfire on the final page. Once more it is events beyond his control that conclude the story and cast Harpur ultimately as an observer and recorder rather than an instrument of justice. He is allowed a small satisfaction in going against Iles’ orders and working with a County detective, an uncertain collaboration that helps both sides close in on the criminal. But like life, Bill James lets his story zig where it would otherwise zag, and whether you find that liberating or frustrating will help determine whether these lively crime stories are for you.
Me? I’m looking forward to the third Harpur & Iles book, The Halo Parade, which is already ordered and on its way.
Me? I’m looking forward to the third Harpur & Iles book, The Halo Parade, which is already ordered and on its way.
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