Another One-Word Title, Another Weak Entry: Kellerman has a Compulsion

It’s not particularly flattering to be compared to a comfortable old shoe: you tend to forget all about the desirable aspects of dependability and faithfulness, and concentrate on the smelly bits, don’t you? If that’s the case, then Jonathan Kellerman probably shouldn’t be reading my thoughts about Compulsion, the latest in his long-running Alex Delaware series. If you want the truth, the dependability is still there - but the stinky quotient continues to rise. Let me tell you about it…

What looks to be a “routine” case of a stolen Bentley Arnage takes a strange turn when Delaware buddy Lt. Milo Sturgis’s young protégé discovers what appears to be a blood spot in the elegant saloon’s otherwise spotless interior. Meanwhile, somewhere mile after mile down the LA freeway system, an elderly woman is killed at the hands of an elderly man who drives away in a high-end Mercedes luxury sedan. Ummmm, yeah: so what?

A known murder involving a big and very expensive car, plus a spot of blood in a different big and very expensive car clearly indicates a serial killer in action, right? Well, it does to Child Psychologist Alex Delaware, who is either the most visionary human on earth or the most paranoid… Sure enough, Alex’s hunch bears fruit: a little googling turns up another murder involving a luxury car… and it’s off to the races for the Doc and his buddy the gay homicide dick, complete with a snark-laden visit to New York City (Kellerman writing off a visit to Faye’s folks, perhaps?).

Expect several more bodies and lots of twisty-turnies on the way to this one’s conclusion. You’ll also get a couple of secondary plots; the obligatory cold case and a second involving lusty luthier Robin Castagna, presently in the “on” cycle of her on-and-off relationship with Delaware. Little else is interesting…

Is it just me, or has Kellerman pretty much phoned in the plots of recent Delaware novels? Seems to me that ever since he went to single-word titles (Obsession and Rage, for instance), the series has been on a downward trend. Even if we’re not treated to Kellerman’s usual treatise on Delaware’s sartorial superiority (either he didn’t describe Alex’s clothes once or I went MEGO when he did), and even if the Doc no longer flashes out-of-date identification badges; Delaware’s still driving that gas-guzzling Seville and still thinks French Bulldogs are pretty (OK, all dogs are special. Cadillacs, though…)

Enough of that, however. Compulsion is a weak mystery; weak because the central premise could only come about through the good graces of the Coincidence Fairy. Weak because Delaware breaks the case by googling murder “luxury car” and doesn’t get any hits: yeah, right (I got 55,600 results). Most of all, however, it’s weak because the connection among the LA victims is so tenuous and the single clue that ties them together is a luxury car - and not even the same one every time. I fear that logical leap stretches the reader’s willing suspension of disbelief well beyond the breaking point. The path that Delaware (not Sturgis, the actual detective, but Delaware) must follow to his epiphany eventually becomes too tortuous for words.

When it comes to characters, of course, Kellerman earns a greater chunk of his $27.00 ($32.00 Canadian). A “shemale” ho, Tasha, the sleuths must interview is a laugh riot; and Robin’s interaction with her dot-com multimillionaire client morphs into a precious little morality play. As always, the dialogue between Delaware and Sturgis (here in their 23rd installment) reads a lot like a conversation between a couple in their third decade of marriage; finishing each other’s sentences and picking up conversational threads after hours of silence without a hitch.

And never let it be said that Kellerman can’t string together words in pleasing patterns, whether he can (still) plot a novel or not. His skill at setting the scene remains undimmed:

Sonia Glusevitch lived in a fortress of yellow brick that hogged a third of a block on East Ninety-third.

The doors to this lobby were wide open. Mirrored walls alternated with panels of flocked velvet. Ailing palms yearned for something other than track lighting.

…as does his skill at capsule descriptions of his flat characters:

Michael Browning’s eyes got moist when he heard about Kat.

He was a barrel-chested, rust-bearded fireplug, five-six in thick-soled shoes, with sturdy, hirsute wrists and lumberjack hands. He wore a yellow-and-blue windowpane shirt, a big knotted red tie of gleaming silk, leather knit suspenders. The shoes were mocha suede wingtips, maintained impeccably.

Almost worth the entry fee. Almost.

Fans of the Delaware oeuvre will, of course, ooh and ahh over this latest installment. While it’s an entertaining read, unfortunately it adds little if anything to the annals of mystery writing. Get a copy for the plane or the beach, sure, but be aware that Kellerman’s series is becoming ever more light-weight.

Buy Compulsion at amazon.com