Read When the Music's Over Online
Authors: Peter Robinson
When the Music's Over (52 page)
“Perhaps it is, then,” said Banks. “But it might mean more to some of his other victims.”
Linda lit a cigarette and regarded him through lowered eyes. “Are you saying I don't make a good victim?”
Banks smiled. “âVictim' isn't the word that comes to mind when I talk to you,” he said. The sun was at such an angle that the river looked like a burning oil slick and the undersides of the overhanging trees were lit by its fiery light. Banks finished his wine and put his glass down. “I should be going.”
Linda didn't react for a moment, then she leaned forward and said, “Do you mind if I come with you to the Dog and Gun? I really don't feel like being here on my own tonight. I want people and music and dancing.”
“Not at all,” said Banks, standing and offering her his arm.
“Are you sure it's OK, me being a witness, a
victim
? You won't get into trouble?”
“I'm already in trouble. A bit more won't make much difference.”
Linda smiled and took his arm and together they walked out of the garden.
I
T WAS A BITTERLY COLD NIGHT BUT THE NATURE OF
Jade's work didn't allow her to dress for the weather. She was shivering in her tube top and micro skirt as she paced her corner near the city center. Streetlights and neons reflected in the puddles, and the noise of revelers from nearby pubs and clubs filled the airâa laugh, a glass smashing, a sudden cheer or whoop, loud music from a cover band imitating the Rolling Stones' “Satisfaction.” There was plenty of traffic, and the cars occasionally slowed down for a closer look at her, sometimes stopped to pick her up. But she still had hours of work ahead of her before she could get back to the flat and experience the rush and the euphoria that followed. That anticipation of blissful oblivion had quickly become all that kept her going in the cold city night.
The girls were spaced well apart, and Radnor came by every once in a while to make sure everything was all right, and to pick up the earnings. He was OK, she supposed. Better than some. And she wouldn't be doing this forever, she thought as she paced. She was still young. There was a man she'd been talking to, a pal of Radnor's, who said he thought she'd be perfect for some films he was going to make. The work paid well. About a thousand euros a scene, he said, with extra for unprotected sex, gang bangs and fake rape. A few months of that, and she'd have a nice little nest egg to do with what she wanted. She didn't know what that was yet, but she wanted to move somewhere far away from here, perhaps a village in the country. She'd kick her habit and live somewhere people were nice and there were trees
and birds and sweet-smelling flowers and maybe a river at the bottom of her garden.
The wind seemed to rake against her exposed flesh and she felt the first drops of rain on her cheek. A car pulled up by the curb about ten yards ahead of her and a hand beckoned out of the window. The engine purred and the red brake lights glowed like a demon's eyes. She felt that same tightening in her stomach she always felt when a car stopped. You never knew what was going to happen next. Then she pulled herself together, thrust her chest out and remembered to swing her hips as she walked toward it.
M
ANY THANKS TO CAROLYN MAYS, MY EDITOR AT
Hodder & Stoughton. Also thanks to Abby Parsons for all her assistance and to Justine Taylor for clear and clean copy-editing. At McClelland & Stewart, I would like to thank Ellen Seligman, and at William Morrow, my editor Daniel Mallory and assistant editor Marguerite Weisman. I would also like to thank my wife Sheila Halladay, who read the manuscript when I thought it was ready to submit and found even more room for improvement.
Thanks to my agents Dominick Abel and David Grossman for their continuing encouragement and support. Also thanks to the publicistsâKerry Hood at Hodder, Ashley Dunn at McClelland & Stewart, and Megan Schumann at Morrow.
Thanks to Nicholas Reckert for the interesting walks that somehow always seem to suggest a possible crime scene. In this book, he is by no means responsible for Wytherton Heights, which is entirely of my own imagining.
As far as research is concerned, I want to give special thanks to Jenny Brierley, ICT Archivist at the West Yorkshire Archive Service, for her invaluable help in tracking down old police records.
I feel it might also be useful to mention three books I found particularly useful when researching the themes of my novel:
In Plain Sight: The Life and Lies of Jimmy Savile
by Dan Davies;
Smile for the Camera: The Double Life of Cyril Smith
by Simon Danczuk and Matthew Baker; and
Violated
by Sarah Wilson.
Last but not least, thanks to the sales teams who make the deals and set up the special promotions, to the reps who get out on the road and sell the book to the shops, and to the booksellers themselves, without whom you wouldn't be holding this volume in your hand. And thanks, of course, to you, the reader.
One of the world's most popular and acclaimed writers,
PETER ROBINSON
grew up in the United Kingdom, and now divides his time between Toronto and England. The bestselling, award-winning author of twenty-three books in the Inspector Banks series, he has also written two short-story collections and three standalone novels. Among his many honors and prizes are the Edgar Award, the CWA (UK) Dagger in the Library Award, France's Grand Prix de Littérature Policière, Sweden's Martin Beck Award, and the Danish Palle Rosenkrantz award.
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GALLOWS VIEW
A DEDICATED MAN
A NECESSARY END
THE HANGING VALLEY
PAST REASON HATED
WEDNESDAY'S CHILD
NOT SAFE AFTER DARK
Cover photograph © Axiom Photographic/Corbis
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHEN THE MUSIC'S OVER
. Copyright © 2016 by Eastvale Enterprises, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition AUGUST 2016 ISBN 9780062395061
ISBN 978-0-06-239478-1
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