Murder on tape
Robert Cooper
Attempting to solve a P.D. James mystery is rather like trying to find the winner of a fiendishly problematical horse race. In The Murder Room (Chivers Audio Books. 13 hours 46 mins. Cassette /18.99. CD £23.99. 0800 136919) we have to study the form in microscopic detail in order to find the perpetrator of some loathsome deeds at the Dupayne Museum. It's a pretty spooky place owned by three discordant members of the even spookier Dupayne
family, one of whom is found burnt to a frazzle in his Volvo. Design fault or foul play? Enter aloof super-sleuth Commander Adam Dalgleish to scrutinise the facts and quiz the suspects.
When it comes to horses for courses Michael Jayston is the only possible contender for narrator, especially his portrayal of Dalgleish. The contrast of the veteran copper who's seen it all with the sensitive poet and singular man is orchestrated to perfection by Jayston. He is the incarnate Dalgleish; much more so even than Roy Marsden who portrayed him so admirably on television. Jayston is no one-trick pony when it comes to producing a wide variety of voices for the rest of the cast. His female characters are particularly strong without having to resort to straining his vocal cords or wearing tight trousers.
There's an added touch of spice in this latest P.D. James novel, her 16th. We see a more emotional, and as a result more human side to Adam Dalgleish. We discover that he has a soft spot (even love is a possibility) for Emma whom he first met in Death in Holy Orders. Has the Commander become a softy in his old age, and if so will romance diminish his impeccable record of crime-solving? It's all rather touching as we recall that his wife and child were bumped off long ago.
P.D. James's locations are invariably steeped in atmosphere: a theological college or the Middle Temple chambers, a Thamesside publishing house or a power station — and here on the fringes of Hampstead Heath we find ourselves in the Murder Room of the Dupayne Museum, a room brimming with grizzly artefacts from murders in the 1920s and 1930s — and by the time we've reached the thrilling conclusion we have more than enough exhibits for a modern-day extension.
Glen David Gold's historical thriller Carter Beats the Devil (Isis Publishing. 20 hours 55 mins. £23.99 + p&p. 01865 250333) is a totally different kettle of fish. It is spellbinding — literally. Based on fact, Charles Carter (1874-1936) or 'Carter the Great' was a magician of some repute in the vaudeville days before motion pictures ruled the roost. Carter's sobriquet hailed from the remarkable escape artist Harry Houdini — and Houdini didn't dish out the superlatives to any up and coming Tommy Cooper. Carter was the best.
Patrons at the Curran Theatre, San Francisco on 2 August 1923 were in for a bit of a treat as Carter's special on-stage stooge was president of the United States, Warren G. Harding. Everything goes fine and dandy — until two hours after the show when the president is found dead in mysterious circumstances. It doesn't come as a bombshell that Carter (by now feeling not so great) is under the investigative eye of the Secret Services. And this is only on side one of 16 tapes. From here on, Gold waves his magic wand over American history and we are hurtled on a roller-coaster ride of vanishing elephants, underwater escapades, political scandal, the invention of television and innumerable deceptions and illusions. For a first novel the outcome is an outstanding achievement.
Our reader is American actor Jeff Harding, who has also appeared on television in Britain in The Fast Show and Father Ted (as Father Buzz Cagney). He has a deep, beefy, all-American voice, which is fine for all the male parts. He is particularly effective as the intrinsically evil Mysterioso, excellent as Charles Carter, and splendidly husky as the tetchy Agent Griffin, but weak in the female roles, many of which bear a striking resemblance to Marge Simpson. But it's OK — the plot is so riveting that enjoyment levels remain at maximum throughout this marathon 21 hours.
In truth I was so gripped and consequently so bereft when this truly magical tale ended that rather than mope around the house with a couple of ping-pong balls and a paper cup I went headlong into the book (craftily over-dubbing the dodgy female voices). It was every bit as enjoyable. One thing to remember, though: when looking for volunteers to tie you in knots, always say no to a sailor.
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