The Butcher of Casablanca

February 28, 2020

Detective Hanash has never had an unsolved case in his long career, whether in the era of "lead," when suspects were guilty until proven innocent by torture, or in the new age that protects human rights. But a serial killer has begun to plague Casablanca, Morocco, a "butcher" who discards only the bottom half of his victims. Tabloid journalists sow panic as body parts pile up and identification proves impossible. Copycat killings, though easily solved, confuse the issue. Hanash and his trusted aide Hamid, a young officer in love with the detective's daughter, must use all their wiles to track down the killer. Moroccan crime novelist Hamdouchi's police procedural, second in the "Detective Hanash" series (after Bled Dry), may disappoint those looking to be immersed in Casablanca's environs or Moroccan culture. Local color is pale at best, with only sparse details to enliven the plot--e.g., the slaughter at home of a lamb for Eid al-Adha, the Feast of Sacrifice. The serial killer, largely an absent villain, is less than a gripping figure, despite the grisly butchery, and even Hanash laments the coincidence at the heart of the novel's resolution. VERDICT This will mostly appeal to fans of the author's previous works and similar crime novels that have sprung up in the Arab world since the 2011 uprisings.--Ron Terpening, formerly of Univ. of Arizona, Tucson

Copyright 2020 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

March 15, 2020
The Head of Casablanca's CID fights an epidemic of murders and dismemberments that seem to be the work of more than one perp. On his way to Marrakesh with his family to congratulate his daughter Atiqa and meet his latest grandchild, Mohamed Bineesa, universally known as Detective Hanash (which means "the Snake"), is yanked back home by an urgent call from no less than Mohamed Alami, chief of police. The remains a waste picker has found in two plastic bags at the bottom of a dumpster can't be identified because they're limited to "just the lower limbs...minus the genitalia." Since the killer has left no physical evidence that might identify either himself (herself?) or the victim, Hanash and his squad are left waiting for the next move, which takes the form of another equally horrific murder, and another, and another. Every time the police succeed in wrestling a clue from a new corpse, the crime at hand turns out to be the work of a copycat rather than the original killer, and at times it seems as if everyone in Morocco must be taking advantage of the well-publicized crime spree to rid themselves of personal enemies. Resolving to overlook his daughter Manar's budding romance with his right-hand man, Inspector Hamid, a good cop who drinks too much, Hanash eventually gets his perp. But it takes a long time (months, not pages), and the results are anything but satisfactory. Notable for its glimpse of a world rarely presented in crime fiction and its refusal to offer the genre's expected pleasures.

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