Flint

Lauded with praised by no less than Frederick Forsyth, Flint is a debut thriller of real achievement, with Paul Eddy immediately registering as an authoritative and skilful writer. His publishers invoke Clarice Starling and Kay Scarpetta to persuade us to read the book, but such comparisons are unnecessary (except perhaps as a marketing imperative): the eponymous Grace Flint is a strongly drawn heroine--a resourceful and quick-thinking undercover cop. During an operation to ensnare vicious money launderer Frank Harling, things go pear-shaped and Grace find herself under attack by a dangerous psychotic, leaving her scarred. Fighting the trauma, Grace undergoes surgery to restore her former looks, but she is unable to dissuade her masters from their idea that her personality has been similarly mutilated. But her speciality has always been placing herself in the utmost danger, and she insists on being back in the firing line, tracking down the man who attempted to destroy her. But will she come apart, as her bosses in the force fear? Paul Eddy is fully aware that the very best thrillers establish an inexorable conflict in their protagonists, one that needs to be just as forcefully handled as the mechanics of the plot. And we are made to care quite as much about Grace's state of mind as we are about the tracking-down-a-monster narrative. Eddy has a particular gift for the truly arresting image:She would had been prepared for the black leather balaclava that reached down to his shoulders--narrow slits for his greedy eyes--for all the previous victims had spoken of it. What she could not have expected was the embellishment he had made to his costume: brass studs embedded across the width of his forehead spelling out his intention. RAPIST. She must have felt the studs on her face as he butted her, sending her sprawling to the ground...--Barry Forshaw