Oh, Cormoran, sighed Robin as she imagined his stubbly, smelly, wounded, unwashed body, melded against hers as they gave chase to a serial killer who liked to keep souvenirs from his dead victims in the form of their limbs and appendages.

She was now irrevocably (hmmph! snorted Rowling, JK) engaged to the handsome but irresolute and jealous snob Matt, which only made her boss, the detective with no income, appear all the more attractive.

It had all begun when she had joined him as a temp three novels ago, her eternally romantic self dying to be a crime-buster rather than bring home the salary that Matt felt she deserved. Or, now she came to think of it, the salary that he wanted his wife to earn, the classist, annoying, whining… oh but this was her fiancé!

Mortified, Robin bought some more pasta to cook him his favourite dinner and allowed her heartbeat to rise again at the thought that it would be Monday soon and she would once again be within touching distance of Cormoran. Why, if she had played her cards right the other day when the severed leg had arrived in that package marked to her, she could have been panting in his arms.

At the thought of which, Robin began to gnash her teeth gently, muttering, ‘bugger!’ as she recollected that it was someone else entirely who panted in Cormoran’s arms these days, and her name was Elin. Rich, cool and probably great in bed. ‘Bugger!’

But true love always finds a way, gentle reader, before false love takes over again. And so it was that Robin broke off her engagement with Matt — for reasons we cannot go into here — while continuing to live in the same house with him. Sleeping on the sofa, of course.

As a result, with the limb-gatherer murdering more women, and there being as many as three suspects who needed to be stalked, Robin found herself with the breathtaking possibility of spending a night on the road with Cormoran. As she casually tailed her quarry, using her training to stay out of sight, she wondered whether her boss would book one room or two.

The thought made her go weak at the knee and stumble, thus avoiding the wild swipe of a blade that the murderer had made in an attempt to dismember her. But oh no! What have you done, Robin? You have disobeyed Cormoran wilfully, wench.

He will now sack you.

Naturally, he did. And naturally, this only increased your love for him, even though you had made up with Matt in a moment of weakness, you miserable cow, and agreed to go ahead with the marriage, which was now just days away. How would this romance — no, it’s a murder mystery, idiot — be resolved? Who would the killer turn out to be? Who cares. The real question was, would Robin still marry Matt though her heart beat for Cormoran?

Meanwhile, Cormoran was discovering that sex was the only thing that bound him to Elin. The number of times he had allowed himself to picture different parts of Robin’s emotional and physical anatomy, despite his insistence on maintaining the romantic distance that their professional relationship demanded — sleeping with the secretary was so corporate! — he wondered whether he hadn’t sacked her deliberately, so that the untouchability barrier was dismantled.

Would Cormoran break up with Elin? Would Robin accept that they loved each other? Would she cancel her wedding yet again, this time permanently? Where was this romance cunningly camouflaged as a crime novel series going to take everyone in Book Four of the series?

( This monthly column helps you talk about a book, without having to read it. )

Arunava Sinha translates classic and contemporary Bengali fiction and non-fiction into English

Follow Arunava on Twitter @arunava

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