“My New Year’s resolution is to murder a man I’ve never met” — thus does Basil Palmer lay out his intentions at the very start of his journal in Hemlock Bay (2024) by Martin Edwards, bringing to mind the openings of classic-era touchstones Malice Aforethought (1931) by Francis Iles and The Beast Must Die (1938) by Nicholas Blake. Louis Carson, the man Palmer seeks to avenge himself on, appears to have entered into a business partnership in the Northern resort of Hemlock Bay, and so, assuming a false identity, it is there that Palmer heads. Little does he know, various other parties are also descending upon Hemlock Bay, and some of them also have murder in their hearts.

Because I read the first two books in Edwards’s 1930s-set Rachel Savernake series in preparation for podcast episodes with him, rather than for standard reviews, it offended my tidy soul to not approach reviews of the series from the start, and so I’ve been reading and enjoying these without reviewing them. Then I realised that was a foolish mindset, so here we are with the fifth title in the series, and a very good one it is, too. When Rachel buys an abstract painting of the eponymous locale by an artist who has just moved there, and when newshound Jacob Flint is told of a psychic’s vision of a murder due to happen in Hemlock Bay which mirrors elements of said painting…well, soon Rachel, the Trueman troika who guard her so closely, and Jacob are on their way.

Part of the decision to review this now was based on how much I enjoy the interactions of these central five characters. The Truemans are dedicated to Rachel for reasons we know but Jacob doesn’t, and so, rather than an all-in-it-together faux cosiness, there are still some sharp edges in their dealings as the vortex he stands on the edge of occasionally occurs to our young reporter.

[Jacob] gulped down the last of his whisky. Trueman offered a top-up, but he shook his head. He felt dizzy, as if he’d clung on to a cliff face and clambered back to safety after risking a plunge into an abyss.

It’s fun, too, knowing Rachel’s depths, seeing the arrogant criminal, whose veneer of misdirection she has already disassembled with casual ease, underestimate the woman he doesn’t even know he’s up against (“[S]he is a genteel young filly, no doubt with limited experience of life. Why should she question my account of my past?”). Indeed, the character touches throughout — Trueman giving what is “for him a long speech, verging on a persona manifesto”, say — really do elevate this very easily, showing Edwards’s skill at making the people in his stories feel organic and so easy to care about.

Plot-wise, this is pretty classically Golden Age stuff, and the clues, hints, and nudges towards the solution are liberally sewn throughout (and included in a clue-finder in the back, in case you weren’t paying attention). Inevitably, I picked up on some and flew pasty others, but was a little chagrined when what seemed like an especially brazen piece of flaunting turned out to be an editorial error (if you’re curious: the behaviour of a character on page 221 of the UK hardcover contradicts what we’re told on page 191, and it’s wonderfully subtle and would have made a superb clue…!). I can fault it only in that it contravenes one of the few Van Dinean precepts I agree with quite strongly, relying slightly more on coincidence than I typically go in for…but, then, what’s a Golden Age novel without a coincidence or two?

And, look, there’s too much else here to enjoy to let that prove especially fatal: there’s a locked room murder that leans lightly and well into its setting, an almost game-like casual sprinkling through the text of various classic era titles from Golden Age authors, and Edwards is such a professional at this sort of thing by now that his prose zips buy remarkably easily and keeps the various balls of plot and character airborne with deceptive ease. To still be this fresh after over 20 novels, and to be casually throwing around vocabulary like “termagant” into the bargain, is a spectacular achievement, and the man deserves every ounce of his hard-earned success.

In the best Golden Age tradition, too, there are nods to earlier cases without spoiling them or requiring a knowledge of them to enjoy this on its own terms. If, then, you’ve not jumped into this series, there’s nothing to stop you starting here and getting just as much out of it as if you’ve been along for the whole ride. The 1931 setting — following “the cold winds of economic depression…across the Atlantic” — feels fresh and relevant, too, while being sketched in lightly and with real skill so as not to either overwhelm you with unfamiliarity or bludgeon you with research. In short, Rachel and her cadre remain delightful company, and the vibrancy and energy of this series remains undimmed. Here’s to plenty more murderous adventures with them in the years ahead.

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Also, I’m calling it now: after this, The Examiner (2024) by Janice Hallett, and The Dead Friend Project (2024) by Joanna Wallace, and The Labyrinth House Murders (1988, trans. 2024) by Yukito Ayatsuji, teal, red, and white is going to be the crime novel front cover colour scheme for the year ahead. Just you wait and see…