Not a typical thriller, Deception, by Denise Mina, is deceptively good: creeping into the shadowy places where words linger long after you put the book down. Lachlan Harriot, finds himself adrift when his wife, psychiatrist Susie Harriott is convicted of murdering Glasgow serial killer Andrew Gow.
“She looked back at me, horrified and helpless. Instinctively, I reached out to touch her and smashed my knuckles loudly on the glass barrier.”
He is at once an object of curiosity and attention.
“I’m in the papers this morning, hailing the taxi, looking shifty and portly and weird. I had no idea I looked like that…This may well be the only time in my life when I’m in the papers, and I look fat and ill-groomed and frightened.”
Lachan searches for evidence of Susie’s innocence, reminiscing of the girl he met and married, who once loved him more then he loved her, but lately has been a distant stranger. Nonetheless, he refuses to believe she could be capable of loving a monster such as Andrew Gow, or murdering him in a jealous rage. Layer by layer, Lachlan discovers his wife’s secrets and his complacent participation in their fractured marriage. The drama unfolds slowly, with some repetition, as Lachan sorts through Susie’s office. There is a twist at the end, but it is far fetched and unsatisfactory. However, the mystery of a seemingly happy marriage ruined by monotony is far more compelling as the mystery of Susie’s obsession with Andrew Gow. Deception is a study of how we are deceived, not by others, but by ourselves.
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