Cuckoo

Berlin, spring. Four women are dead, killed by someone the police can't find. Ellis Ashwood isn't supposed to be looking for the murderer either - she just writes about crime; she doesn't solve it. That's what she tells herself, anyway, between sleepless nights and cigarettes she doesn't really smoke.

But when a red-haired barista with a bachelor's thesis on the same case starts showing up, what began as research turns into something else entirely: a self-help group to infiltrate, a detective to convince, and a small, strange found family who all seem to be hiding something.

Ellis has spent six years running from one unanswered question - what happened to her mother - by chasing answers to everyone else's. But somewhere between falling for a girl who isn't too different from herself and a growing addiction she swears she has under control, the case stops being just research. And the closer she gets to the truth, the less certain she is that she wants to find it.

Some monsters don't hide under your bed. Some of them are the ones you let in.