Slough House.

Slough House is the seventh book in the Slough House/Jackson Lamb series by award-winning British author, Mick Herron. Against a background of Brexit, Novichok poisonings and Yellow Vest protests, the remaining slow horses are dealing with the recent violent loss of two associates. Their boss, Jackson Lamb is still keeping his team busy with pointless and unproductive assignments: following up social media absconders (#gonequiet), failures to pay fines or potential safe-houses for non-friendlies.

The wiping of all their personal files from the Service database is puzzling, and when some notice they are being tailed, Lamb concludes First Desk at Regent's Park, Di Taverner is using his staff as targets for trainee spooks. Catherine Standish is unconvinced, citing the recent, supposedly accidental, death of a former slow horse. But River Cartwright is distracted by living proof of another former slow horse, while Lech Wicinski is talked into dubious action on a Park tail by Shirley Dander.

Di Taverner has gone down the dangerous path of funding the Service by private donors, believing she can still control the direction of their actions; she is warned that "when you disappoint rich and powerful men, they let their displeasure be known." And, at first, she's dismissive of the rumour about Russian operatives exacting revenge for a certain non-Park-sanctioned killing…

As obnoxious as Lamb is, he's protective of his own: it's not long before a few more pennies drop and Catherine Standish sends out the message that tells the slow horses just how serious things are: "Blake's grave. Now."

It's interesting to see what different device Herron uses to familiarise the reader with the Slough House building at the start of each book: this time, an estate agent walk-through. As always, the laugh-out-loud potential of Herron's work necessitates a warning against reading whilst eating or drinking, or for those with continence issues; also that reading in the quiet carriage on public transport may disturb other travellers.

For example: when Lamb begins a staff meeting with "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was up late comforting a gay American dwarf" the slow horses are momentarily non-plussed, but they are almost reassured when he follows up a little later to Roddy Ho: "'That new, is it? The palsy shirt?' 'Paisley,' said Roddy. 'If you say so. Makes you look spastic either way.'" His parting remarks "And remember, all of us are lying in the gutter. But some of you are circling the drain" prove Lamb's mastery of offensiveness is still intact.

Without fail, Herron has a finger on the pulse and often writes with tongue firmly in cheek. And if his readers form attachments to certain characters, Herron can never be accused of that sentimentality: the cliff-hanger ending, while it might cause a lump in a few throats, adequately demonstrates this. Slough House is Herron at the top of his game. A credible plot, clever dialogue and lots of action: British crime fiction at its best.