In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner: An Inspector Lynley Novel by Elizabeth George

When the body of Nicola Maiden, the daughter of a retired Scotland Yard undercover officer, is found near an unidentified body in the middle of a pre-historic stone circle in Derbyshire, Inspector Lynley is asked to lead the investigation into the deaths. Lynley must get to the bottom of the crime without the assistance of his long-time partner Sergeant Barbara Havers following her demotion as a result of an internal investigation. But Barbara Havers has plans of her own, and they involve the very case that Lynley is working on . . . Review The multi-faceted surprise ending to the taut, suspenseful plot is the juiciest plum in this can't-put-down novel. (Publishers Weekly) She is a great storyteller. The totality is a big fat, satisfying book. (Frances Fyfield, Sunday Express) A compelling mystery,intricately plotted, with multiple twists and a satisfyingly devious finale. George is brilliant at juggling so many motives and so many suspects, keeping the reader enthralled, and coming up with such a clever solution. (Marcel Berlins, The Times) George's nine best-selling novels of psychological suspense are burnished with the internationalism that is a result of dividing her time between California and London (The Times) Book Description The tenth novel in the bestselling Inspector Lynley mystery series, reissued in dramatic new cover look. About the Author Elizabeth George is the author of highly acclaimed novels of psychological suspense. She won the Anthony and Agatha Best First Novel awards in America and received the Grand Prix de Littrature Policire in France. In 1990 she was awarded the prestigious German prize for international mystery fiction, the MIMI. Her novels have now been adapted for television by the BBC. An Edgar and Macavity Nominee as well as a New York Times and international bestselling author, Elizabeth George divides her time between Washington and Kensington, London. Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Julian Britton was a man who knew that his life thus far had amounted to nothing. He bred his dogs, he managed the crumbling ruin that was his family's estate, and daily he tried to lecture his father away from the bottle. That was the extent of it. He hadn't been a success at anything save pouring gin down the drain, and now, at twenty-seven years old, he felt branded by failure. But he couldn't allow that to affect him tonight. He knew that he had to prevail. He began with his appearance, giving himself a ruthless scru- tiny in his bedroom's cheval glass. He straightened the collar of his shirt and flicked a piece of lint from his shoulder. He stared at his face and schooled his features into the expression he wanted them to wear. He should look completely serious, he decided. Concerned, yes, because concern was reasonable. But he shouldn't look agonised. And certainly he shouldn't look ripped up inside and wondering how he came to be where he was, at this precise moment, with his world a shambles. As to what he was going to say, two sleepless nights and two endless days had given Julian plenty of time to rehearse what remarks he wished to make when the appointed hour rolled round. Indeed, it was in elaborate but silent fantasy conversations that Julian had spent most of the past two nights and two days that had followed Nicola Maiden's unbelievable announcement. Now, after forty-eight hours engaged in end- less colloquies within his own skull, Julian was anxious to get on with things, even if he had no assurance that his words would carry the weight he wanted. He turned from the cheval glass and fetched his car keys from the top of the chest of drawers. The fine sheen of dust that usually covered its walnut surface had been removed. This told Julian that his cousin had once again submitted to the cleaning furies, a sure sign that she'd met defeat yet another time in her determined course of sobering up her uncle. Samantha had come to Derbyshire with just that intention eight months previously, an angel of mercy who'd one day shown up at Broughton Manor with the mission of reuniting a family torn asunder for more than three decades. She hadn't made much progress in that direction, however, and Julian wondered how much longer she was going to put up with his father's bent towards the bottle. 'We've got to get him off the booze, Jules,' Samantha had said to him only that morning. 'you must see how crucial it is at this point.' Nicola, on the other hand, knowing his father eight years and not merely eight months, had long been of a live-and-let-live frame of mind. She'd said more than once, 'If your dad's choice is to drink himself silly, there's nothing you can do about it, Jules. And there's nothing that Sam can do either.' But then Nicola didn't know how it felt to see one's father slipping ever more inexorably towards debauchery, absorbed in intensely inebriated delusions about the romance of his past She, after all, had grown up in a home where how things seemed was identical to how things actually were. She had two parents whose love never wavered, and she'd never suffered the dual desertion of a flower-child mother flitting off to 'study' with a tapestry-clad guru the night before one's own twelfth birthday and a father whose devotion to the bottle far exceeded any attachment he might have displayed towards his three children. In fact, had Nicola ever once cared to analyse the differences in their individual upbringings, Julian thought, she might have seen that every single one of her bloody decisions At that, he brought his thoughts up short. He would not head in that direction. He could not afford to head in that direction. He could not afford to let his mind wander from the task that was immediately at hand. 'Listen to me.' He grabbed his wallet from the chest and shoved it into his pocket. 'You're good enough for anyone. She got scared shitless. She took a wrong turn. That's the end of it. Remember that. And remember that everyone knows how good the two of you always were together.' He had faith in this fact. Nicola Maiden and Julian Britton had been part of each other's lives for years. Everyone who knew them had long ago realised that they belonged together. It was only Nicola who, it appeared, had never come to terms with this fact. 'I know that we were never engaged,' he'd told her two nights previously in response to her declaration that she was moving away from the Peaks permanently and would only be back for brief visits henceforth. 'But we've always had an understanding, haven't we? I wouldn't be sleeping with you if I wasn't serious about. Come on, Nick. Damn it, you know me.' It wasn't the proposal of marriage he'd planned on making, and she hadn't taken it as such. She'd said-bluntly, 'Jules, I like you enormously. You're terrific, and you've been a real friend. And we get on, far better than I've ever got on with another bloke.' 'Then you see 'But I don't love you,' she went on. 'Sex doesn't equate to love. It's only in. films and books that it does.' He'd been too stunned at first to speak. It was as if his mind had become a blackboard and someone had taken a rubber to it before he had a chance to make any notes. So she'd continued.