In the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide priests are light on the ground. There are forty-seven bodies in Father Terry Dunn's church, hacked to pieces before him as he said Mass. And now in confession he's told things ain't over. Exit Father Terry Dunn, but only after popping four boastful Hutu youths in a banana beer shack.

To Detroit. Where brother Fran practices personal injury law. And putative stand-up Debbie Dewey is fresh out of three years at Sawgrass Correctional for aggravated assault on account of running down thieving boyfriend Randy with a Ford Escort. And where Randy recently opened a well-reviewed but Mob-connected restaurant cum knocking shop. And Terry's pursued by a former associate still demanding his share of the money they made running cigarettes over the State-line. And where the courts still want a word with the itinerant priest for fleeing abroad before answering smuggling charges.

But now Father Terry Dunn is back, with his Roman collar and a bag full of pictures of starving Africans, all the better to tug on heart-strings and open wallets: "They got a religious shakedown going."

Which means, despite the violence-soaked African opening, that this is quite the tightest Leonard has written since Get Shorty. He keeps his canvass small, his expertly drawn characters few, and his prose - never given to flourish - stripped to its very essence. There is a rawness to the language of Pagan Babies that competitors half his age would do well to ape.

Better yet, Leonard is remembering what it is he does best after experimenting with a revolutionary western (Cuba Libre), and water-treading sequel, (Be Cool). Pagan Babies is what he's always been good at - wry character based crime writing of the finest stripe. And, for once, we have an Elmore Leonard that doesn't feel as though it's been pushed fifty pages over its natural length. The result, from the lean cover through the surprisingly tough-minded finale, marks Pagan Babies out as the veteran author's best in over a decade.