Strange Affair :The New Inspector Banks Novel by Peter Robinson

Chief Inspector Alan Banks faces his most personal case from New York Times bestselling author Peter Robinson. A bullet to the brain abruptly halted a terrified young woman's desperate flight. In her pocket is the name of a policeman whose own life was brutally invaded, mercilessly shaken, and very nearly erased-a policeman who has since gone missing. The dead woman in the car had been running from something-but she didn't run far or fast enough. Detective Inspector Annie Cabbot would like to question the man the victim was apparently racing to meet: Annie's superior-and former lover-Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks. But Banks has vanished into the anonymous chaos of the city, drawn into a mad whirl of greed, inhumanity, and death, by a frantic phone call from the brother he no longer knows. Banks is unaware that the threads connecting a sinister kidnapping with a savage slaying are as thick as rope . . . and long enough for a haunted and broken rogue cop to hang himself. One of his most, clever, twisting thrillers, Strange Affair attests once again why readers love and can't get enough of Peter Robinson's novels of suspense. Editorial Reviews Review First-rate ... an addictive crime series ... bet you can't read just one. (Janet Maslin, New York Times) Smart and shapely ... immaculately constructed. (Marilyn Stasio, New York Times Book Review) A damn fine crime novel...like a master class in crime fiction. (Baltimore Sun) If you haven't read Robinson .... what on Earth is stopping you? .... A clever and entertaining thriller. (Miami Herald) Fascinating....Robinson, with his usual deft touch and unblinking eye, brings the story to an unexpectedly gut-wrenching conclusion. (Richmond Times-Dispatch) A fast-moving story [with] some knockout scenery and an assemblage of delicately drawn characters. (Raleigh News & Observer) Flawless plotting and superbly drawn characters....[Robinson] is a master craftsman. (Tampa Tribune) Robinson shows he's a master ... mixes a gritty plot with intense character studies....Consistently compelling. (Florida Sun-Sentinel) Remarkable. (Globe and Mail (Toronto)) The best Banks book in years. (Winnipeg Sun) Superlative...Deeply absorbing...Gripping. (Publishers Weekly (Starred Review)) Robinson has won just about every mystery award there is....His latest shows why. (Booklist (starred review)) An engaging pleasure . . . like red wine, [Banks] gets better and more interesting with age. (Publishers Weekly) Robinson is on a winning streak. (Tampa Tribune) Deeply nuanced works of art. (Dennis Lehane) The Alan Banks mystery-suspense novels are, simply put, the best series now on the market. (Stephen King) Stunningly complex and intricately plotted....Peter Robinson fools and entertains me with every twist. (Nevada Barr) Complex and intelligent. (Sunday Times (London)) Exquisitely complex and atmospheric. (Los Angeles Times Book Review) Taut, carefully thought out...with plots that are refreshingly cliché-free. (Time Out London) Cunning...authentic and atmospheric. (The Independent (London)) Different and intriguing. (Sunday Telegraph) Peter Robinson is: A gifted creator of fully fleshed and vividly present characters. (Boston Globe) A happy discovery. (Lady Antonia Fraser in the London Sunday Times) A skillful writer... (Houston Chronicle) Absorbing...Robinson continues to stretch the boundaries of the standard procedural. (Orlando Sentinel) Robinson actually seems to grow in front of our eyes, delivering books of greater complexity each time. (Otto Penzler) Splendid. (San Diego Union-Tribune) The equal of legends in the genre such as P.D. James and Ruth Rendell. (St. Louis Post-Dispatch) Psychologically acute fiction. (The Strand) --This text refers to an alternate paperback edition. Amazon Review Without a doubt, the family and friends of fictional sleuths are two of the most endangered species on the planet. Crime novelists seem to have no qualms about sacrificing the people nearest and dearest to their protagonists, if doing so will advance plot development or bestow emotional depth upon their series stars. Peter Robinson continues this ruthless tradition in Strange Affair, his tension-packed 15th novel featuring headstrong British Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks. Still on the mend after the blazing finale of 2004's Playing with Fire, temporarily sworn off whiskey but back to smoking, Banks is interrupted in the midst of brooding over his life and failed relationships by a message from his estranged younger brother, Roy, who says he needs the DCI's help in a matter of life and death. Concerned, especially since Roy boasts a history of dubious business dealings, Banks leaves Yorkshire for his sibling's home in London, only to find that residence unlocked, Roy's computer missing, and his cell phone left behind. After learning that Roy was last seen stepping into a car with an unidentified man, and receiving on Roy's mobile what appears to be a photo of his only brother slumped over in a chair, the cop fears that a kidnapping has occurred. Meanwhile, back in Eastvale, Banks's colleague and ex-lover, Detective Inspector Annie Cabbot, probes the shooting death of Jennifer Clewes, a 27-year-old family planning center administrator from London who's been found in her car, with the address of Banks's once-ruined (and recently broken into) cottage tucked into her jeans pocket. As Annie seeks to identify Clewes's attacker and determine whether this crime fits a pattern of roadway assaults, she's anxious also to discover what connection Banks may have to the case. But the DCI is frustratingly nowhere to be found. Like 2003's Close to Home, Strange Affair adds some welcome bricks to Banks's back story, this time forcing him to reappraise a brother whom he had long resented and distrusted. Simultaneously, Robinson's latest police procedural delivers artfully contrived, intersecting story lines