Gary Thorn is in the middle of investigating a serious criminal case in south London involving police corruption, domestic violence, possibly even murder, when he stops in the street to speak to a passing squirrel. He tells the squirrel what he’s planning to do next and the creature, as ventriloquised by Gary, tries to talk him out of it. “I would think around that decision a bit deeper than you obviously have,” it says.
This is how the comedian Bob Mortimer writes a crime novel: with squirrel interludes, recurring duck gags and a private eye with a fondness for novelty socks. The latter is an acquaintance of Gary’s who runs out on him one night in the pub, leaving behind a USB stick in the shape of a corncob and is later reported dead under suspicious circumstances. On the same night, Gary is also abandoned by a mysterious young woman with a button nose and severe fringe with whom he tries to flirt over steak and chips.
