Well dang, Steve Mosby, okay, okay. I wasn't very into continuing this after starting it one night because while I know that the odds aren't exactly good that I might someday be going for a run and get jumped and wake up in a someone's garage trapped in a pillory made out of a dining room table being tortured and so forth, it's not 100% not a possibility and lately, the gruesome details in certain crime thrillers just aren't my preferred form of escapism. It's funny that in this book, DI Will Turner shares much of the same thoughts regarding his partner's love of crime thrillers as I have lately been having - "I'd meant what I'd said, though. In much the same way the newspapers amped up the gory details to sell copies, their books were filled with violence as entertainment, and it all felt the same. Dead women shifting units." This was a bit much of what I've kind of lost my taste for, is what I'm saying, but I figured I'd started it so I might as well finish and then I got sort of caught up in how exactly Turner and Beck were going to catch the bad guy and before I knew it, I was done and it was a better time than I'd expected. Mosby has a good track record of not forgetting the women behind the murders that shift units - if I am going to read about abduction/homemade pillory/torture/etc., it had damn well better not be totally reductionist, explicit lady slaughter for the sake of advancing the plot - and he continues that here, even going so far as to call out his main character for making the investigation about him instead of the victims, which I truly appreciate. Now if he'd just write another book about Zoe Dolan, I could write a review that doesn't highlight and expose my anxiety nearly as much as this one does.