THE EXECUTIONER WEEPS

by Frédéric Dard (Pushkin Vertigo £7.99)

IT IS a defining feature of classic crime that, however scary the plot, in the end all will be well.

But then, occasionally, along comes an author who breaks the mould. Frédéric Dard is one such.

At the height of his powers in the Fifties, this prolific French writer — with more than 300 mystery thrillers to his credit — took to novels that put added darkness into ‘noir’.

the executioner Weeps opens with a young artist on a working visit to the spanish coast.

On a lonely road, a woman throws herself in front of his car. recovery leaves her with no memory.

When the artist follows up clues to her identity, he finds himself an accessory to unspeakable horrors. A tragedy is inevitable, but the form it takes is hidden until the last gasp-inducing pages.

With an excellent translation by David Coward, this is a book that calls for tight nerves and a stiff drink.