TO BRING MY SHADOW

In this hard-boiled crime novel, a California detective tries to connect the murder of a drug cartel enforcer with the killing of an entire family.

Frank Pinson’s life is an unholy mess—he’s an alcoholic; his wife of 25 years, Miranda, recently killed herself; and he’s estranged from his two kids. Nevertheless, he’s a homicide detective in San Diego, and so when someone is murdered, he shows up for work. Frank and his partner, Slade “Skinny” Ryerson, catch a gruesome case—a man is found stuffed into an oil barrel, shot, and mutilated. They discover his name is Enrico Frederico Pablo Castaneda, and, judging by the tattoo on his neck, he was part of a drug cartel. The young man who found him, Turner Malcolm, volunteers some apparently irrelevant information—he’s heard about a family that was murdered and buried, and his tip turns out to be solid. Mark Jacoby, a real estate developer, and his wife and daughter disappeared. Frank and Slade locate them—dead and interred—and are convinced their murders are connected to Castaneda’s. Phillips constructs a complex but grippingly lurid tale that artfully follows the ligature that binds the killing of a cartel henchman to a grander political conspiracy. In many ways, the book is the formulaic expression of a very specific literary genre—Pinson is a cynical and emotionally distraught man who pours the waning energy and decency he has left into his ghastly job. In fact, the author’s prose is so conspicuously evocative of this literary type it often seems like intentional self-parody: “Plenty of beauty out here in the devil’s playground. But that’s a twisted hell, too. Because every second somebody’s got to die.” Nonetheless, this remains an intelligently conceived and executed crime drama, and what it lacks in originality, it compensates for with a captivating story and well-drawn characters.

A thrilling addition to an old but still vital literary genre.