When it's chucking it down with rain one minute and bone dry the next; when the suburban detached houses with the manicured front gardens are a mere minute's walk away from the post-industrial canalside City centre warehouse apartments; when the car that was pointing one way is a moment later miraculously pointing the other; when an actor is looking in one direction in one shot and in completely the other in the next; when a fire that is consuming everything in sight is put out without any aftermath of water or smouldering ruins; when a character is brazenly shoe-horned into the script to satisfy a 2024 reality that didn't exist 11 years previously, you begin to watch and listen more carefully to see if the scripting is as amateur and lazy as the continuity and directing. And it is. The only credible part of the whole thing is that a kid who was shot in the leg at about 8pm the night before and left in insufferable agony didn't get into an ambulance until daylight the following day. Characters are empty, scenes are empty and the plot seems to have been written backwards so that the writer can find their own breadcrumb trail in case it's all getting a bit too difficult for them - it reminded me of old Alister McLean novels, written when he was as drunk as a Lord and when if it all was getting a bit too tricky for him, he simply picked up his characters and put them elsewhere to get on with the next bout of heroics, leaving the reader to just suck it up, these days probably with a "puzzled" emoji dancing before their eyes. The notion of "drama eating plot" serving as a similar vehicle to get this writer out of trouble goes even beyond the McLean level - to a different galaxy, in fact.
Is Harlen Coben fuming or simply for sale to the highest bidder? And what happened to Jed Mercurio?