The second novel in a series can often be disappointing. But that’s definitely not the case with A Necessary Evil, the follow up to Abir Mukherjee’s debut novel A Rising Man set in pre-independence India and featuring a British police officer and his Indian second-in-command.

Like the first novel, this one is a murder mystery with oodles of intrigue and suspense. What makes this book stand out is how Mukherjee frames his action within the increasingly tense relationships between India’s historical ruling class and their colonial rulers.

A Necessary Man is set in 1920, a time when the British Empire was intent on forming on alliances with the Indian maharajas to maintain control of the country. But these agreements are a matter only of expediency rather than desire, since neither side fully trusts the other. The maharajas resent British interference in their princely domains while the British government officials are frustrated there’s a large swathe of the country over which their writ doth not run.

Shortly after the novel opens, the heir to the one of these princely states is assassinated. His murder could not have come at a worse time, threatening the Viceroy of India’s plan to get the maharajas to join a new Chamber of Princes. It falls to Captain Sam Wyndham and Sergeant “Surrender-Not” Banerjee to head to Sambalpore to try and rescue the political situation by uncovering the identity of the murderer.

Mukherjee brilliantly captures the ostentatious wealth and lavish life style of this princely state made wealthy through opium and then diamonds. Gold and diamonds are in abundance at the palace along with fleets of expensive cars and multiple wives. The gardens at the palace wouldn’t look out Yet there are signs this golden era may not endure.

The current Maharaja is an old and sick man presiding over a dynasty beset by problems. Much on the mind of the court is the question of who will succeed the Maharaja. He has three possible heirs — two adult sons and a third who is a mere infant. It’s a situation ripe for intrigue among his many wives and the hoards of concubines (126 at the last count) and the enuchs who stand guard over the zenana (a women-only section of the palace).

The book doesn’t shy away from showing how strained – and frankly uncomfortable – the relationship was between Britain and India at the time. As Wyndham comments, the British were “only too happy to endorse” the fiction of princely power, “just so long as they all sang ‘Rule Britannia’ and swore allegiance to the King Emperor across the seas.” That one line neatly captures the game being played out by the British in India; maintaining an illusion of partnership while still exerting their authority.

Ceremonies and traditions drive the point home even further. When Wyndham witnesses a cannon salute, he notes: “thirty-one in total, an honour reserved solely for the Viceroy – no native prince ever merited more than twenty-one. It served to underline the point that in India, this particular British civil servant outranked any native, even one descended from the sun.” The pomp and pageantry aren’t just for show—they’re deliberate reminders of who’s really in charge.

A Necessary Evil is deeply rooted in a specific period in time but it doesn’t come across like a history lesson. All the necessary contextual information is threaded seamlessly into the narrative, delivered in bite size pieces that arise naturally in conversations between the investigating duo and the courtiers and officials within the palace.

This is a book that will appeal to readers who enjoy crime fiction with a strong sense of place. It’s faster paced than A Rising Man and the dynamics between Wyndham and his assistant are far more in evidence. Banerjee is developing into more of Wyndham’s professional equal and a colleague he can trust to temper his tendency to act without thinking fully of the consequences. This is shaping up to be a fascinating partnership — it will be interesting to see how it develops in the rest of the series.