Knowing full well that my favorite mystery author got her start after working in the pharmaceutical business (dispensing drugs, don’t ya know!), you would think that another writer with a similar resume might spark a similar interest. And wouldn’t you know it? This month my Book Club has decided to look into the writings of Douglas Clark, a pharmaceutical executive who, in his spare time, wrote twenty-seven police procedurals about Scotland Yard detectives Masters and Green. Death After Evensong (1969) is the second case for this duo, and it involves their traveling to the northern village of Rooksby-le-Soken, located in the middle of a peat bog, to investigate the mysterious death of the vicar. 

Listen, it’s a gargantuan task to gather seven well-read, highly opinionated classic crime enthusiasts together every month and expect to find a title that will at least please some of the people some of the time! Last month’s book was a dud (so much so for me that I couldn’t write about it), and before I could sit down and read this one, I was hit with the old one-two of Kate’s review and that of the Puzzle Doctor. I have to admit that I began my morning feeling quite daunted. But I persevered by heading to my favorite weekend breakfast joint and replenishing myself with the veggie scramble, a fresh-made blueberry biscuit, and a cappuchino and prepared to tackle another iffy Book Club selection. 

Police procedurals are generally not my thing, but there’s no doubt here that Clark could write atmosphere. Rooksby-le-Soken isn’t the sort of place in which anyone would want to pass the time of day: the townsfolk are downright hostile to outsiders (even those who have lived there for years), and the whole place feels cold, sticky, and depressing. Entering the town, the police team passes a brand-new school with “single-stories, glass-walled classrooms strung out in great wings from a brick-built nuclus. Lights were burning, illuminating an end-on view of rows of children, listening to teachers, with their hands in the air, reading. (Masters) got the impression the kids were miserable.”

Later on, after settling in the Goblin Pub where they will be staying, Masters cases the joint to get the lay of the land (I’ve got a million cliches to go, folks!) and discovers that these poor kids grow up to be equally miserable young men and women with nothing to do but make babies and get married, in that order. Now young wives are trapped at home, tending to the kids, while their young husbands escape to the bar to play darts and drink themselves into oblivion – except that their poverty makes it impossible to afford the good ale. 

When murder ventures into this gloomy landscape, the local constabulary sends for Scotland Yard immediately. Herbert Parsloe, the vicar, has been found brutally slain in the old school by some workmen who are tearing it apart to put up an office building. Parsloe seems to have been shot – there’s a hole in the center of his chest and a horrific exit wound on his back – but despite the blood on the wall behind him, there isn’t a trace of any sort of bullet. Masters and Green are tasked with figuring out how Parsloe was killed, as well as who killed him among the growing list of people who hated him.

The list of suspects is long and varied. There’s the proprietor of the Goblin, his Italian wife and her beautiful daughter who is, mystifyingly, still unmarried; the local G.P. who examined the body and his partner in his practice, who also happens to be his son; the Vicar’s two daughters, the older of whom seems to be a chip off the old block and the younger so kind that she is dismissed by the locals as an idiot; and various villagers with grudges against this unpleasant cleric. Some are working class, while others are part of a more prosperous community of bridge-playing professionals; despite the fact that they drink in different rooms of the pub, they are all to varied degrees hostile to the police and all in agreement that Parsloe’s death is a blessing. 

From here, your enjoyment of Death After Evensong will probably depend on how you feel about police procedurals – and about this team in particular. As I said, it’s not my favorite sub-genre: I always enjoy Ngaio Marsh’s mysteries until after the murder when Inspector Alleyn sets up shop and begins dragging the Marsh, suspect by suspect, witness by witness, until you’re just hoping a second murder will alleviate the gloom. I am fond of Ed McBain’s 87^th Precinct series (and really must return to it one of these days), but that’s because I like the men in the force, their personalities and interactions, and the fact that each novel deals either with one thrilling case (King’s Ransom) or a series of cases that are sometimes intertwined in delightfully surprising ways. 

I imagine that Douglas Clark sat down at his desk one day and said to himself, “Why don’t I write a series of mystery novels about a pair of policemen who start out loathing each other and gradually develop into best friends?” What I have gathered from fans of Clark’s books is that Detective Chief Inspector George Masters and Detective Inspector Green will come to like and respect each other. This is early days, however, and the bad feeling between the pair drags this book down considerably. 

All in all, I tend to side with Masters here over Green, who comes off as a jealous sod most of the time. Masters is indeed “masterful” at his work, smart and sensitive and expert at dealing frankly with the complex assortment of personalities he meets. He also shows great sympathy for the more downtrodden of the villagers and even takes time to better the lives of two undeservedly miserable young women. 

I end up in a bit of a quandary over Douglas Clark. I do like Chief Inspector Masters, and I think the characterization here is first rate. But the investigation does plod on and on. I happen to know that my friend Bev Hankins, over at The Reader’s Block, is quite fond of Clark’s work and even gave a positive review to Poacher’s Bag, the only other novel of his that sits on my shelf. As this is the twelfth novel and by now Masters and Green are not only great friends but are vacationing together, I just may have to give it a try . . . one of these days.