Scene of the crime: What's new in crime fiction

This month's roundup features two Portland authors who have written thrillers about love gone seriously bad, and three British masters contribute sequels to previous work:

"Sweetheart" (St Martin's Minotaur, 328 pp., $24.95), by Portland writer Chelsea Cain, is a sharp psychological inquiry into evil and obsession, as well as a deeply unhealthy love story, disguised as a frankly commercial page-turner.

It's a sequel to Cain's "Heartsick," which introduced Gretchen Lowell — brilliant, beautiful, charismatic and a connoisseur of torture and murder. She let one of her victims live — Portland police detective Archie Sheridan — because, she insisted, she loved him. Meanwhile, he fell hard for her despite the horrible agony she inflicted on him. (Go figure.)

Now Gretchen's in prison and Archie, vulnerable and addicted to pain pills, can't stop visiting, even though his obsession is wrecking his marriage and mental health. Then Gretchen escapes ... .

Also from the Portland area comes the far tamer but very charming "Night Kill" (Poisoned Pen, 238 pp., $24.95). A debut from former zookeeper Ann Littlewood, it convincingly and affectionately evokes its animal-friendly setting. Call it a zoo cozy.

At a zoo in Vancouver, Wash., big-cat specialist Iris Oakley's marriage to reptile guy Rick Douglas is in trouble. They separate until he can get his drinking under control. But then Rick's body is found in the lion's den, high in blood alcohol and torn apart by a big beast. The police call it an accident, but a near-disaster of her own (she's almost killed by a tiger) leaves Iris thinking that it's murder — and that someone's after her, too. Ann Littlewoood will sign "Night Kill" at noon Sept. 27 at Seattle Mystery Bookshop (www.seattlemystery.com).

Much of the rest of this month's crop comes from the U.K. First up is melancholy, rumpled, jazz-loving police detective Charlie Resnick, returning (after a decade off and a presumed retirement) in John Harvey's "Cold In Hand" (Harcourt, 376 pp., $26). It's one of Harvey's best, packing a massive emotional punch — far bigger than most of Harvey's output from the years when Resnick was absent.

Nottingham, Charlie's gritty turf, is up to its ears in trouble: gang warfare, prostitution, gun smuggling, drugs. But things are good for Resnick. He's nearing retirement and living in blissful sin with his much-younger colleague, Detective Inspector Lynne Kellogg.

The focus at first is on Kellogg, who's involved in a gang-war shooting that results in accusations of police negligence. She's also investigating the murder of an immigrant woman who worked in a massage parlor. And she's avoiding the unwelcome attentions of a smarmy colleague. Then, halfway through the book, Harvey throws us a heartbreaking and unexpected curveball.

Another tough copper nearing his career's end, John Rebus of Edinburgh, has a moving last hurrah in Ian Rankin's "Exit Music" (Little, Brown, 421 pp., $24.99). The focus in the Rebus books has increasingly been on his protégée, Siobhan Clarke, and she gets ample time here. But so does Rebus, who is as incapable as ever of playing nice with authority figures.

Days before his retirement, Rebus investigates the death of an expatriate Russian poet. At first the murder looks like a mugging gone bad, but (with a delegation of Russian businessmen in town eager to bring commerce to Scotland) the town's police and businessmen seem awfully eager to close the case. Rebus, of course, has to dig in.

"Exit Music" is a fine end to a superlative series — if it is, indeed, the end. As Resnick proves, even old dogs can make canny comebacks.

Ian Rankin will sign "Exit Music" at noon Oct. 6 at Seattle Mystery Bookshop (www.seattlemystery.com).

"Silks" (Putnam's, 352 pp., $25.95) comes from another old hand, Dick Francis, writing here with his son, Felix Francis. It's classic, dependable Francis: Some nasty business in a racetrack setting, a brave and resourceful male hero, and, of course, some romance.

A sinister former client, out for revenge, is hounding London barrister and amateur jockey Geoffrey Mason. Meanwhile, Mason is defending a jockey accused of murdering another steeplechase rider. The romantic interest (for Mason) comes in the form of a veterinarian involved in the case. All Francis books are essentially variations of the same themes, but hey — there are times when that's just what's needed.

And finally: a Jew, a Muslim and a Christian join forces ... no, this isn't the setup for a joke, it's "Salvation Boulevard" (Nation, 351 pp., $24.95), by Larry Beinhart.

In an unnamed Southwestern city, Carl Vanderveer, a straight-arrow Christian and private eye, is hired by his friend Manny Goldfarb, a sardonic Jewish lawyer, to help with a seemingly impossible task: Free Ahmad Nazami, a Muslim college student who's apparently being framed for murder. A tragedy leaves Carl on his own to complete the mission, which points to a complex scheme involving his own beloved church.

The book never quite plumbs the profound depths about faith that Beinhart hopes to reach; nor does it quite scale the wickedly funny heights of Beinhart's best-known book, his political satire "Wag the Dog." But Carl's an interesting character — a smart man observing his rock-solid faith begin to crack — and the book is, often, pretty darned funny.

Adam Woog's column on crime fiction

appears on the second Sunday of the

month in The Seattle Times.