Here are two more crime novels, by two of the better writers in the field.

Monster

By Jonathan Kellerman

Random House, 1999, $25.95

Jonathan Kellerman, whose last previous novel was the acclaimed non-series work “Billy Straight,” is back on familiar ground here with the 13th in his series about Alex Delaware, the semi-retired child psychologist and police consultant.

The usual sidekicks are on hand, too — Milo Sturgis, the tough-as-nails gay cop; Robin, Delaware’s live-in lover; and Spike, the French bulldog.

The story, though, is something of a new departure for Kellerman in terms of plot complication. This time, he and Sturgis are investigating the seemingly incoherent verbal outbursts of an inmate in a hospital for the criminally insane — outbursts that seem to prefigure violent crimes outside the walls, crimes that the inmate seemingly can have no advance knowledge of.

Things turn really messy when one of the violent crimes turns out to be the murder of a psychologist who works inside the walls. This is Delaware’s thorniest case yet, and the one that strikes closest to home.

It is also, of all his cases, the one that seems to have the best rationale for placing a retired child psychologist in the middle of a police investigation, since by virtue of his specialty Delaware has much to contribute to the solution of the crimes.

Kellerman may be the most logical contender, among the dozens of writers of hard-boiled detective fiction, for the title of literary heir to Ross Macdonald. Like Macdonald’s books, Kellerman’s Alex Delaware novels concern the excavation of long-buried crimes that have echoes in crimes of the present day. Like Macdonald’s series protagonist Lew Archer, Delaware is expert in tying the old-time crimes in to more recent upheavals of family and place. And like Archer, Delaware is a careful observer of social mores and something of a critic and commentator on his place and time.

That “Monster” is closer than ever to Macdonald’s works — with more attention than ever to the effects of past events on present character — will be obvious to any reader familiar with the works of both authors — and to anyone who reads “Monster’s” dedication: “To the memory of Kenneth Millar.” Kenneth Millar, of course, was Ross Macdonald’s real name.

Hugger Mugger

By Robert B. Parker

Putnam, 2000, $23.95

Robert B. Parker is another contender for the Macdonald mantle, but he has always been closer to Raymond Chandler.

As a stylist, he can write circles around most other crime writers, but his main focus is on relationships rather than story. Although this can be a good thing in a crime writer, Parker sometimes tends to disregard story in order to probe relationships. And since those relationships are described by means of long conversations about such things as the nature of romantic love and the ethics of violence, the Spenser books can be boring.

The good news is that, in recent books, Parker has been paying more attention to his stories — and “Hugger Mugger” is a continuation of the trend.

Better news is that, because most of “Hugger Mugger” takes place in Georgia, Spenser’s insufferable girlfriend Susan Silverman and their dog Pearl are not around for much of the action, and his sidekick Hawk doesn’t appear at all. Take it from me — Kellerman’s triumvirate of Milo, Robin and Spike are much less talky and self-absorbed than the Parker trio.

“Hugger Mugger” takes Spenser back into the world of horse racing, which has already given him material for one novel. In this one, somebody is shooting racehorses at Three Fillies Stables, and the operation’s owner, Walter Clive, hires Spenser to find the culprit and stop him.

Three Fillies Stables is named for Clive’s three daughters, and they are a weird lot. Penny, the youngest, helps to operate the stables and is obviously her father’s (and Spenser’s) favorite. The other two daughters have no interest in the business and are mired in bad marriages — one to a man who drinks too much, the other to a man who gets his kicks with little boys.

Spenser decides that the shootings are a cover-up for something much more malignant and much closer to home. He is proved right when Walter Clive himself is gunned down and suspicion falls upon family members.

The plotting is brilliant, the subsidiary characters are interesting — though they sometimes seem left over from a bad Tennessee Williams play — and even Spenser’s usual obsessions (his love for Susan, private-eye ethics, gay rights) don’t slow the action down much.