I overlooked the author’s name or mistook this to be another Jack Olsen true crime novel, and it became very evident about midpoint on. In searching out the narrator, Kevin Pierce, who is so enjoyable since he neither over does it nor seems oblivious to the meaning behind what he’s reading, I went ahead and gave a new author a try. After the initial 8 or 10 chapters which held my interest and ran smoothly, the dialogue became repetitive and the descriptions. unimaginative and even trite. It went in way too long and started moralizing, almost as though the writer had some agenda, and that was enough to have me slipping ahead so I could sense a resolution. And then I googled the monster–and he certainly was/is and the police detective absolutely stunning in his diligence to pursue him. But as admirable a man as the investigator was, I think the author overdid it 5 chapters before he was still singing praises to us the reader as if we didn’t already agree. Superlatives start to lose impact unless sparingly used which was not the case here. Maybe Jack Olsen had spoiled me into thinking I’d found the next best thing to the inventor of the nonfiction novel — Truman himself. This comes closer to Ann Rule.