It turns out that the dead woman on the ice used to work as a nanny to Tsar Nicholas II's children, until she was dismissed for stealing unspecified property. Her male companion, a Chicago criminal and labor agitator, was knifed 17 times and had in his coat pocket a roll of banknotes marked with tiny ink dots. A code of some sort? If so, who was he communicating with secretly, and to what end? Although Ruzsky, the black sheep son of an aristocratic family, just returned from a three-year Siberian banishment, finds his investigation hampered by the tsar's secret police, he slowly unpeels the layers of a conspiracy that involves not merely homicide, but also avarice, politics, and long-sought vengeance. The stability of Russia's monarchy may depend on Ruzsky's success in this case, as may the investigator's hesitant relationship with a star ballerina, whose cloaked past makes her a far more intriguing, and more deadly, companion than Ruzsky realizes.

While The White Russian introduces readers to St. Petersburg's exotic and economic extremes--tenements of Dostoevskian squalidness, gilded ballet theaters full of garrulous royalty--it is a rather less ambitiously atmospheric story than Bradby's previous novel, 2002's The Master of Rain. Yet it boasts a similarly tumbling pace, emotionally torn and credible characters (including a "neurotic and hysterical" Tsarina Alexandra), and twists and dubious allegiances enough to leave readers wondering at Ruzsky's solution until the closing pages. At once a chilling crime yarn and a cautionary tale about the sometimes painful exigencies of love, The White Russian is a literary cocktail with a decided kick. --J. Kingston Pierce

Bradby, a seasoned correspondent for Britain's ITN television network, has obviously spent considerable time researching 1920s Shanghai. His feel for the city's Byzantine society and exotic textures is matched by his accessible vision of Shanghai as a junction of international fallout and internal intrigue. Less compelling, if not outright distracting, is Bradby's more contemporary emphasis on ghastly serial killings with a sex-crime edge. But in the end, the book's remarkable prose and density of experience are uniquely rewarding. --Tom Keogh

Julia Havilland has had a troubled childhood. And when her father, Colonel Mitchell Havilland, dies in the Falklands in a mystifying act of heroism, Julia finds that her return from 15 years in China means that she must come to terms with the ghosts of the past. Living under the threat of an inquiry that will almost certainly end her career in military intelligence, Julia finds herself confronting the past again, with the image of her beloved father ever more present in her thoughts. Only by a painful and dangerous investigation, can she lay the ghosts of the past--and perhaps come to terms with the problems of the present. What makes this forcefully written piece such a commanding read is the multifaceted characterisation of Julia. But Bradby does not try to make us like her, and we are quickly involved with her plight as she tries to rend the veil of secrets that is destroying her life. This is a novel about the destructive effects of suspicion and betrayal on human existence (a superscription from Shakespeare makes this clear, although it is evident from the first chapter onwards), and the novel functions both as an exemplary psychological thriller and a novel of character. --Barry Forshaw

Julia Havilland has had a troubled childhood. And when her father, Colonel Mitchell Havilland, dies in the Falklands in a mystifying act of heroism, Julia finds that her return from 15 years in China means that she must come to terms with the ghosts of the past. Living under the threat of an inquiry that will almost certainly end her career in military intelligence, Julia finds herself confronting the past again, with the image of her beloved father ever more present in her thoughts. Only by a painful and dangerous investigation, can she lay the ghosts of the past--and perhaps come to terms with the problems of the present. What makes this forcefully written piece such a commanding read is the multifaceted characterisation of Julia. But Bradby does not try to make us like her, and we are quickly involved with her plight as she tries to rend the veil of secrets that is destroying her life. This is a novel about the destructive effects of suspicion and betrayal on human existence (a superscription from Shakespeare makes this clear, although it is evident from the first chapter onwards), and the novel functions both as an exemplary psychological thriller and a novel of character. --Barry Forshaw