What makes someone capable of the unthinkable? It's the question that haunts every criminal psychology case study I've ever read, and it's the question Val McDermid refuses to let you look away from in The Mermaids Singing.
I started this one during a particularly brutal week of grading papers, thinking a crime thriller would be a nice mental break from analyzing undergraduate essays about attachment theory. Reader, I was wrong. This book crawled into my head and set up permanent residence. The protagonist exhibits classic signs of someone who understands the darkness a little too well—and that's what makes Tony Hill such a fascinating character to spend thirteen hours with.
The Psychology Actually Tracks
Here's the thing about crime fiction: most writers get the psychology wrong. They'll throw around terms like "psychopath" and "sociopath" interchangeably (they're not the same, and yes, I will die on this hill), or they'll create killers with motivations that make zero sense from a behavioral perspective. McDermid doesn't do that. She won the Gold Dagger Award for this book in 1995, and honestly? It holds up.
The killer in this story is unlike anything I've encountered in fiction—and I've read a lot of case studies, both real and imagined. What makes this character compelling is the way McDermid builds the psychology layer by layer. You're not just getting shock value (though there's plenty of that—content warning for graphic violence, torture, and some genuinely disturbing imagery). You're getting a portrait of a mind that operates on its own internal logic. As someone who spends her professional life trying to understand why people do terrible things to each other, I found myself taking mental notes.
Tony Hill himself is a brilliant creation. A clinical psychologist called in to profile a serial killer, he's got his own demons—and McDermid doesn't shy away from making him complicated. Flawed protagonists are my weakness. The research actually shows that we connect more deeply with characters who have visible struggles, and Tony's vulnerabilities make his expertise feel earned rather than convenient. In the Blood gave me that same satisfaction—a protagonist whose damage actually informs their investigative instincts.
Saul Reichlin: A Rough Start That Earns Its Keep
Okay, so. Saul Reichlin. I need to be honest here because the listener reviews are... divided. Some people absolutely cannot stand his narration style. Others think he's outstanding. I fall somewhere in the middle, which is probably the most annoying answer possible.
Here's my take: the first hour was rough. His dramatic style felt a bit much—almost theatrical in a way that pulled me out of the story. But then something clicked. By the time I was deep into the investigation, his clear delivery and pacing actually worked for the material. The emotional beats landed. He's got a way of handling the tension that kept me from zoning out during my morning jogs, which is saying something because I usually need a lot of stimulation to stay focused while running.
Would I have preferred a different narrator? Maybe. Some fans swear by Cathleen McCarron for other books in the series. But Reichlin grew on me. If you're sensitive to narration styles, sample first. Don't write it off immediately.
Thirteen Hours of Methodical Dread
This is a thirteen-and-a-half-hour audiobook. It's not fast-paced in the way some modern thrillers are—no chapter-ending cliffhangers every fifteen minutes designed to manipulate your dopamine response. (My therapist would have thoughts about books that do that, and she'd be right.) Instead, McDermid builds dread. Slowly. Methodically.
The story stayed with me long after I finished—I kept thinking about it while cooking dinner, while pretending to read journal articles, while staring at my ceiling at 2 AM wondering why I do this to myself. That's the mark of good psychological thriller writing. Undone had a similar lingering effect, though it didn't quite reach the same psychological depth. This book doesn't just entertain you; it makes you uncomfortable with your own fascination.
Carol Jordan, the detective, is a great foil for Tony. Their dynamic is the kind of character-driven storytelling I wish more crime fiction would attempt. You're not just watching a case unfold; you're watching two people trying to navigate trauma, professional pressure, and their own limitations. A fascinating case study in how partnerships form under extreme stress.
Who This Is For (And Who Should Run)
I'm going to be direct: this book is not for everyone. If you're sensitive to graphic violence and torture imagery, skip it. If you need your crime fiction sanitized, this isn't that. McDermid doesn't flinch, and she expects you not to either.
But if you're a crime fiction enthusiast who wants psychology that actually makes sense? If you appreciate complex characters who don't fit neat boxes? If you want a thriller that trusts you to handle difficult material? This is your book.
I listened during commutes and long walks, and it worked well for both. The production is clean, no audio issues to speak of. Just you and a very dark story about what happens when someone decides to play god with human bodies.
Case Notes: Continuing the Study
I'm definitely continuing this series. Tony Hill is the kind of character I want to study—professionally and personally. And that's the highest compliment I can give a fictional psychologist.
