Aye, reading a book set in Scotland using the Queen’s English always makes for a bit of a thrill, if a “wee” confusing one initially. I’m referring to Denise Mina’s 2006 novel, The Dead Hour, which features her young journalist character, Paddy Meehan, for the second time.
As hinted by the title, Paddy, as an up and coming reporter with a Scottish newspaper, is relegated to the “dead hour” of following radio chatter in the middle of the night while being driven around in “call cars.” I wonder if that was actually a thing or is a thing in Scotland? The book is set in the 1980s, so, maybe it was? But it was interesting, nonetheless, that a predominant thread throughout the novel was the worry the journalists at the newspaper had of being bought by a rich loser and turned into a scandal-chasing rag, which is kind of what happens, but the boss isn’t as bad as everyone expects. Paddy, though, who lives with her mother and sisters, is already poor as it is, without fear of losing her job coming into the equation.
On one of these late-night calls, Paddy comes upon a domestic violence incident involving a well-known Amnesty International lawyer. Again, in something I wonder if it’s done in Scotland, but I can’t imagine happening in the United States, Paddy not only is able to be “on scene” of the domestic violence call with two police officers, but she’s able to interview the man who allegedly is the abuser and even asks him if he’s abusing her! Instead of going further, the man tosses fifty quid at Paddy, and closes the door, but not before Paddy sees the woman slink back into the house, though, and the next day, is found dead.
Now, my understanding is that 50 quid roughly translates to about $61, and in 1984, that would translate to roughly $174. I’m sure in the poorer section of Scotland, $174 is nothing to shake your head at, but is it enough to risk your job and reputation over as Paddy does? Granted, it wasn’t a full-on bribe, or at least that’s how she rationalizes it, because a.) she didn’t have a chance to give the money back; and b.) she still wrote the story. Nonetheless, there is an inquiry about the whole mess. Meanwhile, a girl named Kate is roaming around luckily killing one assailant who is after her, and snorting a lot of coke. And I think that’s the crux of this whole issue: a dude mad someone absconded with his coke. He tried to find her, and found her sister instead (the Amnesty International lawyer), and killed the sister, which prompted the sister’s former lover, who also worked at Amnesty, to kill himself for having given up her address.
For Paddy, though, this is all “good” in the sense of it being a chance for her to make her mark at the newspaper and maybe be elevated out of the “dead hour.” Standing in her way, though, is the fact that the man who tried to bribe her is connected to a top man at the police station, and the top man is trying to curtail the investigation. Eventually, she’s able to work out the aforementioned threads (although her call car driver gets hit with a Molotov cocktail meant for her), and with the help of her new call car driver, she takes down the heavy whose doing all of the killing.
And the book ends with her seemingly pregnant after an unexpected dalliance with a police detective, something that would surely horrify her staunchly Catholic mother.
Mina’s book was solid and well-constructed. Paddy is as authentic as they come, and I enjoyed her trying to navigate a heavily male-dominated industry as an intrepid reporter, especially at the time, while also working with a heavily male-dominated industry (the police). At least for my United States brain, some of the journalism didn’t sit right with me or read as authentic, but for the sake of fiction, it is what it is. My biggest criticism of the book, if I were to lob one, is that Mina repeatedly refers to Paddy — either through the author’s voice, Paddy’s self-reflections, or other characters — as fat and/or a cow. I didn’t get that! Maybe it was Mina’s way of making Paddy seem … imperfect? I don’t know, but it was off-putting, to say the least.
Anyhow, if you like Scottish crime fiction, this is a serviceable read for a lazy Sunday.
Milam's Musings 
One thought