As much as I enjoyed the early books in this series, I'm rapidly running our of patience with it. As I've indicated in a couple of earlier reviews, my principal complaint about many of the later books is that there is no logical reason on earth for the protagonist, Alex Delaware, to be involved in most of these investigations.
For those unfamiliar with the series, Delaware is a child psychologist and in the early books in the series, the L.A.P.D. hired him to consult in cases where children were involved. These cases were almost always homicides and the principal detective working the cases was a lieutenant named Milo Sturgis. These cases were almost always interesting; it was novel to see a child psychologist as a protagonist, and most important, Delaware's involvement in the cases made perfect sense.
Unfortunately, as the series wore on, Sturgis and Delaware became best buds, and Sturgis kept involving Delaware in homicide cases apparently just because he likes hanging out with him. These cases rarely involve children, and Delaware does little if any actual psychological diagnosis. The thinly veiled reason for Sturgis involving Delaware in these cases is that he can bring some sort of psychological insight to the cases, but Delaware most often winds up functioning, in effect, as just another detective.
This premise is very hard to swallow, particularly when Delaware is suggesting lines of investigation, participating in searches and so forth. The truth is that no police department would allow a civilian like Delaware to get within a mile of most of these cases, and seeing him hip-deep in them makes it impossible for me to suspend disbelief and really get into the stories.
Such is the case here. An unidentified woman crashes a wedding reception and is murdered. Apparently the L.A.P.D. is not capable of handling such an investigation alone and so practically the moment that the body is discovered, Sturgis is on the phone to Delaware, begging him to come take a look.
Delaware and Sturgis then spend about half the book simply trying to identify the woman and the other half trying to identify the killer. There's really not much tension here and the two spend what seems like hours on end driving around L.A. simply talking to people. By the time the climax arrived--using the term loosely--I really didn't much care who had committed the crime or why.
It's disappointing when a long-running series that you have followed the whole way lets you down, and, compulsive as I am, I keep reading these books hoping that sooner or later I will find another that excites me as much as many of the earlier books did. Sadly, this one didn't.