As soon as I opened the book I dimly remembered having watch the tv movie adaptation of it many years ago; luckily I couldn't recall much about the movie itself, beyond that I'd thought it was pretty good. I must have been about two-thirds or three-quarters of the way through the book before memories stirred of whodunnit, but that didn't affect my enjoyment -- or slow the rapid pace of my reading! -- much if at all, because this is one of those tales where, while the mystery aspect is excellent, the real fascination comes from the workings out of plot, characters, and the relations between the characters.
Jinx Kingsley, successful-photographer daughter of an ex-gangster plutocrat, survives an apparent suicide attempt but with a severe case of partial amnesia: she can't remember anything about the days leading up to the calamity. She refuses to believe she could have tried to kill herself, even though it's known that her fiance Leo had just jilted her in favour of her best friend Meg. Slowly she convinces Dr Alan Protheroe, head of the swanky Nightingale Institute, where her father's put her to recuperate, that she really isn't the suicidal kind, that she'd been glad to see the back of Leo rather than devastated by his departure, and that she'd borne Meg no ill will. By then, though, the bodies of Leo and Meg have been discovered in woodland, their heads beaten to a pulp using a sledgehammer. Since Jinx's first husband, Russell, was ten years ago beaten to death with a sledgehammer -- and had also been having an affair with Meg -- the cops start looking at Jinx very carefully indeed . . .
One interesting narrative technique is that Walters keeps one of the principal suspects for all three killings -- the ruthless Adam Kingsley, Jinx's father -- offstage for all but the last three pages, even though his name and his actions permeate the tale. This gives us the impression that he's a true eminence grise, manipulating the plot as he wills. It's possibly a false impression -- Walters adeptly keeps us in some doubt even at the end as to who's been manipulating whom, and even as to whether the solution we've been presented to the mystery is the truth, or at any rate the whole of it.
A couple of clumsy scenes of dumbed-down-sitcom-style adolescent sexual innuendo briefly destroy the atmosphere of the book; Walters's editor should have stomped them. Unfortunately, one of those scenes is the envoi, which means that this reader at least came away from the book shaking his head wearily and wishing he could award 3.5 stars rather than 4 . . .