Philip Davison’s The Crooked Man (1997) is an odd little crime novel. Odd in the good sense, that is.
His main character, Harry Fielding, does odd jobs for MI5: surveillance, burglary, protection, that kind of stuff. Harry is divorced. He lives alone in a dump of a London flat. He dines from the unlabelled foil containers of airline meals, every dinner a culinary lottery. I kinda like this odd man already. Continue reading