It’s a treat to discover a solid police procedural set somewhere other than in the mean streets of Manhattan or Miami. That’s one of the charms of Vermont writer Barry Estabrook’s second novel — set in the downright creepy backwaters of the Adirondacks.

Whirlpool takes you in and around the little burg of Wilmington, in a place where lovely woods harbor murderous loners and the upper classes are infested with greed. Anyone familiar with the real-life politics of the region will also appreciate the fictional possibilities of the tension between those who would turn it all into a full-service resort and the environmental extremists at war with loggers.

Estabrook, who lives in Charlotte and is the co-founder and editor of Chapters Publishing, chooses to employ fishing as the connective tissue of his modest, engaging new novel. It’s no surprise to learn that he is himself a trout fisherman. In a superb opening tableau, an 11-year- old named Duane bounds from his parents’ station wagon to wet a line in the Ausable River.

Innocent of the ways of the trout, Duane sends an eight-inch muskie bait downstream. But instead of a prized brown trout, he’s hooked into the earthly remains of millionaire developer Barron Quinell IV.

New York State Trooper Garwood Plunkett happens to be tying trout flies when an apparent hostage crisis erupts deep in the woods. No sooner is that problem solved — in Plunkett’s unconventional way, of course — than police are presented with the mystery of just how the elder Quinell met his demise. The ever-perceptive Plunkett has his doubts that it was accidental, despite the official report. After all, how could Quinell suffer a blow from a sharp rock in an ancient stream bed lined with timeworn stones?

An officious superior officer wants the matter closed, and dispatches Plunkett to uncover the story behind a trout-killing chemical spill. The mess sends a swarm of local environmental activists and a pestering press corps into action, generating bad publicity for the state police.

Whirlpools action begins in earnest when Quinell’s widow, Percy — with whom Plunkett had had an affair two decades earlier — hatches a scheme to take over her late husband’s company. She joins forces with her con-artist uncle, a recluse who spends his time reading Sir Thomas Malory and hatching plots of his own.

Estabrook is at his strongest — and paints the most vivid pictures — when the action is in the Adirondacks. The meaner, less sophisticated characters and the places they inhabit are particularly evocative. If these places are musts-to-avoid in real life, on the page they’re great fun.

It’s fun “watching” the old pro Plunkett, too, as he uncovers the oddest of connections between people and events and it all begins to tie together. Rural cops don’t draw a lot of attention in this genre, but Estabrook shows they can be as shrewd as big-city detectives. The investigation Plunkett handles almost singlehandedly is deftly parcelled out.

But Whirlpool incites a few quibbles. It will astonish veteran mystery readers, for instance, to follow Plunkett into the maw of a long-defunct mine — unknown territory — searching for evidence of a crime without his Glock pistol. With danger ahead, Plunkett leaves the 9-millimeter in the glove compartment? Not likely.

Estabrook succeeds in capturing the outright weirdness of the Adirondacks’ isolated places and people. But too often his writerly urges intrude on dialogue. He’s as fluid as Elmore Leonard on one page and annoyingly overwrought on the next.

Also tiresome is the near-constant attention paid to the drinking habits of just about everybody, as well as to brand names — a conceit whose purpose is never quite clear.

Finally, some readers may have to muster extra effort to keep disbelief suspended during the complicated stock swindle in the center of the plot. Unlike in The Sting, where we watch Redford and Newman set up their operation, here a plush office appears, prospecti are published and a phony biotechnology lab in New Jersey appears in no time at all. A whole elaborate facade is simply up and humming.

In real life, Estabrook lives with a Basset hound named Daisy. A loveable Bassett named Winston is one of the few slow-paced entries in this book — a generally fast and rewarding read.

This article appears in October 11 • 1995.