In White Corridor, Christopher Fowler takes his two aging London police detectives Arthur Bryant (eccentric and spiritual imagine poet W.H. Auden as a copper) and John May (rational, a tad high-strung) into the countryside. There, trapped in their car in a snowstorm, they discover a psychopath lurking among the other weather-bound vehicles. Meanwhile, back at their station house, the rest of their crew susses out clues in a devilish locked-room murder. The opportunities to lapse into cozy cuteness abound, but Fowler, like his crime-solvers, is deadpan, sly, and always unexpectedly inventive.