The Boyfriend, by Thomas Perry (Mysterious Press; $25.00)

The police don’t seem to be working too hard to solve Catherine Hamilton’s murder. After all, being an escort—even a classy one like Catherine—comes with risks. But Catherine’s parents aren’t willing to give up on learning the truth. They engage the services of private detective/former LAPD homicide detective Jack Till in the hope that he can uncover answers to some of the inconsistencies in the case.

The police report indicates that the cops didn’t find any cash or jewelry in Catherine’s apartment. Odd, since working girls usually don’t have time to make a bank deposit between customers. That convinces Till that Catherine’s killer had known where she had hidden her valuables. A casual customer wouldn’t be privy to that information, but someone familiar with her apartment might be.

Like maybe a boyfriend.

Till looks further and learns that Catherine was one of several attractive strawberry blonde escorts murdered across the country. He takes off on the trail of what he suspects may be a serial killer: one skillful enough to remove any evidence of his existence.

Thomas Perry’s The Boyfriend is a top-notch procedural. I actually cared about his characters—watching as each new young woman surrendered to the boyfriend’s charisma was like watching a victim in a horror movie slowly walk down the basement stairs to investigate a noise. But the inevitability of the outcome each time wasn’t clichéd—it worked, due to his excellent plotting.

This was a terrific way to pass a rainy Saturday.   

Don't Go, by Lisa Scottoline (St. Martin's Press; $27.99)

While Dr. Mike Scanlon is deployed to Afghanistan, he gets some terrible news: his wife, Chloe, has died in a fall in their kitchen. Mike comes back to make arrangements for both the burial and for the care of their infant daughter, Emily. Fortunately, his sister-in-law and her husband love the baby, and Mike agrees to give them temporary custody while he’s deployed.

But something about his wife’s death isn’t quite right. First of all, he learns that Chloe was an alcoholic, stashing bottles of vodka all around the house and even drinking in the car. More shocking still: she was pregnant when she died.

So what does this father of the year opt to do? He signs on for another tour. By the time he gets back, he’s lost an arm, several friends, and his toddler child is scared of him. Each time he tries to connect with the kid, his sister-in-law tells him he’s doing it wrong—and he stops trying.  Not surprisingly, the sister-in-law and her husband fight for permanent custody of the kid, and it’s hard not to root for their side.

Mike does, however, try to figure out who got his wife pregnant—and misses a clue so obvious that it was laughable.

I won’t ruin the little suspense there is by telling you how it turns out. But rest assured, it’s the most unrealistic ending ever.

Scottoline, who has written close to 20 mysteries and writes a humor column for the Philadelphia Inquirer normally does better than this. There is nothing to recommend about this book.