A young writer with empty pockets and a gold watch is the last person who should stumble onto a murder. But Andrew Lauriston has no choice: the rent is overdue, hunger is real, and when he walks into Daniel Multenius's pawnshop to hock his father's watch, he finds himself standing over the old man's body. The police have questions. So does Andrew. What was the orange-yellow diamond really worth? Who was the mysterious customer Zillah saw her grandfather meeting in secret? And why does everyone in London seem to have something to hide? Fletcher weaves poverty, romance, and ruthless deduction into a London thriller that feels less like a cozy puzzle and more like a warning: in a city of desperate men, everyone is a suspect. The pawnshop's dingy back rooms and fog-slicked streets ground this mystery in real hardship, not period charm. Andrew isn't a brilliant detective; he's a hungry nobody who happened to be in the wrong shop at the wrong time. But his desperation makes him dangerous. For readers who want their mysteries with some teeth.
