Pariah
by Thomas Zigal
Delacorte Press, $22 hard
Ah, youthful indiscretion! Bill Clinton claims he didn’t inhale. George W. won’t discuss what he put up his nose. But Sheriff Kurt Muller — leading man in Thomas Zigal’s Pariah — is at peace with his wilder youth, even when it returns to haunt him. He’s the law in Pitkin County, Colorado, and his freewheeling past is not an asset in fighting the recall election engineered by the usual moneyed land developers. And his Aspen constituents — with the wealth, power, and jet-set misbehavior that implies — are burdened with their own pasts and the consequences that have followed them into the present.
The past is a looming specter in Austinite Zigal’s third Kurt Muller mystery. Sheriff Muller revives an ill-advised affair with black sheep socialite Nicole Bauer in the same bedroom suite where years earlier her beau — Sixties blues-rock wunderkind Rocky Rhodes — took a header from the balcony. Although a jury found Nicole innocent of assisting his return trip to Jesus, the townspeople remain largely unconvinced. Against this backdrop, Bauer enlists the sheriff’s protection from a nasty stalker who she believes is Rocky returned to life. Mere hours after the lawman leaves her home, Nicole does her own full gainer from the balcony and the whodunnit is underway.
Despite being less than impartial, Muller undertakes a 24/7 investigation into Nicole’s death, and each successive rock he looks under uncovers a creepier crawly than the one before. It’s soon apparent that the “anything goes” ethos of the Age of Aquarius spawned a seamy legacy that is far from peace, love, and harmony.
Pariah is populated by a mixed bag of characters. Some are quirky and interesting, like Rocky’s former piano player who has descended into the murky world of semi-pro porn video. He musters a mean-spirited grace that is somehow uniquely British. And like the ethereal and mysterious Pariah of the title, whose true identity seems perpetually just beyond Muller’s fingertips. Still others are barely cardboard cutouts propped up just long enough for the Sheriff to mow ’em down.
“Sneaky fast” is a compliment applied to some baseball pitchers who are effective but not overpowering. That description might suit Pariah, too. It doesn’t inspire oohs, aahs, and dropping jaws. Instead, it is a smartly plotted and neatly paced mystery — handcrafted one clue at a time. It doesn’t demand to be read, but it is a seductive tale that tightens its embrace with each turn of the page.
This article appears in September 17 • 1999.