I've enjoyed Ann Rules true crime books, so upon reading the synopsis for her only fiction novel, I had high hopes that she'd have some insight to write an interesting villain. I can't tell if this book just aged very poorly of if she's just an awful fiction writer.
I hated this book.
I was hoping it'd be more of an insightful back and forth, delving into the psyche of criminal and victim. I thought Duane's backstory was decently painted, but when the actual crime happens, it all just felt like a Lifetime movie. Joanne was literally just a husk of a character, a person upon which to twist sympathy onto, but she wasn't even written well enough to garner any of that.
It felt like Ann had more passion for Sam's character, a plot that I didn't at all care about. The book isn't the introspective look at a psycho like the cover promised. It's literally just a generic police procedural about some 80's cop who gets to live the hero fantasy when he plays a father figure to a Mary-Sure with a rape-baby.
This book was published in the early 80s, so I can forgive some of the misogyny and locker room talk a little, but damn, it was written by a prolific true crime writer. I expected at least some semblance of respect and understanding of the nuances of the subject matter, and got the worst trope-ridden dark romance novel of all time.
I wanted to throw it against the wall after skimming the last third of it.