It's 10 years since Charlie Parker's wife and daughter were murdered in Connolly's first novel, Every Dead Thing, but fate is still dealing him duff cards. Stripped of his PI's licence, Parker is living alone and working in a Portland bar when he decides to investigate the mystery that has haunted him all his life: why did his NYPD cop father shoot two unarmed teenagers, then turn the gun on himself? And what does this have to do with the more recent murder - staged to look like a suicide - of a young man whose ex-girlfriend believes she's been cursed? The supernatural element in Connolly's Parker books has always annoyed some fans, who feel it nudges what are essentially crime novels too far into Stephen King territory. It's present here as an unobtrusive background hum - the perfect complement to Parker's measured narration.