Fresh in from a bracing, snow-edged walk with my neighbour, I settled down with a book she had lent me. And, for the first time in months, I didn’t really stop reading until turning the last page as my head hit the pillow.
The mystery had been solved, the suspense had been ridden out and the killer had been caught.
Compelled not so much by excellent writing or complex characters but by the pure adrenalin of wanting to know who had committed the crime.
