Ballad for Dita

Welcome to the North. But forget Norwegian fjords, snow-covered depression, and detectives who breakfast on tranquilisers. Jakub Bouda serves us a “true Nordic noir” from Most. Yes, you heard that right. Instead of frosty Oslo, we have a reclaimed lake where the biggest thrill is finding a free parking space, and instead of heroic Vikings, we have Captain Šindler's team, trying to pretend they have the situation under control while female cyclists vanish under their noses at a pace that would make the Tour de France peloton jealous.

It seems someone decided that the local cycle paths needed a bit more excitement than just a puncture. Around Lake Most, murders and rapes are happening with such gusto that even the local seagulls are considering emigrating. The body count is rising, the media is drooling over every drop of blood, and the public, in online discussions, has long since concluded that it’s either the government's fault or a poorly adjusted saddle. Meanwhile, Šindler's “new team” heroically battles bureaucracy and the fact that the killer is clearly several gears ahead.

Forget the romantic sunsets from the cover – they're only there so the killer has a better view of the path, and so you feel like you're in an art gallery while reading, until you realise the “ballad” in the title isn't about love, but about how unpleasant it is to end up in a plastic bag before your bike lease is up. Time is running out, the killer is tightening the chain, and Šindler is discovering that solving this case is going to be more painful than cycling up Hněvín Hill on the easiest gear.

Dare to go for a ride? Just be warned, this isn't an outing for the faint of heart, and a helmet won't be enough this time. Get pedalling, before someone catches up with you.