Book Review: Fiddlers by Ed McBain

Fiddlers is Ed McBain's 55th novel and the last in his long-running 87th Precinct series. Published after his death in 2005, it is set in the fictional city of Isola, which is loosely based on Manhattan, surrounded by districts that resemble New York’s other boroughs.

The story is about a string of chilling murders that seem unconnected at first, with each victim shot twice in the face by a killer the papers have dubbed The Glock Killer. The victims are as different as chalk and cheese—a blind violinist, a woman selling beauty products, a college professor, a priest and an elderly lady walking her dog—but they have all been killed with the same type of gun. In fact, what ties the murders together is the Glock. But what could be the motive?

As the murders occur at intervals, Lieutenant Byrnes and his seasoned team of homicide detectives at the 87th Precinct—most prominently Steve Carella, Meyer Meyer, Bert Kling, Artie Brown, Cotton Hawes, Andy Parker and Richard Genero—are under pressure to solve the case. They fan out across Isola and beyond, interviewing witnesses and past acquaintances of the victims to get a grip on the investigation. With a murder in his borough, Fat Ollie Weeks, a detective from a neighbouring precinct and a recurring character, joins them in the hunt for the killer.

Fiddlers is a tightly woven police procedural written in the tradition of the 87th Precinct novels, where Carella, arguably the most principled of the detectives, and his colleagues work long hours while balancing their home and romantic lives. Carella, for instance, is every bit the family man—patient and quietly authoritative—as he and his deaf and mute wife, Teddy, try to overcome a crisis at home: their teenage daughter's brush with drugs. How the married couple, devoted to each other, handle the situation is one of the more affecting sub-stories in the novel.

I liked how McBain juxtaposes serious detective work with personal issues. The detectives, who work in pairs, seem perfectly at ease switching between discussing leads and theories in the case and worries outside their jobs. They are like a family bound by a common purpose. Nothing in the novel feels exaggerated. Everything moves at a natural pace—the police work, piecing clues together, the conversations. Their team spirit, though not obvious, is evident throughout the novel.

As with the few McBain novels I have read so far, the writing style in Fiddlers is lean and conversational throughout. Reading the novel feels like watching an old crime drama unfold on screen, with scenes moving back and forth between the precinct, the streets and the detectives’ homes.

I don't know why I never continued reading 87th Precinct, although it is the kind of series that should be read from the first novel to the last. Only then can we fully comprehend why Ed McBain is regarded as one of the great masters of crime fiction. In my copy of the book, The Wall Street Journal called Fiddlers, "A fitting finale to the 87th Precinct epic." Perhaps one day I'll find out for myself.