Thirteen

A Genuine Read-In-One-Sitting Thriller

Thirteen by Steve Cavanagh won the 2019 Theakstons Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year award.

It is, I promise, a genuine read-in-one-sitting thriller, just as long as you don’t stop to think about it too hard.

Synopsis

Eddie Flynn is a con-man turned defence lawyer. He works the unglamorous side of New York’s criminal justice system, advertising for clients on the side of hot dog stands outside the city court. By a twist of fate, he finds himself representing Robert Solomon, a Hollywood actor accused of stabbing his starlet wife to death after finding her in bed with their security consultant.

As the trial progresses, the jury starts to implode. First, one juror dies after a hit and run; then, the judge expels another for attempting to rig the verdict. Things turn stranger still when DNA is produced from the crime scene. It is identical to that of a known murderer and rapist — a man the state had executed 12 years earlier.

Review

The publishers have emblazoned Thirteen with a beguiling headline — The serial killer isn’t on trial; he’s on the jury. Cavanagh milks the premise for all it is worth. He tells the story from two contrasting perspectives: lawyer Eddie Flynn and villain Joshua Kane. Eddie Flynn endures more thrills and action than any self-respecting lawyer would ever sign up for, whilst Joshua Kane doles them out. A brilliant and deeply improbable serial killer with a grand plan to undermine the American dream.

Cavanagh’s style is long on tension, twists and action. His book slams along at a mesmerising rate, which is admirable because if it went any slower, it would fall into the cracks of incredibility.

Despite its implausible storyline, this is an enjoyable book and won the Theakston award for good reason. Thirteen is an honest-to-god, read-in-one-sitting thriller. It will keep your heart thumping, but if it all gets too much, just ask yourself the magic question… “Realy?”

Excerpt

Before he left the apartment that morning, Kane had thrown open the tarp covering the bathtub. He’d reached down and pulled the plug, turned on the shower. Within a minute, he was rinsing brittle white bone. Careful to gather up the bones and teeth, Kane wrapped them in a towel and hammered them to dust. He then sprinkled the dust into the soap powder box and closed it. The bullet he put in his pocket. It would find its way into the river or into a storm drain shortly after Kane left. Job done. He showered, put on a fresh bandage to his leg wound, dressed, applied his make-up, checked the ice pack had sufficiently reduced the swelling to his face, put on his coat and made his way onto the street.

Not long afterwards, Kane joined the line waiting to get through security outside the Center Street Criminal Courts Building. There were two lines. The people in Kane’s line all held letters with a red banner at the top, warning them that they had to report for jury duty.

Thirteen by Steve Cavanagh