RETURN AT RIALTO By Tom Alter, Viking, Rs 195 At the outset, city-dwellers who pick up this book must understand this about the mountains: that everyone who has ever lived in the hills knows that they have a kind of magic about them. A magic that makes you do strange things. And Mussoorie, in the midst of the Garhwal Himalayas, has a kind of special magic of its own. The spell works not only on long-time residents but also on those who have spent some time there - for it induces a sort of craziness in those who are returning there after a long time. And Allan Kohli, the too-cool senior police officer and protagonist of Tom Alter's mystery novel, Rerun at Rialto, apprehends that exactly this kind of madness might work upon him - which is why he simply chooses not to go back. Not to return, that is, for many years. But finally, the combination of a chance telephone conversation, a warm familiar voice and the longing to see the mountains of his childhood again draw Kohli to Mussoorie. I read this little book in another hill town, Darjeeling, with the mountains, innocence and peace around us. And it could have been Darjeeling that Alter was speaking of - for all hill towns seem to be the same, with their dark green hillsides, long meandering pagdandis and brisk mountain breezes. And yet each town is different, because it is the people who live there who make it unique. For Allan Kohli, Mussoorie is the beloved home where he grew up, surrounded by kind friends. Kohli is sensitive, interesting and unusual, 'an Inspector-General of Police on the road'. Wearing jeans and jacket, he rides an old and faithful Jawa, flirts with women, and believes in the basic goodness of people. Yes, he's almost too good to be true. The best parts of his narration are the descriptions of Mussoorie , of Landour, Kulri, Camel's Back and Windy Corner: 'There is something about Mussoorie in the winter...The mood shifts from sombre grey when the clouds are heavy, to hopeful shades of green and gold when the sun sinews through. In the evenings the winter line cuts the sky at the horizon like a crimson sash.' Not Ruskin Bond, but very Mussoorie. Also delightful are Kohli's little asides about women - and he has the long-time bachelor's romantic fancy about these perfumed, delicate creatures: 'She answered with a ripple of laughter, and I was instantly reminded of juicy jalebis dipped in hot milk.' His fascination for the screen mystique of Dilip Kumar and Madhubala in Mughal-e-Azam is endearing: 'In the intimate darkness of Rialto, Dilip Kumar was not only larger than life, he was life itself.' And what a romantic crime - a lady disappearing in the middle of a screening of this classic love story! Fortunately, Kohli's ruminations about philosophy, life and everything else, though not few, are reasonably far between, scattered through the story. But detectives, and senior police officers, are fond of dispensing this sort of wisdom every now and then. Everything else - the location, the narrator's now-dry, now-romantic tone, the fairness with which all the relevant information is shared with the reader, even the enduring romance of the film during which the crime took place - everything is perfect. Everything, that is, except the ending, which is tame and even far-fetched. Not nearly a good mystery story, but Rerun at Rialto is an enjoyable evocation of the Mussoorie magic. And the film-loving, Jawa-riding, roving-eyed Allan Kohli is a detective not only with a heart in the right place, but also a good deal of potential. So perhaps, once Alter has ironed out the creases in his plot-making, we shall see Allan Kohli again, wearing his tracksuit and riding his Jawa up to the mountains, solving a more interesting, more believable crime. Meanwhile it is nice to see Tom Alter again doing something other than playing the British baddie on screen. And finally, the cover, with its charming mountain watercolour, and Shalini Agarwal's evocative black-and-white illustrations, are an added pleasure.