Frances Fyfield is a superb crime writer. This one was penned in 1994. The topic, wife battering, social niceties and shielding of eyes is still current. Fyfield herself has only gotten better at what she does, delivering amazingly articulate and authentic crime stories, well drawn characters warts and all, gritty settings where a simple daisy patterned tea towel shines through the much of relationships and justice turning slowly, if at all. Set in London, along the 59 bus route where tenement buildings and poncy pubs live cheek by jowl, main character Cath cleans two homes of the better class, better than her, at any rate. She does this to have her own autonomy and so that her bartender charmer husband won't bother or batter her. He is damaged, she is scarily not. Her brother, Damien, has been killed and while that shakes her to her very soul, she and he had secrets. Helen West, a crown prosecutor, hires Cath to clean her very messy house. Helen, too, has secrets. Helen's boyfriend, Bailey, a policeman through to his core is looking into Damien's death. The Eliots are dear friends of Helen; Mr. is the prosecutor on the case, Mrs. becomes disenchanted with Cath...so many connections and yet, one may not know about the other's involvement in Cath's life and Alistair Eliot puts it nicely: "We are all at cross purposes, he though, every one of us a little mad, each of us with a piece of puzzle in our hands, while the truth floats up there like that big, black rain-cloud." Fyfield writes with an economy of words, her descriptions are wonderfully rich, like this, "Prejudiced, judgemental, politically incorrect, leaping onto a band wagon and waving a flag: the Helen he loved." The ending of A Clear Conscience is a zinger. Maybe you saw it coming but it is like a double edged sword. What a twist!