I normally don’t support trigger warnings but I still believe that readers need to have some advance knowledge that there will be scenes of child pornography in a book. I’m in the last weeks of a very difficult semester, and I picked up an Alice Feeney mystery to have some nice, escapist fun. It was going great. Feeney brings a much appreciated freshness to the genre, and I was enjoying her light, undemanding writing.
But then it started getting graphic, and children are involved. I’m only mentioning all this because I saw online that there’s going to be a Netflix series based on the book, and there’s no way of writing child rape out of the plot. It’s at the heart of the story.
I understand the need to find shock value for an increasingly jaded audience but does it have to go all the way to this kind of thing?
Clarissa's Blog 
It’s always exciting to explore psychological thrillers, especially when they offer unique perspectives and unexpected twists. A story that has alternating perspectives of a divorced couple. Through their eyes, we navigate a complex web of secrets, lies, and murder.
Anna Andrews: A newsreader, reluctantly covers a murder case in the quintessentially British village of Blackdown. She never wanted to return to this town, haunted by childhood trauma and the loss of her infant daughter. But duty calls, and she finds herself reporting on a body discovered in the nearby woods.
Jack Harper: Anna’s ex-husband, Jack, is a police inspector who has also returned to Blackdown. He yearns for excitement but gets more than he bargained for when he discovers that the murder victim is Rachel—the woman he was with the night before. Jack conceals both his connection to Rachel and evidence that could implicate him.
As Anna relates her memories from high school, we learn about her past. She, Rachel, and their friends were entangled in a web of manipulation, bullying, and dark secrets. Friendship bracelets, group photographs, and buried memories resurface, revealing the tangled threads connecting the present to their shared history.
And then there’s the anonymous murderer, whose identity remains hidden until the very end—a chilling twist in the story’s narritive. Someone is always lying in this story.
The alternating perspectives of Anna and Jack create a tension-filled dance—one step forward, two steps back—as they navigate their tangled past and the present murder investigation. Childhood trauma, lost innocence, and buried secrets all converge in the eerie village of Blackdown. And that anonymous murderer? They’re the puppet master, pulling strings we can’t quite see until the final act.
What would you say about Anna and Jack? Would you trust either of them? Or would you suspect they’re both hiding something? Anna’s layers run deep: the professional facade, the personal pain, and the relentless pursuit of truth. Can we trust her? Or is she concealing more than just her emotions? Her past—childhood trauma and the loss of her infant daughter. Returning to Blackdown feels like reopening old wounds.
Jack a police inspector, drawn back to Blackdown by fate—or perhaps something darker. The night before the murder, he was with Rachel—the victim. Jack’s connection to her is more than casual, and he’s playing a dangerous game. Is he protecting himself, or does he have other motives? Trusting Jack feels like stepping onto thin ice.
The anonymous murderer—the ultimate enigma. Their identity remains shrouded, pulling strings like a malevolent marionettist. What drives them? Revenge? Justice? Or something more sinister? As the plot thickens, we’re left guessing until the final curtain falls.
Anna and Jack? Trust is a fragile currency here. They’re both hiding something, but what? Perhaps Anna’s trauma clouds her judgment, and Jack’s thrill-seeking masks deeper motives. Or maybe they’re unwitting pawns in a grander scheme. In a psychological thriller, everyone wears a mask—even the reader. Dear armchair detective, which character would you interrogate first? Anna or Jack?
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