Published by Grand Central Publishing on May 12, 2015
I generally like Jeffery Deaver, but he didn't sell me on the plot in Solitude Creek. Even if had not been contrived and implausible, it would not have been interesting. Admittedly, I approached this book with reservations, given my sense that Kathryn Dance, the fictional "body language expert" who works for the California Bureau of Investigation, is Deaver's least interesting character. Stories based on pseudo-voodoo like profiling and body language are too gimmicky for my taste. I am more tolerant of gimmicks when they don't get in the way of a good crime story, but the story here lacks originality.
Dance is working on the "drugs and guns pipeline" between Oakland and Mexico when, after apparently being fooled by a High Machiavellian (i.e., a really good liar), she is demoted to civil investigations. The pipeline reenters the story from time to time and eventually reaches a formulaic outcome (although with a mild twist that holds the novel's only real surprise). Meanwhile, Dance is assigned to check out the insurance coverage for a Monterey roadhouse called Solitude Creek after a fire produces a deadly stampede. Dance quickly realizes that the circumstances of the fire are suspicious -- not in the sense of insurance fraud, but in the sense of a deliberate attempt to induce panic.
The bad guy Dance is chasing explains that he is exploiting fundamental fears (primarily confinement and claustrophobia) to satisfy a compulsion that he calls "the Get." There is little to distinguish him from thousands of other crime novel villains who are driven by compulsion. His obsession with the "brilliant" and "captivating" Kathryn Dance after glimpsing her from afar is hard to swallow. In fact, not much about the bad guy is believable. His second motive to commit the crimes (apart from enjoyment) is spectacularly silly.
A subplot involving racist graffiti also seems contrived and improbable -- contrived in the way it comes back to connect with Dance and improbable in the sense that CBI is unlikely to devote so much effort to a property crime (even one that is classified as a hate crime) when a crazy man is committing acts that maim and kill dozens of people at a time in Southern California. True, the graffiti victims own expensive houses and are therefore likely to command the attention of the state's top cops, but no law enforcement agency would misplace its priorities in the way that Deaver imagines.
Too much of Solitude Creek feels like unnecessary padding. Deaver is particularly fond of describing footwear. Historical references to incidents of mass panic are only slightly more interesting. Dance's personal dilemmas (should she pick Jon or Michael?) do little to enliven her dull personality. Dance is always nattering on about her ability to recognize that someone is lying (it turns out that pretty much everything you say or do is proof that you are telling a lie). The best character development is reserved for Dance's messed up son, although his plot thread resolves in a way that is just as unbelievable as the rest of the novel. Her daughter's issues are just dull.
I never have a problem with Deaver's prose or with his ability to keep readers involved in the story's progress, but Solitude Creek seems to have been written on auto-pilot. Most of the novel proceeds at a good pace but it drags at points. Solitude Creek is a disappointing effort from a strong writer.
NOT RECOMMENDED