GRAY DAWN

The redoubtable, unstoppable Easy Rawlins has more on his plate than usual in the 17th novel of this epoch-spanning—and epoch-making—series of detective fiction.

The start of this latest chronicle in the volatile life of Ezekiel Rawlins finds him in a deep funk, a “June gloom,” as he describes it to his adopted daughter, Feather, who’s calling long-distance from France where she’s traveling with a high school student group. One would think Easy would find life, well, pretty easy now that he’s in a fulfilling romance with the alluring Amethystine “Amy” Stoller, his extended family is at peace, and his private detective business is thriving. Still, it’s 1970s Los Angeles and, successful or not, Easy is still a 50-something Black man navigating his way through a world that continually sees him as a threat, even when he’s just trying to do his job. One of those jobs comes from a “beast man” in grimy overalls and clodhopper boots all but demanding that Easy find his missing “auntie.” Easy takes the case with little to go on beyond a suspicion that Lutisha James may be mixing domestic work with some gambling. The more questions Easy asks about Lutisha from longtime friends like the homicidal Raymond “Mouse” Alexander, the more ominous the task becomes; a suspicion confirmed when he finds three family members tortured and killed in a house that was one of Lutisha’s last-known whereabouts. Even through the complications of this case, Easy finds time to help his secretary and fledgling detective Niska Redman with her own missing-persons case and help his adopted son, Jesus, get clear from a pair of corrupt federal agents. It’s a lot of pins to juggle at once, even for the resourceful Easy. And while he’s got plenty of help from friends to cope with cops and other irritants, he can’t outrun the vestiges of his East Texas past, as a jolting surprise awaits him at the other end of his search for Lutisha.

By now, it’s tempting to take Mosley’s inimitable blend of taut lyricism and evocative landscapes for granted. Don’t.