Watching the Dark: An Inspector Banks Novel (Inspector Banks Novels)
New York Times bestselling author Peter Robinson brings back Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks and his colleague DI Annie Cabbot in a case riddled with corruption
A decorated policeman is murdered on the tranquil grounds of the St. Peter's Police Treatment Centre, shot through the heart with a crossbow arrow, and compromising photographs are discovered in his room. Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks is well aware that he must handle the highly sensitive and dangerously explosive investigation with the utmost discretion. And as he digs deeper, he discovers that the murder may be linked to an unsolved missing persons case from six years earlier and the current crime may involve crooked cops.
there and started to cry. It made Annie want to cry herself, it was so bloody heartbreaking. Just a frightened, hungry kid, and there was no one here to comfort her, to hold her and tell her that she was loved and everything would be all right. You didn’t have to be a Guardian reader to raise a tear or two for that predicament. Lyttleton entered the interview room and handed over a McDonald’s package. Before Annie even had the chance to feel guilty and wish she’d sent her a salad sandwich or
was a desperate move.” “We think Bill Quinn was killed because his wife died, and he got in touch with Mihkel about what really happened over here. There were photographs,” Banks said. “A girl. Bill. Here in Tallinn. He was blackmailed. With his wife dead, they didn’t matter.” Aivar gazed out over the water, a sad, wistful look in his eyes. “So that is what it was,” he said. “I wonder how they get to him. They cannot use the same threats they use with me.” “What do you mean?”
He keep very bad company. Perhaps I spoil him. It is fashionable to blame parents, is it not? Do you have a son, Hr. Banks?” “I do,” said Banks. “He’s a musician.” “Is good. In Estonia we love music. My son is drug dealer, people trafficker and gangster. But he is still my son. Do you understand that?” “I think so,” said Banks. “How far you go to protect your son?” Banks thought for a moment. “Probably a long way,” he answered. “But I might draw the line if he raped and killed
the shit work. For all the jokes made at their expense, it can’t have been a lot of fun spending day after day trawling through sleazy Internet sites searching for a face. On the other hand, if they didn’t have what it took to carry out a simple Internet search, a no-brainer, then it was best they should find out now, rather than later, when they had more responsibility and could do more damage. They would get over it and move on. They might even make decent detectives one day. At least now
convenient for the killer, or whoever sent him. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.” “How did the killer know Mihkel was at this farm?” “I don’t know,” said Banks. “But it would be my guess that Mihkel slipped up somehow, despite taking such care. I would imagine that all these migrant gangs have spies planted to keep an eye out for infiltrators like Mihkel. They’ve been stung too often before, as you yourself mentioned earlier. Then someone was sent to tidy up.” “But surely if