Psychos, prestige, plagiarism, pros

THRILLERS

Look out, Hannibal Lecter -- there's a new psycho in town. And she's a total babe.

Chelsea Cain's Sweetheart (328 pages, St. Martin's Minotaur, $24.95) is the follow-up to her 2007 thriller that introduced psychopath Gretchen Lowell. But in some ways, paying a visit to an old friend is nicer than the initial introduction.

After being imprisoned because of master sleuth Archie Sheridan's work, Gretchen will stop at nothing to get her revenge. Just capturing Gretchen nearly killed Archie.

Literally.

Gretchen's deadliness comes in the spooky -- yet nearly believable -- form of intractable feminine wiles.

In fact, she convinced Archie to drink bleach out of his immutable love for her. Gretchen has used this deadly flirtation to kill a legion of men and women. The only reason Archie still visits her in prison -- much to his wife's chagrin -- is to find out where all her victims are buried.

But Gretchen hasn't been letting her sweet-talking ways go to waste. Soon she's free, and with her eye on Archie's family.

Cain's characters are nicely drawn. But she never quite convinces the reader of Gretchen's power. Without more scenes in which the reader witnesses Gretchen's persuasion techniques first-hand, she becomes too one-dimensional. Certainly, the girls in Sports Illustrated's swimsuit edition have more than just a little bit of sway over the fellas. But bleach, baby, is still bleach.

. . .

Legal thrillers reached their height in early'90s, but they still hold a magical allure that fits the thriller genre to a 'T'. A newcomer to the scene, Justin Peacock, debuts a stellar attempt that might just make you rethink all those John Grisham books you donated to the library.

In A Cure for Night (352 pages, Doubleday, $24.95) Joel Deveraux plays a flawed but likable attorney down on his luck. Since he lost his six-figure job at a prestigious law firm, Joel has traded in his champagne appetite for the dollar menu. Joel assumes second chair on his first murder-defense trial.

But what he doesn't realize is that soon he'll be fighting not just for his client's life but also for his own.

Most legal thrillers can stumble with too many courtroom scenes. Oddly, Peacock does just the opposite.

The action in the novel drags on, but the best parts -- those in which the book really soars -- all take place in the courtroom. The usual bits of legalese sing and make the reader remember why they liked Grisham so much in the first place.

. . .

Andrew Pyper's The Killing Circle (336 pages, St. Martin's Minotaur, $24.95) finds its genesis in foundering newspapers everywhere. Patrick Rush is a TV critic for a failing newspaper and a wannabe novelist with no ideas.

The early death of his wife has left him to raise his young son all alone. Out of sheer desperation, Patrick joins a writing group with more than its share of strange members. The most talented person in the group spins a horrific tale that Patrick can't forget. The story is partly autobiographical and concerns a supernatural serial killer. When the author of the tale is thought to be dead, Patrick picks up where the tale leaves off and publishes the story as his own.

Meanwhile, deaths are occurring throughout Toronto -- deaths that seem eerily like the plagiarized story Patrick published. What's worse is that members of the circle -- one by one -- are beginning to show up in the body count. Pyper spins a terrific tale that is part ghost story and part magical realism. Creepiness aside, "The Killing Circle" is one book that is head and shoulders above most thrillers out there now.

. . .

Jeffery Deaver's The Bodies Left Behind (368 pages, Simon & Schuster, $26.95) begins with a bang. Actually, it begins with the two bangs that kill the owners of a secluded Wisconsin summer house. One of the victims is a lawyer who has stumbled onto a union-corruption scandal. The killers are professionals, hired to eliminate the lawyer. What the killers don't know is that there is a third guest who makes an abbreviated 911 call. What they also don't know is that a tenacious deputy makes the drive to the Wisconsin retreat to investigate the call.

Deputy Brynn McKenzie walks into a hail of bullets as Michelle -- the surviving houseguest -- runs for her life. The dutiful Brynn hooks up with Michelle, and the two high-tail it to the forest. Unfortunately, it is this part of Deaver's tale that flags. Michelle and Brynn are chased by the killers, but it becomes the dullest chase in history.

Brynn knows all about the outdoors (for whatever reason), and although the killers don't, they somehow, implausibly, keep chasing them. There are twists that come up in the plot, but Deaver seems to have lost some of his magic he has shown on previous books.

There is no thrill in the chase here. Instead, "The Bodies Left Behind" drags on with about as much thrill as a phone book.

Francis W. Decker teaches literature at Trinity Episcopal School.