It was, as Dave Woolf said, "The sort of thing that doesn’t happen in England." High-court corruption, gangsters, fire bombs and a bit of murder on the side, all of it against the backdrop of a family drama raging through London, the West Country, and the South of France. Nor is it the sort of thing that solicitors ought to be investigating. But Woolf is no ordinary solicitor. Back in the legal fold after a spell as a private eye, he’s roped into a spot of detection for the usual reason: an irresistible fee. Sustained by hefty slugs of Southern Comfort, Camels, and his new Aussie sidekick, he’s ready to haul a few skeletons out of family cupboards. The trouble is, they’re still alive.
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- Editorial: BRIGHT PEN
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