charged with rumors of international arms dealing, hints of misdeeds at a women's clinic, secondary players so shady they might be invisible after sundown, and insights into just how far Banks's career has distanced him from folks less steeped in the ugly side of mankind. An immensely satisfying mystery, filled with professional risks and personal regrets, this is truly an Affair to remember. --J. Kingston Pierce --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From the Back Cover A bullet to the brain abruptly halted a terrified young woman's desperate flight. In her pocket is the name of a policeman whose own life was brutally invaded, mercilessly shaken, and very nearly erased-a policeman who has since gone missing. The dead woman in the car had been running from something-but she didn't run far or fast enough. Detective Inspector Annie Cabbot would like to question the man the victim was apparently racing to meet: Annie's superior-and former lover-Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks. But Banks has vanished into the anonymous chaos of the city, drawn into a mad whirl of greed, inhumanity, and death, by a frantic phone call from the brother he no longer knows. Banks is unaware that the threads connecting a sinister kidnapping with a savage slaying are as thick as rope . . . and long enough for a haunted and broken rogue cop to hang himself. --This text refers to an alternate paperback edition. About the Author One of the world's most popular and acclaimed writers, Peter Robinson is the bestselling, award-winning author of the Inspector Banks series; he has also written two short-story collections and three standalone novels, which combined have sold more than ten million copies around the world. Among his many honors and prizes are the Edgar Award, the CWA (UK) Dagger in the Library Award, and Sweden's Martin Beck Award. He divides his time between Toronto and England. --This text refers to an alternate paperback edition. From Booklist Robinson is one of those multiawarded authors (the Edgar, the Anthony, the Grand Prix de Litterature Policiere), who is absolutely reliable. This novel marks the fifteenth in the Inspector Alan Banks series, set in Yorkshire. Depressed over the loss of his cottage in a fire, Banks is galvanized into action by a pleading message from his estranged brother in London. When Banks travels to his wealthy brother's home, he finds it totally empty yet filled with disturbing clues as to the source of his brother's money. Banks' estranged lover and sidekick, Detective Annie Cabbot, is left to cope by herself with the investigation of the murder of a young woman on the motorway. When Cabbot finds a letter addressed to Banks on the victim, the reader knows that Robinson will tie the two investigations together in fiendishly clever ways. Another Robinson winner. Connie Fletcher Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From Bookmarks Magazine Banks will ferret out the truth, no matter what rules he breaks. In this British police procedural, Robinson offers up a gritty plot with some introspective ruminations on self-identity and personal relationships. As Banks (not your everyday quaffing plonk) evaluates his relationship with his high-living, shady brother, he examines his own vulnerabilities-heightened, of course, by his nasty divorce and near-death experience in the aforementioned fire. Robinson fleshes out compelling characters, but also comments on important social issues, from international arms dealings to women's rights. It's a good read, especially for its unpredictable depravities. Alan has long known that there is no shortage of monsters in this world, writes the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, but Strange Affair reinforces that. Copyright © 2004 Phillips & Nelson Media, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Was she being followed? It was hard to tell at that time of night on the motorway. There was plenty of traffic, lorries for the most part, and people driving home from the pub just a little too carefully, red BMWs coasting up the fast lane, doing a hundred or more, businessmen in a hurry to get home from late meetings. She was beyond Newport Pagnell now, and the muggy night air blurred the red tail lights of the cars ahead and the oncoming headlights across the road. She began to feel nervous as she checked her rear-­view mirror and saw that the car was still behind her. She pulled over to the outside lane and slowed down. The car, a dark Mondeo, overtook her. It was too dark to glimpse faces, but she thought there was just one person in the front and another in the back. It ­didn't have a taxi light on top, so she guessed it was probably a private hire-car and stopped worrying. Some rich git being ferried to a nightclub in Leeds, most likely. She overtook the Mondeo a little further up the motorway and ­didn't give it a second glance. The late-night radio was playing Old Blue Eyes singing Summer Wind. Her kind of music, no matter how old-fashioned people told her it was. Talent and good music never went out of style as far as she was concerned. When she got to Watford Gap services, she realized she felt tired and hungry, and she still had a long way to go, so she decided to stop for a short break. She ­didn't even notice the Mondeo pull in two cars behind her. A few seedy-­looking people hung around the entrance; a couple of kids who ­didn't look old enough to drive stood smoking and playing the machines, giving her the eye as she walked past, staring at her breasts. She went first to the ladies', then to the café, where she bought a ham and tomato sandwich and sat alone to eat, washing it down with a Diet Coke. At the table opposite, a man with a long face and dandruff on the collar of his dark suit jacket ogled her over the top of his glasses, pretending to read his newspaper and eat a sausage roll. Was he just a common or garden-­variety perv, or was there something more sinister in his interest? she wondered. In