Dexter Morgan knows exactly why monstrous serial killers do what they do - because Dexter is himself a serial killer, even if he confines his chopping up of bodies to child killers and other unpleasant murderers who have somehow escaped justice. He tells us cheerfully that he likes nothing more than a long night with his very sharp knives and a helpless, bound victim. And he works for the Miami homicide police as a blood spatter analyst (he ought to know). Every instinct told me to disapprove of this book and to condemn its flippancy about depravity but, dammit, Dexter has a way of er. . . getting under your skin, and making you like him. His one-liners are exquisitely funny (in a very dark way) and the plots are excellent - to the extent that I rushed out to buy the first Dexter book before writing this review. In this second outing, Dexter is forced to team up with his nemesis, the forbidding Sergeant Doakes, to track down a hideous monster who spends weeks torturing his victims. Dexter is the most original sleuth to have appeared for years, and sharp as a razor. . .