Auhl sensed a busy, populated landscape even though he’d barely seen or heard anyone yet. He listened, and presently followed a rattly snore to a bedroom midway along the hallway.""

Broken bottles, Geilston Bay. August 2021.

Under the Cold Bright Lights by Garry Disher

This is the first book that I've read by the prolific Australian crime write Garry Disher, and I am confident that it won't be the last. It's an interesting take on the modern police procedural, introducing Detective Alan Auhl, an old-timer back in the job after a few years away.

Auhl has been roped into the cold case unit, finding himself surrounded by a younger group who aren't that excited to be sharing an office with an old-timer. He's a likeable chap with a tendency to drift through life, as exhibited by a rather bohemian home life and dissatisfaction with the system failures that lead to too many bad men getting away with crimes against women.

We have several puzzling murders to solve against this backdrop, each progressing on multiple fronts and Auhl getting involved in a decidedly irregular fashion. These deviations from the usual tropes keep this one engaging all way through to a satisfying conclusion.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Comments

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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