the end, she decided he was just a perv. Sometimes it seemed as if the world were full of them, that she could hardly walk down the street or go for a drink on her own without some sad pillock who thought he was God's gift eyeing her up, like the kids hanging around the entrance, or coming over and laying a line of chat on her. Still, she told herself, what else could you expect at this time of night in a motorway service station? A couple of other men came in and went to the counter for coffee-­to-­go, but they ­didn't give her a second glance. She finished half the sandwich, dumped the rest and got her travel mug filled with coffee. When she walked back to her car she made sure that there were people around - a family with two young kids up way past their bedtime, noisy and hyperactive - and that no one was following her. The tank was only a quarter full, so she filled it up at the petrol station, using her credit card right there, at the pump. The perv from the café pulled up at the pump opposite and stared at her as he put the nozzle in the tank. She ignored him. She could see the night manager in his office, watching through the window, and that made her feel more secure. Tank full, she turned down the slip-­road and eased in between two articulated lorries. It was hot in the car, so she opened both windows and enjoyed the play of breeze they created. It helped keep her awake, along with the hot black coffee. The clock on the dashboard read 12:35 a.m. Only about two or three hours to go, then she would be safe. Penny Cartwright was singing Richard Thompson's Strange Affair when Banks walked into the Dog and Gun, her low, husky voice milking the song's stark melancholy for all it was worth. Banks stood by the door, transfixed. Penny Cartwright. He ­hadn't seen her in over ten years, though he had thought of her often, even seen her name in Mojo and Uncut from time to time. The years had been kind. Her figure still looked good in blue jeans and a tight white T-­shirt tucked in at the waist. The long, raven's-­wing hair he remembered looked just as glossy as ever in the stage lights, and the few threads of grey here and there made her look even more attractive. She seemed a little more gaunt than before, a little more sad around the eyes, perhaps, but it suited her, and Banks liked the contrast between her pale skin and dark hair. When the song ended, Banks took advantage of the applause to walk over to the bar, order a pint and light a cigarette. He ­wasn't happy with himself for having started smoking again after six months or more on the wagon, but there it was. He tried to avoid smoking in the flat, and he would stop again as soon as he'd got himself back together. For the moment, it was a crutch, an old friend come back to visit during a time of need. There ­wasn't a seat left in the entire lounge. Banks could feel the sweat prickling on his temples and at the back of his neck. He leaned against the bar and let Penny's voice transport him as she launched into Blackwater Side. She had two accompanists, one on guitar and the other on stand-­up bass, and they wove a dense tapestry of sound against which her lyric lines soared. The next round of applause marked the end of the set, and Penny walked through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea for her, smiling and nodding hello as she went, and stood next to Banks at the bar. She lit a cigarette, inhaled, made a circle of her mouth and blew out a smoke ring towards the optics. From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From AudioFile Simon Prebble gives an eerie elegance to RobinsonÕs fifteenth novel featuring Yorkshire DCI Alan Banks in a case that takes a distinctly personal turn for the morose and self-destructive inspector. Banks gets an urgent telephone message from his estranged brother and is perplexed when heÕs unable to track him down. Meanwhile, a slip of paper with BanksÕs name and address is found in the pocket of a murder victim. As always, RobinsonÕs writing is filled with atmospheric musical references to emphasize the characterÕs lonely melancholy, and PrebbleÕs reading adds to that somber atmosphere. A Yorkshire accent is not in evidence. Instead PrebbleÕs smooth and even narration is characterized by its pace and timing, which give the novel an elegantly haunting quality. S.E.S. ® AudioFile 2008, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From Publishers Weekly Starred Review. In this artful abridgement of Inspector Alan Banks's 15th series appearance, things get personal for the Yorkshire policeman. Still despondent over the burning of his hearth and home in Playing with Fire, he's drawn to London by a panicked phone message left by his estranged younger brother. Meanwhile, Banks's name and old address turn up in the possession of an attractive young woman murdered on his own turf. That death is being probed by his ex-lover, Inspector Annie Cabbot. The author cleverly keeps things moving by switching from one investigation to the other, introducing both sleuths to a gallery of well-defined witnesses and potential suspects. Narrator Prebble, who can be heard on nearly 200 audiobooks, tells the story with an almost cool British reserve, slipping easily into a panoply of vocal characterizations appropriate to Robinson's large, distinctive cast. >From Banks's pleasant and faintly bemused mum to Cockney thugs and smarmy swells, Prebble gets the job done. He also handles the mood swings of the two main characters with ease. Using subtle shifts in pacing and vocal timbre, he balances Annie's professional patience in her interviews against her growing anger with Banks for the mental anguish he continues to cause her. And for Banks, the narrator runs the emotional gamut--from depression to full fury to a quiet understanding that everyone gets tainted by a murder investigation. Simultaneous release with the Morrow hardcover (Forecasts, Jan. 17). (Feb.) Copyright ® Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.