Across the centuries, the crime of murder has carried with it a certain morbid fascination for otherwise god-fearing, law-abiding people. Over the same period, attitudes towards the crime and its perpetrators have changed considerably. Once, torture, hanging and public defilement of the murderer's remains were punishments meted out without qualm from the bench or jury box. I n the present century, every attempt has been made to al'.ow mitigating circumstances to prevail and, even by today's more relaxed and humane standards, absurdly lenient punishments appear to shock the human conscience. Despite the genteel and respectable aspect it contrives to present, Scotland's capital city can find in its cupboards crimes to match the most heinous of any of its sister cities or towns. In this collection of short stories recounting the stranger or more renowned of Edinburgh's murders, Keith Winton has given some indication of the changes in attitude and the anguish and turmoil, both social and personal, over four centuries of murder. But yet, the intention is not to provide a social comment. It is rather to fascinate or excite that morbid interest by the breadth of human ingenuity, or the degradation, which can be directed at achieving the death of an adversary or an object of disaffection. The author is a scientist by training, working in the university-industry interface, but with a fascination for delving into the history contained in old books and newspapers where lie the stranger and more interesting tales of his adopted city.