Peter Robinson: Bad Boy

“Well, that would make sense if McCready was waiting in the wings, wouldn’t it? She wanted you out before he hurt you. She knew how unstable he was by then.”

“Not before?”

“Annie, I don’t really know how to say this, but I think Tracy was lying to me when she told the story from her point of view. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of experience listening to people lie. There are just too many inconsistencies.”

“Did you challenge her on them?”

“Of course not. It’s nothing, really, but she just seemed to shade everything so she came out sounding like the victim all the time.”

“She was the victim.”

“I know. But I don’t think McCready forced her to go with him. I think she fancied him and she went willingly, and suggested my cottage as a place to hide out. I think it was an adventure to her at first, maybe a form of rebellion, of payback…I don’t know…We haven’t been very close lately. She may blame me. She felt that I favored Brian and that I was disappointed by her exam results and her lack of a promising career. I don’t like to be suspicious of my own daughter, Annie, but…”

“Alan, if Tracy was playing down her role, she was doing it because she was feeling guilty and ashamed of what a fool she was, and the last thing she’d want is for you to think even more badly of her. Don’t you see? She’s afraid of your judgment. You’re not just her father, you know. You’re a policeman, too. You have no doubt that she became a victim and hostage later on, do you?”

“No. I think there came a point when the relationship changed. Maybe when you got shot, or even before.”

“Well, then. She might have gone along with McCready in the first place for some sort of misguided romantic reasons. She’s young. But she didn’t pull the trigger. She didn’t steal the coke and the money. McCready did all that. Just give her time to heal. Build some bridges. Try to understand what she must be feeling. She’ll tell the truth when she’s ready.”

“You think so?”

“I do. Where is she now?”

“She’s staying in London with her mother for a while. I’m so deep in the doghouse with Sandra now that even my feet aren’t sticking out.”

Annie laughed at the image. “For not telling everyone what was going on?”

“What do you think?”

“What a mess.” Annie shook her head slowly and took his hand again. “I was so scared when I realized what was happening. There on the floor, in your conservatory, before it all went dark and I could hardly catch my breath. I was convinced I was going to die. I missed you so much at that moment, Alan.”

Banks swallowed and squeezed her hand. “I missed you, too. You’d have loved it over there. The desert nights. The Grand Canyon. The Pacific Coast Highway. Fisherman’s Wharf. The Golden Gate Bridge. Magic.”

“I wish I’d been with you, but it sounded like the kind of trip you had to take alone.”

“It was,” said Banks. “This time. But who knows? One day…”

“If I can still walk.”

“You’ll walk.”

“You know,” Annie said. “You’ve told me plenty about Nerys and Tracy and what happened and all that, but what about you?”

“Me?” Banks shrugged. “What about me? I’ve had plenty of practice being in the doghouse where Sandra’s concerned. And it matters a lot less when she’s a couple of hundred miles away.”

“No. I didn’t mean so much about your family. I meant the other stuff. Job. Career. Future.”

Banks finished his latte and dropped the cup in the wastebasket. “Well, Chambers is out for blood and I’m right in his sights. He’d love to throw me to the wolves. I broke every rule in the book, probably more even than poor Nerys, and he knows I’d do it again in the twinkling of an eye.”

“But?”

“I still have a few friends in high places. They’re pushing for a spell of gardening leave until I sort out my ‘personal problems.’ Emotionally distraught father, understandably overtired, daughter abducted, that sort of thing. The saving grace is that if the powers above did throw me to the wolves, most of them would have to fall on their own swords for allowing the situation to arise in the first place. Cold comfort, I suppose, but there you go. In the end, they’ll either sack me, put me in the nuthouse or promote me to Area Commander.”

Annie laughed. “But what will you do? Aren’t you worried? Seriously. You don’t sound too concerned.”

“I’m not.” Banks looked at the beeping machines with their wavy lines and numbers, then back to Annie. “Maybe the trip put a few things in perspective for me. What will I do? Seriously? I don’t know. Come back and fight another day, like I always do, I suppose. But sometimes I think I’ve had enough. I’m getting a bit tired of it all, to be honest. You?”

“I don’t know, either. I suppose I’m on hold till after the operation. Then I’ll reevaluate my situation, as they say.” She laughed. “We’re a right pair, aren’t we?”

Banks glanced toward the door, reached for the wine and a couple of plastic cups from Annie’s cupboard, and smiled. “We are indeed. Shall we drink to that?”

MANY PEOPLE CONTRIBUTED TO THIS BOOK AND I would like to begin by thanking those who first read and commented-my wife and invaluable first reader, Sheila Halladay, my agents Dominick Abel and David Grossman, and my editors Carolyn Mays, Francesca Best, Carolyn Marino, Wendy Lee and Dinah Forbes. A special thanks to Dinah for collating all the comments into one manuscript and making my life a lot easier. I would also like to thank all the copy editors and proofreaders at Hodder, Morrow, and McClelland & Stewart, whose job it is to ensure that the book you read is free from grammatical, typographical and factual errors.

A number of professionals helped me with the police procedural and forensic aspects, and I would especially like to thank Detective Inspector Kevin Robinson, of West Yorkshire Police, and Julie Kempson for information about the approach to firearms. Any errors I have made are entirely my own. I would also like to thank Deputy Chief Constable Phil Gormley and Detective Superintendent Claire Stevens for their continued support and advice.

Thanks must also go to my publicists Sharyn Rosenblum and Nicole Chismar at Morrow/HarperCollins, Kerry Hood and Katie Davison at Hodder, and Ashley Dunn at McClelland & Stewart. Last but not least, this book wouldn’t be in your hands today if it weren’t for the sales reps and the bookshop employees, so a hearty thanks to you all.

PETER ROBINSON’s award-winning novels have been named a Best-Book-of-the-Year by Publishers Weekly, a Notable Book by the New York Times, and a Page-Turner-of-the-Week by People magazine. Robinson was born and raised in Yorkshire, but has lived in North America for more than twenty-five years. He now divides his time between North America and the U.K.

www.inspectorbanks.com