Constance Briscoe is plainly a remarkable woman who deserves great respect for what she has achieved in her life. Unfortunately, those achievements do not include writing good crime fiction. I'm afraid I found this book very run-of-the-mill and forgettable.
The story is of a girl with a background of drugs and prostitution who is wrongly convicted of a murder, and of her friend's lone quest to uncover the truth despite opposition from an uncaring legal system, corrupt policemen, a prejudiced public...you get the picture, I'm sure. Briscoe's background in the worlds she writes about lends the story some credibility, but it follows a very familiar pattern to which, disappointingly, she doesn't bring anything really new. The characters are a pretty stereotyped lot with little in the way of emotional depth and we get plenty of the familiar old plot features like child abuse and, of course, the good old Cornered Killer Climax.
It all felt rather tired, not helped by the prose style. It would be a little harsh to say that it is cliché-strewn, but phrases like "they were up to their old tricks again" and "God's gift to women" do appear pretty regularly, and I found it unengaging writing which in places was off-puttingly hackneyed.
This might be OK as a brain-off read for the beach but I can't really recommend it beyond that.