The Cold Moon by Jeffery Deaver, 2006
in this edition of supermarketcore we are treated to a murder mystery orchestrated by a sadistic clockophile whose overly elaborate scheme's ultimate motives are obfuscated by the contrived convolution of it all. Then we find he's some kinda sextuple agent involved in way too many factions for his own good.
While that plot and the style of these sorts of books are generally decent though redundant, they always try to shed so much cliched and overused light on the character's inner workings and emotions and state of mind that you might figure the lamp isn't even plugged in. They're literally all the same. Then again so are the characters.
I dunno why these authors write novels a mile a minute without ever changing anything at all but it's whatever.
3.25/5