For several years I kept coming across Chris Carter’s books, but I never really felt compelled to open one. I knew they were crime novels and followed the classic pattern with a recurring protagonist who solves cases and so on, yet because I had already read plenty of similar books in the past, I never paid much attention to them. As a result, I had no real opinion about his work, or perhaps I did, in a way, maybe it was just prejudice. You see, the covers of the Greek editions are completely outside my aesthetic taste, so that definitely played a part, although I think it was mainly a sense of saturation. In the end, I realized that everything needs its own time and the right moment. So I find myself at the house of a good friend, and during our conversation he mentions the second book in Carter’s Robert Hunter series and asks if I have read it. I tell him I haven’t and explain more or less why I have never engaged with them. He says, come on, this guy is good, and most importantly, ...