No one falls as viciously, as painfully or as messily, as lawyers. Jack Nicholas, left-wing barrister, was supposed to have died in an accident. Drunk, said the coroner. Murdered, said his mother. Enter Dave Woolf, ex-solicitor, boozer and down-at-heel private eye. Even before Woolf starts asking questions, he finds that he is investigating not one death, but the wholesale dispatch of Jack Nicholas' erstwhile colleagues. There is very little for Woolf to go on, as he treks through the glitz and sleaze of London, through France and Norway in search of an elusive German, other than the apparent coincidence that all the deaths had occurred on the last Wednesday of every month
