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It's been years since there's been a thriller debut as original as this one by Lindsay, who takes a tired subgenre-the serial-killer novel-and makes it as fresh as dawn. Lindsay's premise alone is worthy: narrator Dexter Morgan, a blood-spatter specialist for the Miami cops, is also a serial killer. But all his life, Dexter has followed the rules set down by his cop foster father (who knew of Dexter's proclivities), to indulge his passion only by slaying other serial killers. What makes this novel zing, though, is the narration-humorous, self-deprecating, smart and sometimes lyrical, it's a macabre fun ride (''I thought about the nice clothes that I always wore. Well of course I did. I took pride in being the best-dressed monster in Dade County''). The story opens with Dexter at play, kidnapping and killing a priest who has murdered a number of children, then moves on to the main plot, a series of gruesome killings of prostitutes by an unknown madman. Dexter's foster sister is a Miami Vice Squad cop working on the killings, so Dexter decides to help her solve the case. This puts him in conflict with a dumb but ambitious female homicide detective as well as, soon enough, the killer himself, whose approach to serial killing mirrors Dexter's own, uncomfortably so. Might Dexter himself be the culprit? The answer feels a bit contrived, but will surprise most readers, and it's a minor flaw in a gripping, deliciously offbeat novel that announces the arrival of a notable new talent.

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