An Unkindness of Ravens.
Yet another modern female British mystery novelist who needs to have weird sex and/or a severely troubled childhood thrown into the plot. In this case, at least, the detective seems to be as normal as the rest of us. As it turns out, the semi-pedophile bigamist who was murdered did not rape his own daughter, but she had half-convinced herself that he had. Or something like that. The killer is fairly obvious, but when, for no real reason, Rendell evaporates the motive to a mere vapor of a motive, it leaves me wondering why.