THE most anticipated crime novel ever is unavoidably delayed when the author dies halfway through completing the denouement, in The Ending Writes Itself by Evelyn Clarke (HQ, £16.99). Publishers’ careers are at stake, but in the novelist’s vulgar castle on an isolated Scottish island there are no notes, no clues to suggest how he planned to crown his career.

A murderous convention of crime writers, a hymn to nursing, a monster hunt, and robber baron capitalism

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