There is no obvious reason for Sam Jones (Ms. Sam Jones) to investigate the death of Lee Jackson. But investigate it she does after her friend and erstwhile tutor fetches up dead in the garden of a London house party. Who was the married woman Lee was having an affair with? What do the youthful residents of the house think they know? Who is the eerie egg-faced man following Sam? And why are high-power City suits suddenly interested in the affairs of a struggling sculptress?

The debut novel from journo turned novelist Lauren Henderson is - crap cover aside - a surprisingly spiky affair. The set-up threatens yet more bog-standard London 'tecing, but with all those secrets and lies, all that hedonism, it ends up coming on like a flippant Barbara Vine. Sam Jones (not a great name) narrates with a lightness of touch ("My body felt as if someone had outlined my sexual parts with a red felt-tip pen"), even if her biographer does over-write a smidgen. A little tighter editing wouldn't go amiss, but Henderson plots like a demon.

Dead White Female might be treading no new ground, but at least does it with a certain pizzazz. It stands or falls on Sam Jones, a genial combination of sassy bitch and tenacious pisshead. Thank god for a woman detective prepared to drink, shag and moan without explanation let alone apology; Sam would have trouble even spelling PC. She has big boots, a rubber dress and just enough scruples to make us like her. If Henderson develops this series shrewdly, who knows, this might just turn into a 4-star love affair. ***