In the much-anticipated next Inspector Green Mystery, the impetuous Ottawa detective sails headlong into the case of an elderly woman from Ukraine ― a perfect whodunit for fans of Louise Penny and Tana French. When Anya Kurchenko, a woman recently arrived in Ottawa from Ukraine, is found murdered in an obscure alleyway, the only clue is a scrap of paper in her pocket with the name “Symkha Grunstein” written in three different alphabets. No such person seems to exist. While the police try to trace her past movements, an elderly man named Simon Stone, who lives nearby, is also murdered, and Inspector Michael Green is called in to interpret the mass of documents about the Second World War and the Holocaust stored in Stone’s basement. What is the link between the two victims? Who is Symkha Grunstein? And could the murders be connected to something that happened during the war? As the police unravel the threads of betrayal and cover-up, Green finds himself on an emotional journey into his own past, where he uncovers long-hidden secrets and makes a startling discovery. Two families with ancient wartime secrets collide in this riveting return of the beloved Inspector Green... A beautifully told story. ― Iona Whishaw, bestselling author of the Lane Winslow Mysteries One of the longest-running and most successful series in Canadian crime fiction, and for good reason. ― Ottawa Review of Books Shipwrecked Souls is a complex police procedural that's tragic, heartbreaking and infuriating. ― Winnipeg Free Press Shipwrecked Souls is neither a polemic nor mere history lesson. It is a full-throttle crime thriller that just happens to have a sharp social context behind it. The impulsive and rule-breaking Green is a strong protagonist and Fradkin’s Ottawa is, as ever, precisely rendered and vivid. This is a highly relevant and, more important, hugely entertaining addition to one of the country’s best ongoing crime series. ― Toronto Star Barbara Fradkin is a retired psychologist and the critically acclaimed author of the Amanda Doucette thriller series and the Inspector Green detective series, which has earned two Best Novel Awards of Excellence from Crime Writers of Canada, as well as two additional nominations. Barbara shares her time between her home in Ottawa and her cottage on Sharbot Lake in Ontario. One Detective Josh Kanner squinted as he peered down the alley. A reluctant winter dawn washed the eastern sky in dusty rose, but its light barely penetrated the narrow gap between the buildings. The only light came from the flashing red and blue strobes of the cruisers parked in the street behind him. Guided more by the murmur of voices up ahead than by sight, he felt his way over the rutted ice. Before he reached the end of the alley, he could see flashlights playing off the brick wall of another alley to the left. He stopped at the turn to take in the scene. Half a dozen patrol officers stood in a semicircle, blocking his view of what lay on the ground. Perimeter tape had been strung across the entrance to the alley, and the duty sergeant was talking on his phone. Silence fell when Josh appeared, and the duty sergeant moved roughly to intercept him. Josh fumbled for his badge wallet with frozen fingers. “Josh Kanner, Homicide.” He nodded at the officer setting up the cordon. “That needs to be farther back ― at the street entrance and at every other entrance.” “McPhee,” the sergeant said, giving him a steely stare. The man looked classic old-school, right down to the buzz cut and the beer paunch, and his face betrayed an indifference honed by years of keeping order on the streets. He was probably twenty years Josh’s senior and had seen plenty of young bucks heading eagerly up the ladder. Josh met his stare. Eventually, the sergeant flicked his finger toward the end of the alley, and the patrol officer scurried off, unspooling his tape. “Coroner on his way?” Josh asked. The sergeant nodded. “Ident?” Another nod. Josh gritted his teeth. He was determined to get this right. When his phone rang at six o’clock in the morning, he’d been tempted to hit “decline” so he could savour ten more minutes before he had to get up. At the sound of Sergeant Gibbs’s voice, he’d bolted awake. Was he late for the Monday morning briefing? Had his alarm screwed up? Instead, Gibbs had surprised him by sending him directly to a call that had just come in about a body found in an alley in the Britannia area. It was the first time since he’d joined the Homicide Unit that he’d been assigned as lead in a potential death investigation instead of being part of a team working one of the endless gang shootings. If it turned out to be anything more than natural causes, it would likely be taken away from him, but for now, he was in charge. Act like it, Kanner , he told himself. You know the drill, you’re smart, and you can think on your feet . He faced the sergeant’s implacable stare. Just the faintest hint of a smile twitched the corners