All The Little Things is just my kind of read…messed up, screwed up and slowly, slowly injecting the creeping dread into my brain until it develops into an itch I just can’t reach.  When you have read as much crime fiction as I have over the last few years it really takes something to kick you on the arse, to make you pay attention.  All The Little Things did just that.  It had the added element, a calling card left in a deserted room.  It left clues for me to discover, to strip layer after layer until I had been exposed to its dark secrets.  The writing style, the narrative,…