Though the story is well written, as I have come to expect from this author, it's unsettling to read a story that is the antithesis of the detective tale. Even if the detective is not a modern knight errant, walking mean streets without being infected by that meanness himself, we still feel a need for a moral compass that redeems him in some way, that puts a barrier of some kind between pursuer and pursued. In a Raffles or a Quarry story, even in one of the Dexter books, there is some aspect of the protagonist's nature that allows us to set aside our aversion for the sake of justice served. That aspect is missing from Swafford's nature, so it's difficult to kindle any sympathy for his quest, no matter how black he paints the soul of the object of his hunt. That said, though, the story is emotionally engrossing, grabbing the reader from the beginning and dragging him through to the end.