Shady politicians, greedy public servants and rapacious property developers are no match for V. I. Warshawski, a proper hero for these times. In DEAD LAND (Morrow/HarperCollins, 405 pp., $28.99), Sara Paretsky’s Chicago private eye gets wind of a fishy partnership that’s planning to develop a piece of lakefront property — ostensibly for public parkland, but possibly not. “The landfill may be a good idea,” acknowledges one skeptical native, “but it’s like everything else in this town — no transparency.” Dire hints are dropped of “private meetings where money changes hands,” and more dastardly matters surface when one of the anti-development protesters is murdered.

A parallel plotline has V. I. discovering a homeless woman who lives under a viaduct making beautiful music on a red plastic toy piano. When this squatter is outed in the press as a once-famous musician named Lydia Zamir, she’s forced to run for her life — and V. I. is blamed for her predicament. To us, V. I. is perfect, but other characters bait her for being so impetuous as she races off to places like Kansas and Santa Fe. Yes, the plot is as sprawling as it sounds, but trust the author to pull it all together, its many threads wrapped up neatly in a great big bow.

Paretsky is justly praised for referencing vital social issues in her mysteries, but here we also get a taste of her flair for creating offbeat but believable characters. Zamir is her own strong person, as are other players. As always, though, V. I. remains the most vivid participant in this case, stubborn as a mule — although she sees herself as another animal entirely. “Pretend I’m a dog,” she advises a new acquaintance. “Half Rottweiler, half pit dog. I’m loyal but fierce.” And valiant. Don’t forget valiant.

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I like a little woo-woo with my mysteries, and there’s lots of woo-woo in Sophie Hannah’s PERFECT LITTLE CHILDREN (Morrow/HarperCollins, 329 pp., $27.99). This tale of domestic suspense takes so many diabolical twists and turns, it has the kick of an amusement park attraction — the kind where you have to pass a height restriction before you’re allowed to ride it. The narrator, Beth Leeson, is a typical wife, mother and busybody who takes a new interest in an old friend when she notices that, after a dozen years, Flora Braid still looks fresh as a daisy. “Her hair hasn’t changed a bit,” Beth marvels. Nor, it seems, has anything else. Even Flora’s two children still look to be 5 and 3, instead of their chronological ages of 17 and 15.