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Audible Audio
First published June 3, 2025
Angie felt uncomfortable entering the genre of 'true crime': styrofoam cups rolling in the wind; wannabe solvers of dodgy whodunnits, seekers of gory details; raincoated perves. Not really her thing. There was enough of it anyway, enough willed malfeasance out there to satisfy the grossest demand. And fiction: grimly Norwegian, darkly Finnish, wittily Scots. At some level she was appalled by the public appetite for stories of hurt, and by the addictive excellence of crime dramas on television. (p15).
Now by some dark magic, Angie more fully imagined her. She was wavering in the headlights, a figure in a ragged dress, her feet bloody, perhaps, and her frame slowly staggering. This driver charging at the darkness saw a shape ahead and thought first of an animal. Knowing how to drive in the country, he slowed rather than swerved. And then the woman drifted towards him, a set of human angles and skinny as a new lamb, and he stamped his brake in panic, coming to a skidding halt—too close, too close (how his heart hammered). (p.4)