Just Finished Reading: Night Walker by Donald Hamilton (FP: 1954)

Reluctantly recalled back from the Reserves Naval Lieutenant David Young couldn’t believe his luck when a car pulled over to give him a lift on a cold dark night. Luckier still the driver could drop him almost at the gate of his naval base saving time, money and inconvenience. He should have known that that something was wrong when too much started going too right. Knocked unconscious Young wakes in a hospital bed seemingly recovering from an automobile accident. But cuts, bruises and a slight concussion can’t explain why he had been wearing another man’s suit and the staff called him by another man’s name. It most certainly couldn’t explain how a woman identified as his wife picked him up a day later and drove him home to a house he had never seen before. As his recovery progressed and the concussion faded Young sought the answers to the mystery of his own disappearance. It quickly became apparent that his ‘wife’ knew exactly who he was, or actually who he wasn’t, but desperately needed him to play the part. For it transpired that her husband had been accused of being a Communist spy and had fled prosecution by the FBI. His wife, over fond of spending her days in a barely concealing negligee, needed to run too – but only once Young had recovered his strength and could protect her against her husbands ‘business partners’. But where did the fawning Doctor fit in and why was the husband’s girlfriend so insistent on uncovering Young’s real identity? 

This was a reasonable foray into the American 50’s paranoia concerning the Communist plot and was full of mysterious meetings, signals, double meanings, secret codes and much besides. The object of everyone’s fascination is never explained but it never really needs to be. It’s important, it’s secret and the Communists want it. The plot, such as it is, is over convoluted and at times rather silly. The main character Young is pretty much an idiot before, during and after his apparent concussion, Elizabeth Wilson (the wife) is even worse without a saving grace to her name. The only character of note is the ‘girlfriend’, a tomboy like navy brat both full of herself and out of her depth. Not only was she much better ‘drawn’ than the others she actually seemed to have a life of her own rather merely existing to move the plot along at the appropriate moments. So, not exactly the best Noir thriller I’ve ever read but not the worst either by a long way. Reasonable for a read over a wet weekend.