No matter how many years pass between offerings, Pearson’s main characters have a way of feeling oddly comforting and instantly familiar. Tatum, this time, is paired with the profane and more than a little stressed Kate LeComte, who is probably best described as the sort of woman that results when you cobble together an FBI agent with a stevedore. And Deputy Ray Tatum, slogging through life with his search light switched constantly to on, is just a joy to spend time with, the kind of guy you’d like to pass a quiet evening with “dismantling people,” Benfield fashion, while sipping (decent) wine on a front porch. All combined, what results is a novel heavy on dialogue and repartee that is energetic, snappy, and wholly believable. Pearson’s ability to make the rural hollows of Virginia come to stinking life is amazing and pitch-perfect--so much so that if I were ever undecided about whether or not I wanted to visit the rural mountain wide-spots of Virginia, I no longer have any doubts. I don’t. And the plot, grisly and depraved, makes for fascinating, somewhat voyeuristic reading. You simply will not be able to put it down. In fact, punctuated as it is with laugh-out-loud dialogue and astoundingly candid human observation of the variety largely avoided by lazier, politically correct authors today, I guarantee you’ll have it read in no time. Read it, be horrified and repulsed a little by it, laugh a little while being horrified and repulsed, and then tell a friend.