This begins with the discovery of a house like Fred West’s, touches on the political farce and travesty of justice that was the Tony Martin case (though under a different name) with reference to a police officer being pilloried under the ‘criminals are victims’ dogma, and truly does live up to its title. The aftermath is that of child abuse, of the hunt for a serial killer, of the separation of the leading character from his wife … but then everything is, in some sense, an aftermath.
Inspector Banks here combines aspects of many who’ve gone before: Frost, Dalgleish, Morse (well, he listens to classical music), and it’s always nice to discover another police procedural to enjoy and another detective to add to that growing list. This could be done really well on television, supposing ITV ever has the money to spare and both it and the BBC ever lose interest in preaching political correctness and the joys of multiculturalism. But meanwhile I’ll have to content myself with the knowledge that there’s another eleven Inspector Banks’ books to read, which suits me fine.