Maitland has kept many balls in the air in his London-based Brock and Kolla novels, but he stumbles in Crucifixion Creek. Harry is a man of action, and Maitland has chosen to write in the present tense – but despite its tense-driven immediacy, the book lacks tension or surprise. Heavy with virtually undifferentiated dialogue, exposition is often clumsily dropped into a conversation: ‘Belltree? Belltree! Oh fuck – Danny Belltree! “First Aboriginal judge of the New South Wales Supreme Court!” He was your dad?’ says Harry’s new partner Deb Velasco (with this level of insight it is not surprising that Deb is completely without a clue when Harry goes way off the grid in his investigation). Harry is Jack Bauer-esque in his ability to escape impossibly tight circumstances and recover from life-threatening injuries, there are too many strange but expedient medical conditions like the Lazarus syndrome and post-traumatic blindness, and characterisation barely rises above the two-dimensional. Granted, this is a crime novel, not literary fiction, but Maitland is an author I expect to rise above genre expectations. This foray into Sydney’s bright lights and deep shadows doesn’t quite work.