This book is one of those rare things, a book I had to read for work that was worth every minute I invested in it. I can read crime fiction till the cows come home, but I never go near true crime, and I'd have steered clear of a book obviously about Myra Hindley (clue's on the cover, though she's never named); but I had to pick something to read from the World Book Day top ten, and they were all about death anyway, so I thought what the hell. Better than the book about the teenager dying of cancer, which made me cry on the train when I tried to read it.

The story centres on the policeman given the unenviable job of guarding Myra Hindley's body the night before her funeral, and the thought processes he goes through during the hours he spends there. He has plenty of time to think about his relationship with his wife, his struggles with being a dad to a downs syndrome daughter, and his own past. He is even visited by Hindley's ghost, and has conversations with her.

I don't remember much of what I learned during my English degree, but I do remember being told that detective novels give comfort to people, because they take evil and embody it in one person; then they catch that person, lock them up, and the reader feels safer. Evil has been explained, contained. None of this happens on a conscious level, but it makes perfect sense to me, and gives me an answer when I'm asked on occasion, how can you read books about murder for relaxation? I bring this up, because this book does the opposite. The author bravely takes on a figure that so many of us, for generations, have associated with the nature of evil, not wanting to think that there's anything remotely human about her, or that she might have anything in common with us. Rupert Thomson does not for a moment lessen the horror of what Hindley did, or dodge any difficult questions, so I don't believe anyone should be offended by his treatment of the subject. He will make you think, but as any good writer should, does not impose his views on you.