A lonely young woman working in a boys' prison outside Boston in the early 60s
is pulled into a very strange crime, in a mordant, harrowing story of obsession
and suspense, by one of the brightest new voices in fiction
So here we are. My name was Eileen Dunlop. Now you know me. I was twenty-four
years old then, and had a job that paid fifty-seven dollars a week as a kind of
secretary at a private juvenile correctional facility for teenage boys. I think
of it now as what it really was for all intents and purposes—a prison for boys.
I will call it Moorehead.