Piece of My Heart (Inspector Banks Novels)
1969 . . . In an era of free love and rebellion, a dead body is discovered among the detritus of a recently concluded rock festival—a beautiful young woman stabbed so savagely through the chest that a piece of her heart was sliced off.
Now . . . A freelance journalist, a stranger to the region, is savagely bludgeoned to death in a shocking act of violence with no apparent motive.
Two murders separated by four decades are investigated by two very different but equally haunted investigators—one, a casualty of war unable to come to terms with a confusing new world; the other, a rogue policeman harboring ghosts of his own. But the truth behind a grisly present-day slaying may somehow be hidden in the amplified, drug-induced fog of a notorious past, propelling Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks into the darkest shadows of the peace, love, and rock 'n' roll generation.
passed them, both wearing black helmets and bulletproof vests and carrying Heckler & Koch carbines. “It’s a fact of the times here, I’m afraid,” said Blackstone. Banks nodded. What bothered him most was that the officers looked only about fifteen. “Sorry I’m not being a lot of help,” Blackstone went on. “Nonsense,” said Banks. “You’re helping me fill in the picture, and that’s all I need right now. I know I’ll have to read the files and the trial transcripts soon, but I keep putting it off
because those things bore me so much.” “You can do that in my office after we’ve had a bite to eat. I have to go out. I know what you mean, though. I’d rather curl up with a good Flash-man or Sharpe, myself.” Blackstone stopped at the end of an alley. “Let’s try the Ship this time. Whitelocks is always too damned crowded these days, and they’ve changed the menu. It’s getting too trendy. And somehow I don’t see you sitting out in the Victoria Quarter at the Harvey Nichols café eating a
“What’s that supposed to mean?” “What I said. Mr. Gristhorpe was an experienced officer.” “And he gave you free rein.” “He knew how to get the job done.” “Right.” Superintendent Gervaise leaned forward and clasped her hands on the desk. “Well, let me tell you something that may surprise you. I don’t want you to change. I want you to get the job done, too.” “What?” said Banks. “I thought that might surprise you. Let me tell you something. I’m a woman in a man’s world. Do you think I don’t
cornflowers.” “Wonderful,” said McCullen. “Do any of these people have the brains they were born with, I wonder?” “I know, sir,” said Enderby, with a grin. “It’s very frustrating. Should I continue my inquiries?” McCullen looked at Chadwick. “Stan? You’re in charge.” “I’m not sure if it’s relevant at all,” Chadwick said. “I simply thought that the drawing of such a flower by the killer indicated a certain type of mentality.” “A nutcase, you mean?” said McCullen. “To put it bluntly, yes,”
public comments about my private life.” Superintendent Gervaise held her hand up. “Now, let’s wait a moment before we go any further. Just exactly what was it I said that has upset you so much?” “You know damn well what it was. Ma’am.” “We don’t seem to be getting off on the right foot here, do we?” “You said you had no desire to argue sexual mores, especially with me.” “These meetings aren’t a forum for argument, DI Cabbot, they’re called to bring everyone up-to-date and set the scene for