1222, by Anne Holt, translated by Marlaine Delargy (Corvus, £12.99)
It's easy to see why Anne Holt, former minister of justice in Norway and currently its bestselling female crime writer, is rapturously received in the rest of Europe. It's less easy to see why she hasn't been published here before, but if 1222 is anything to go by, it was worth the wait. In an intriguing twist on the classic "locked room" mystery, 268 bedraggled survivors of a train derailment are holed up in a snowbound hotel high in the mountains, where as if shock, wounds and privation weren't enough to contend with they are being picked off one by one. As semi-paralysed ex-police officer Hanne Wilhelmsen attempts to solve the crimes, the buildup of tension is slow but superbly effective. Holt's vivid depiction of claustrophobia, petty squabbles and mob hysteria is just as convincing as her evocation of the storm outside.
They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, by Horace McCoy (Serpent's Tail, £7.99)
Forget Raymond Chandler and his overrated ilk Horace McCoy's 1935 novel (filmed in 1969, under the same title) is the best example of American noir ever written. Set in the great depression, amid the desperation, barbarity and pathos of a dance marathon, it is an extraordinary achievement and every bit as shocking and moving today as it must have been for its original readers. Gripping from the beginning when we are given to understand that the narrator is being condemned to death for an unknown crime it's the story of two losers stumbling endlessly round a grotty Hollywood ballroom in a grotesque and ultimately futile struggle for survival. The characters are both more, and less, than human, the writing is tersely perfect, and the ending almost unbearably moving. This timely reissue comes complete with an excellent introduction from the veteran British crime writer John Harvey.
From Blood, by Edward Wright (Orion, £18.99)
In modern-day west coast America, rebellious Shannon, who has ditched her PhD in order to set up a cleaning company and get drunk, is charged by her dying mother victim, with her dead father, of brutal torture to "find and warn" some unnamed people. Delving into her parents' past, she discovers that they were radicalised as students and have connections with a lethal bombing that took place in the 60s. Despite morphing into a pair of liberal academics, they retained their connections with the sort of zealots who have swallowed whole the notion that any means are justified by the desired end. Like all Wright's books, this is complex, fast paced and well plotted, with an exciting denouement, albeit somewhat marred by a sentimental ending.
Cradle to Grave, by Aline Templeton (Hodder & Stoughton, £19.99)
A welcome return for Templeton's tough but tender DI, Marjory "Big Marge" Fleming, this time investigating a murder in the wilds of Galloway, where nature, as if it weren't treacherous enough, is rendered lethally dangerous by the activities of greedy developers and wilful sabotage. Equally dangerous, to themselves and everyone else, are the cast of characters, who range from the dysfunctional family of a multi-millionaire concert promoter, complete with the six-year-old from hell and a pathetic former nanny who may or may not have killed her infant charge, to a ruthless hit man and some all-too-human police officers whose personal problems have deleterious effects on their judgment. It's a feverish mixture, but well thought out. The vivid characterisation, excellent description and a horribly looming sense of inevitability make Cradle to Grave a riveting read.
Laura Wilson's A Capital Crime is published by Quercus.
