One of the prime directives of writing crime fiction is that retired homicide cops get no peace. Just as our first-few-pages hero is looking forward to a life of post-burnout relaxation, along comes a particularly baffling murder, propelling our good guy back to the morgue pronto.

The Boy Must Die features former Vancouver homicide cop Billy Yamamoto – thoughtful, decent, dogged to the marrow – newly arrived in the Alberta foothills, where his late father has left him a ranch. Alone under the big sky, Yamamoto begins his days of tranquility by constructing an honour garden in memory of his father, and cultivating the Japanese virtues of patience and fortitude. But Yamamoto’s Zen-like reflections are marred by trouble in nearby Lethbridge, where a boy has been found hanged and mutilated in a spooky, derelict mansion. The murder carries echoes of another boy’s death in the same location, and when the local police ask for Yamamoto’s help the case is hard to refuse.

Yamamoto and his inherited team of investigators soon find connections between the teenagers’ deaths and the local dukes of deception, from low-life hustlers to big-cheese university professors. Occult activities, drugs, and abused kids intersect with the world of wealthy, despairing parents and well-meaning social workers, and when Yamamoto discovers a trail of smuggled native artifacts the action moves across the border to an American archeological dig. By this point, seasoned thriller readers are already relishing the implicit payoff of a set-up like this: namely, that what is unearthed will disturb the surface of just about everything else.

Except that it doesn’t: Redfern’s decision to reveal one of the conspirators midway through means that the denouement comes fatally blunted. And Redfern’s style could be leaner and meaner. The dialogue is curiously slack and some of the characters – frazzled single moms, afflicted natives – need more inventiveness and distinction. Yamamoto, though, keeps the novel interesting: readers won’t mind following him, even if it’s to a place that’s a little less vertiginous than advertised.