Books in the Inspector Mosley series

After seventeen years, Brenda Cryer returns to the tiny Lancashire village of Parson's Fold with a shadowy past and a mysterious fortune. Shortly afterwards she is shot dead, and the one possible witness - her invalid mother - is missing . . .The only man available for the job is the notoriously slow and old-fashioned Inspector Mosley, but this case is a radical departure for a man more used to locating missing geese than tracking down a coldblooded killer. And it doesn't help that Mosley refuses to use forensics or computers, preferring to trust 'intuition' and a network of gossips, busybodies and village idlers to get to the bottom of things.Luckily, high-flying Sergeant Beamish - fresh out of the police academy and nursing a penchant for technology - has been tasked to keep an eye on the unpredictable Mosley. Keen to establish the superiority of his methods, Beamish sets out to solve the mystery by himself but somehow the grubby, balding and rumpled Mosley is always two steps ahead.Gentle, eccentric and an utter joy to read, Murder, Mr Mosley by John Greenwood brings together the wit and wordplay of P. G. Wodehouse with the classic character-led storytelling of G. K. Chesterton's Father Brown.

"e;Witchcraft,"e; the Assistant Chief Constable said. "e;I beg your pardon?"e; "e;A witches' coven in Marldale."e; The tiny village of Upper Marldale is being overwhelmed-by a mischievous coven of witches. Neither believers nor non-believers can explain why the church clock winds itself up without assistance, why a row of winter cabbages is suddenly struck down in the night, or why not one cat in the village will venture forth after dusk. Marldale is the territory of the deceptively brilliant Inspector Jack Mosley, and his exasperated superiors wish he would get on with solving these nagging little incidents. But nagging soon becomes nightmarish when a sculptor is found hanging from her ceiling beam. A whiff of local corruption tickles Mosley's nose, and he and his sidekick set off into the bracing northern air to seek the reasons and parties behind both the supernatural and the homicidal. John Greenwood is the pseudonym of John Buxton Hilton, writer of both the Inspector Simon Kenworthy and Inspector Thomas Brunt series.

They're rustling sheep on Mosley's patch-the hill country of the Yorkshire-Lancashire border. Young Sergeant Beamish is in love. And Reuben Tunnicliffe of Upper Crudshaw has committed suicide by hanging himself with his braces in the earth closet at the bottom of his yard. Then his eighty-year-old widow Anna reports a theft of 500 pounds . . . Curious beyond the call of duty, unorthodox in his methods, and unwilling to leave matters in the hands of his nemesis Chief Inspector Marsters, the imperturbable Mosley sets a trap before departing on vacation. Before matters are sorted out, vicar Wilfred Weskitt is accused of running a brothel, Mosley publishes poetry under the name of local poetess laureate Millicent Millicheap, and the CIA, the KGB and Special Branch are baffled. But once again, Mosley triumphs in a manner that leaves his superiors and neighbours in states varying from bewilderment to near-apoplexy. John Greenwood is the pseudonym of John Buxton Hilton, writer of both the Inspector Simon Kenworthy and Inspector Thomas Brunt series.

Ever since television's "e;Antiques Road Show"e; passed by that way, the inhabitants of Mr Mosley's patch-the hill country of the Yorkshire-Lancashire border-have become avid collectors of bric-a-brac. And Dickie Holgate, with a junk-cum-antique stall in the market-place of the little town of Bagshawe Broome, is doing very well as a result. That is, until Mosley spots one or two items of doubtful provenance among the chromium-plated teapots and bone-handled cutlery. Reducing his superiors-especially Detective-Superintendent Tom Grimshaw-to a state of nervous prostration, and accompanied by an admiring, if uncomprehending, Sergeant Beamish, Mosley, in his black homburg and overcoat, strolls through scenes of ever-increasing comic confusion to a final satisfying denouement. What, Me, Mr Mosley? is the sixth, and sadly, the last, of John Greenwood's Inspector Mosley novels. In its humour, wit, and nicely judged North-of-England atmosphere, this is a fitting and worthy conclusion to the series. John Greenwood is the pseudonym of John Buxton Hilton, writer of both the Inspector Simon Kenworthy and Inspector Thomas Brunt series.