A Cold Touch of Ice

 by Michael Pearce
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

In Egypt, during the year 1912, rising nationalistic fervor is making the work of Gareth Owen more complicated. Owen is the the Mamur Zapt, the British Chief of the secret police in Cairo. Years ago the British stepped in to Egyptian affairs after a call for help from the Khedive who was the Egyptian ruler and who was concerned about the financial stability of the area.  The British have settled in very nicely now, thank you very much and even though things are better they seem to have put down roots!

The current problems that heating up an already very warm climate are stemming from a war that has broken out between the Ottoman Empire and Italy over the territories now known as Libya.  The Ottoman empire was the major controlling force in Egypt and the Cairenes favored their position and while there were many Italians living in Cairo  anti Italian feelings were growing. When an Italian man who had lived and worked in Egypt for decades was murdered Gareth Owen and his friend Mahmoud of the Egyptian law enforcement wanted to solve this murder quickly before the situation becomes more inflamed.  Morelli had run an auction house in Cairo for a few generations and considered himself a Cairene. His friends were all Egyptian and he spent most evening with them in a cafe playing a board game. One day after work he was strangled on his way to the game. Was the murder because of his nationality or because of something overheard in a back alley about guns?

A backdrop of the story reveals in a subtle way integration into a society can be reversed in mere days as rumours spread and nationalistic feeling surface so that long standing friendships are stressed and no one can be taken at face value.  In A Cold Touch of Ice the title primarily refers to  the ice that is so hard to keep on hand in  an early twentieth century Cairo summer. It also alludes to the shaft of cold that can spread through a community hardening better feelings. The problems are often generational. The older people in a community are more likely to keep a friend they have known since their youth while the younger hotheads simply look for targets to vent their anger on.

This story covers the time during when the famous Lord Kitchener becomes the British consul in Cairo, and when T. E. Lawrence, the archaeologist is settling into the early part of his fame. The sights and scenes of Cairo, the heightened tensions of war times, gun running, spying, secret brotherhoods, all combine to make this an interesting exciting story.


I always take home a great deal more than a mysteries resolution when I read Michael Pearce. It is a trip to a different time and place that is enlightening.

A Dead Man in Tangier

A Dead Man in Tangier by Michael Pearce
My rating: 4 of 5 stars



 Sandor Seymour, once a denizen of the polyglot streets of London's East End is now a member of of Scotland yard. In a way he is one of the precursors what is now known as the flying squad because in 1912 or so he is sent to many political hot spots to help solve sensitive murder cases. He is chosen for these jobs because of his facilities for languages, most of which he picked up as a youngster.


In this particular situation he is trundled off to exotic Morocco, in particular to Tangier where they speak both French and Arabic.
Morocco has been governed by Sultans in the past but the country has been in trouble and there has been some negotiations among the European countries, almost like trading baseball cards  the result of which a reorganization known as the French Protectorate is coming into play. When a prominent Frenchman in killed during a pig hunt and the cause is felt to be political outside help is called for.


Seymour personally avoids politics because he comes from a family of political refugees. Both of his parents learned the hard way what speaking out against governments in powers can bring about. His grandfather also was an activist for one cause or another so Seymour's main rebellion was joining the police which totally shocked his family.




In Morocco he finds the somewhat naive intellectual discussions among the students and nationalists very refreshing as these are people who truly hope for a better future. This historical background really added depth to the story and I found much of the history confirmed on Wikepidia.

Moroccan live by a certain etiquette called caida, a kind of tact, sensitivity and respect. For the most part they avoid alcohol. They felt the French, Spanish and Germans could not spend one evening without wine or whine. But Morocco was deteriorating, buildings were falling apart, alleyways were strewn with refuse and rotting vegetables. But here and there there were still beautiful old facades, exquisite wood carvings or perfect Moorish patio with delicate balconies.

Seymour had to tred a fine line to find the culprit but what he learned about the politics and the culture on the way gave me a lot to take home from this book.