No one falls as viciously, as painfully, or as messily as lawyers. Jack Nicholas, left-wing barrister, was supposed to have died in an accident. Drunk, said the coroner. Murdered, said his mother. Enter Dave Woolf, ex-solicitor, boozer, and down-at-heel private eye. Even before Woolf starts asking questions, he finds that he is investigating not one death, but the wholesale despatch of Jack Nicholas’ erstwhile colleagues. There is very little for Woolf to go on as he treks through the glitz and sleaze of London, through France and Norway in search of an elusive German, other than the apparent coincidence that all the deaths occurred on the last Wednesday of every month.
