Scully is assigned a new partner, flashy detective Sumner Hitchens. Nobody in his unit likes Hitchens, who made a mint selling the story of one of his cases to a major studio. "Hitch" seems more into deal-making and showbiz than police work, and Scully is not happy. He's even less happy when his media-hungry new partner and he catch a case involving the murder of a major Hollywood producer and two high-priced escorts at a wild party featuring several other escorts and even more Hollywood elite. Scully thinks "Hitch" doesn't have his mind on the job, but they catch an astounding early break and manage to make serious headway on the case very quickly. The problem is that their evidence also draws out information about a 25-year-old cold case that will only complicate things.
Cannell's novels, like much of his television output, are pure froth. Well-sketched but not terribly innovative characters, witty but not very deep dialogue and interesting but not very challenging twists make for a quick but not memorable read. You could probably read the Scully novels about every six months or so and enjoy them just as much because they're unlikely to stick with you much longer than that. Cannell has developed Scully as a character over the course of the series; he began as a loner but now is deeply connected to his wife, son and many of his co-workers. It's a good example of a writer figuring that airport novels gain just as much from time spent on their characters and plots as do Serious Literary Works and being willing to invest that time on them. Just because it's the literary equivalent of a hamburger, to paraphrase Stephen King, doesn't mean it can't be made a darn fine hamburger by a cook who takes some pride in his or her work.
It would have been nice to have seen what new ideas Cannell had planned on trying with Scully and his cast, but The Prostitute's Ball serves as a good place to wish them all farewell and happy literary trails.
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