Exit Lines (Paperback)

Reginald Hill's Dalziel/Pascoe stories are unique, in that they vary from very light hearted (Pictures of Perfection) to grim and haunting, and even to the paranormal! This story is on the lighter side. The unusual twist is that Pascoe himself is forced to wonder whether, by driving under the influence, Dalziel has corrupted the investigation. The story ties together the threads of 3 different deaths on the same night. A newer character, Detective-Constable Seymour, assists Pascoe and Sgt Wield in the investigation. The completely clueless and luckless Constable Hector manages to hinder most of the help Seymour is providing. The story has some very funny moments despite the tragedy of the deaths of the three elderly victims. As always it is great when Mrs. Ellie Pascoe is a part of the story. And she is "present" in this one, although she's physically away, taking care of her own elderly father. The mystery is satisfying and the reader's natural suspicion of Dalziel's motives, and maybe even his integrity, actually enhances the plot. Well done.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

(For a sampling of the haunting, deeper side of Reginald Hill's Dalziel/Pascoe stories try "On Beulah Height: or "The Wood Beyond".)

The book opens with the deaths of three old men on a November night: as Detective Inspector Pascoe remarks, decidedly "not a good night for the old". One was murdered in his bathtub, his daughter arriving just in time to hear him gasp "Charley" and die; one died of exposure on playing fields, the discoverer of the body hearing him cry "Polly"; and the third murmured "Paradise! Driver... fat bastard...pissed!"-understandably so, for Superintendent Dalziel was in the car which hit him. The dying messages serve as clues as enigmatic as death itself, reinforced by the choice of dying words as chapter headings (great fun for those quotation spotters and spouters out there!). Police work uncovers connections between the supposedly separate cases-and police corruption hovering in the air, with Dalziel going on a shooting spree (of pheasants, that is)-"grand".

Reginald Hill shows himself as a keen observer of humanity, fascinated by the human race-but not becoming bogged down in Ruth Rendell's social conscience or P.D. James' bleak pessimism, but instead remembering that the writer's first duty is to the reader, to entertain. Take, for example, Ellie Pascoe's father's senility as an example of how to handle family background problems without intrusion: it is secondary to the plot, but is there as a play on the book's theme of ageing, and also serves to provide a vital clue. Characterisation is superlative, the reader really feeling sympathy for the characters, or despising those who view the old as a burden. Hill achieves this through a remarkable mixture of humour and genuine emotion, contrasting-but never clashing-humour with grief in succeeding paragraphs. Old age is really brought home to the reader by the senile dementia of Mrs. Escott, a genuinely pathetic and well-drawn character.

The whole-detective story, novel elements-culminates in a particularly neat and moving ending in which all the loose ends tied up, with both good clues and affecting murderers. This book shows Reginald Hill at the height of his powers-without any doubt the best of the modern writers of detective stories who are still writing.