Vintage McGovern—instantly immersive, intriguing, and suspenseful.

“The Last Trace” reads like a blend of Liane Moriarty and Gillian Flynn. It’s a psychological thriller fused with family drama: a timeline-jumping, continent-hopping tale of secrets and murder.

The interpersonal dynamics make the story, and ground the baroqueness of the plot. Not a criticism, by the way. Books like this are, by design, intense baubles of mayhem. In “The Last Trace,” the mayhem incorporates an unsolved serial killer case; a strict religious sect; memory loss; and a mysterious DNA request.

But it’s the characters who add substance to the spectacle. Lachy, his son Kai, Lachy’s sister Sheridan, and Lachy and Sheridan’s aunt Elizabeth (whose narrative transpires in 1968) are richly conjured, and share the spotlight, as the narrative darts between their perspectives, gradually revealing the rotten heart of their family. What I appreciated most here is that every plot-centred incident has personal repercussions. There are no cheap pyrotechnics.

Complex, tense and compelling—that’s becoming McGovern’s trademark.