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Printed on the page, as they are in the preface to this novel, the words of 'Danny Boy' transcend sentimentality, so I was very much surprised by the direction taken by this latest Matt Scudder novel. It will be hard to explain without giving too much away, but suffice it to say that the stage was set for a grimly bleak and tragic ending, and that's not the direction Lawrence Block chose.

When the book opens, Scudder is more or less retired, if you can retire from a job you don't hold officially anyway. But he agrees to do a background check for a single woman from his AA group, who's met a man of some mystery. Meanwhile, Scudder's wife Elaine has a best friend, Monica, who also has a secret lover, and Monica turns up dead. What makes this book so exceptional is the point-of-view narration of the killer; again, without giving too much away, his motives go beyond the obvious, to somewhere back in the Scudder past, and it's all handled with remarkably precise control by Block. Scudder's investigations parallel the killer's path; you start to realise that serial relationships are almost as dangerous as serial killers. The killer preys on the urge people have to settle into what seems safe. So the tension builds, and the psychological pressure begins to threaten the very much hermetically sealed world that Scudder has built for himself.

I know it's unfair to criticise a book for not doing what you sensed it was doing, and, though I am disappointed, that didn't lessen my admiration for what Block did to that point. But that's all the more reason why I was expecting an ending that would presage a tragic sea-change. You read this compelling novel, and try to tell me you weren't too!