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    The Good Partner
    The Good Partner
    The Good Partner
    Ebook52 pages43 minutes

    The Good Partner

    By Peter Robinson

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    About this ebook

    The Good Partner has descriptive copy which is not yet available from the Publisher.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateFeb 9, 2016
    ISBN9780062413796
    The Good Partner
    Author

    Peter Robinson

    Peter Robinson's DCI Banks became a major ITV1 drama starring Stephen Tompkinson as Inspector Banks and Andrea Lowe as DI Annie Cabbot. Peter's standalone novel Before the Poison won the IMBA's 2013 Dilys Award as well as the 2012 Arthur Ellis Award for Best Novel by the Crime Writers of Canada. This was Peter's sixth Arthur Ellis award. His critically acclaimed DCI Banks novels have won numerous awards in Britain, the United States, Canada and Europe, and are published in translation all over the world. In 2020 Peter was made a Grand Master by the Crime Writers of Canada. Peter grew up in Yorkshire, and divided his time between Richmond, UK, and Canada until his death in 2022.

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      Book preview

      The Good Partner - Peter Robinson

      cover.jpg161161.png

      Contents  

      The Good Partner

      Read On

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      About the Author

      Also by Peter Robinson

      Credits

      Copyright

      About the Publisher

      The Good Partner

      1

      THE LOWERING SKY was black as a tax inspector’s heart when Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks pulled up outside 17 Oakley Crescent at eight o’clock one mid-­November evening. An icy wind whipped up the leaves and set them skittering around his feet as he walked up the path to the glass-­paneled door.

      Detective Constable Susan Gay was waiting for him inside, and Peter Darby, the police photographer, was busy with his new video recorder. Between the glass coffee table and the brick fireplace lay the woman’s body, blood matting the hair around her left temple. Banks put on his latex gloves, then bent and picked up the object beside her. The bronze plaque read, Eastvale Golf Club, 1991 Tournament. Winner: David Fosse. There was blood on the base of the trophy. The man Banks assumed to be David Fosse sat on the sofa staring into space.

      A pile of photographs lay on the table. Banks picked them up and flipped through them. Each was dated 11/13/93 across the bottom. The first few showed group scenes—red-­eyed people eating, drinking and dancing at a banquet of some kind—but the last ones told a different story. Two showed a handsome young man in a navy blue suit, white shirt and garish tie, smiling lecherously at the photographer from behind a glass of whisky. Then the scene shifted to a hotel room, where the man had loosened his tie. None of the other diners were to be seen. In the last picture, he had also taken off his jacket. The date had changed to 11/14/93.

      Banks turned to the man on the sofa. Are you David Fosse? he asked.

      There was a pause while the man seemed to return from a great distance. Yes, he said finally.

      Can you identify the victim?

      It’s my wife, Kim.

      What happened?

      I . . . I was out taking the dog for a walk. When I got back I found . . . He gestured towards the floor.

      When did you go out?

      Quarter to seven, as usual. I got back about half past and found her like this.

      Was your wife in when you left?

      Yes.

      Was she expecting any visitors?

      He shook his head.

      Banks held out the photos. Have you seen these?

      Fosse turned away and grunted.

      Who took them? What do they mean?

      Fosse stared at the Axminster.

      Mr. Fosse?

      I don’t know.

      This date, November 13. Last Saturday. Is that significant?

      My wife was at a business convention in London last weekend. I assume they’re the pictures she took.

      What kind of convention?

      "She’s involved in servicing home offices and small businesses. Servicing, he sneered. Now there’s an apt term."

      Banks singled out the man in the gaudy tie. Do you know who this is?

      No. Fosse’s face darkened and both his hands curled into fists. No, but if I ever get hold of him—­

      Mr. Fosse, did you argue with your wife about the man in these photographs?

      Fosse’s mouth dropped.

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