IN Scott Finlay’s adaptation of a novel by Lawrence Block, Liam Neeson plays a former NYPD detective gone private for reasons that emerge during the film.

Scudder reluctantly accepts a commission from Ortiz (Maurice Compte) to find the men who yesterday kidnapped his wife.

Only after paying the ransom did Ortiz learn that the lady had already been dissected. We’ve gotta take this at face value. What follows is a fairly linear investigation in which homeless black youth TJ attaches himself to Scudder in a relationship that becomes a major element of the plot.

The kidnappers are two gay psychopaths who get their kicks from watching women die slowly and painfully in passages that leave the physical and emotional details to the filmgoer’s imagination.

Tracking them down and dealing with them stretches Scudder’s moral principles further than he expects. He and TJ guide the film along a steady flow of tension and conflict untrammelled by the clichés of the cop genre. No traffic sequences with flashing lights and screaming sirens. Scudder walks or uses public transport to get around. And although his police career is history, police procedures sustain him in doing what he now does.

The film takes most of its strength and dramatic validity from Neeson’s calm delivery. It delivers no message, it keeps within the bounds of credibility. How refreshing it is to watch an American cop thriller carrying none of the genes of so many, too many, weary and cliché-packed TV crime series.

At Hoyts, Dendy, Capitol 6 and Limelight