After taking a break from pleasure/escape reading as I always do at the start of a new semester, I picked up this book (on a recommendation that's already lost in the fog of distant memory). I forced myself to finish reading it because I am just that masochistic. Noting that it was written in 1992, and we have come such a long way in police, medical, and forensic procedurals, even so, this reads like a really, really, really bad cop show from the early 1970s. This author never met a cliche he didn't like, and - always the first telltale sign of mediocrity for me - would describe a character as "witty', "brilliant", or some other superlative, immediately following an exchange that was dull, inane, and, yes, loaded with cliches. Ugh. I won't go on. But I won't read any further in this series - this was quite enough.