In a Dry Season by Peter Robinson Read Free Book Online

you want, love,” she said, and pointed to a list on the blackboard.
    Banks sighed. The guessing game. He had played it often enough before. You walk in about ten minutes after opening time and ask for something on the menu, only to be told that it’s “off.” After about four or five alternatives, also declared “off,” you finally find something that they just might have. If you’re lucky.
    This time Banks went through tandoori chicken and chips, venison medallions in a red-wine sauce and chips, and fettuccine alfredo and chips before striking gold: beef and Stilton pie. And chips. He hadn’t been eating much beef for the past few years, but he had stopped worrying about mad cow disease lately. If his brain were going to turn to sludge, there wasn’t much he could do to stop it at this stage. Sometimes it felt like sludge already.
    DS Cabbot ordered a salad sandwich, no chips. “Diet?” Banks asked, remembering the way Susan Gay used to nibble on rabbit food most of the time.
    â€œNo, sir. I don’t eat meat. And the chips are cooked in animal fat. There’s not a lot of choice.”
    â€œI see. Drink?”
    â€œLike a fish.” She laughed. “Actually, I’ll have a pint of Swan’s Down Bitter. I’d recommend it very highly. It’s brewed on the premises.”
    Banks took her advice and was glad that he did. He had never met a vegetarian beer aficionado before.
    â€œI’ll bring your food over when it’s ready, dearies,” the woman said. Banks and DS Cabbot took their pints over to a table by the open window. It looked out on the twilit green. The scene had changed; a group of teenagers had supplanted the old men. They leaned against tree trunks smoking, drinking from cans, pushing and shoving, telling jokes, laughing, trying to look tough. Again, Banks thought of Brian. It wasn’t such a bad thing, was it, neglecting his architectural studies to pursue a career in music? It didn’t mean he’d end up a deadbeat. And if it were a matter of drugs, Brian had probably had enough opportunities to try them already. Banks certainly had by his age.
    What really bothered him was his realization that he didn’t really know his son very well any more. Brian had grown up over the past few years away from home, and Banks hadn’t seen much of him. Truth be told, he had spent far more time and energy on Tracy. He had also had his own preoccupations and problems, both at work and at home. Maybe they were on the wane, but they certainly hadn’t gone away yet.
    If DS Cabbot felt uncomfortable with Banks’s broodingsilence, she didn’t show it. He fished out his cigarettes. Still not bad; he had smoked only five so far that day, despite his row with Brian and Jimmy Riddle’s phone call. Cutting out the ones he usually had in the car was a good idea. “Do you mind?” he asked.
    She shook her head.
    â€œSure?”
    â€œIf you’re asking whether it’ll make me suffer, it will, but I usually manage to control my cravings.”
    â€œReformed?”
    â€œA year.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œYou needn’t be. I’m not.”
    Banks lit up. “I’m thinking of stopping soon, myself.
    I’ve cut down.”
    â€œBest of luck.” DS Cabbot raised her glass, took a sip of beer and smacked her lips. “Ah, that’s good. Do you mind if I ask you something?”
    â€œNo.”
    She leaned forward and touched the hair at his right temple. “What’s that?”
    â€œWhat? The scar?”
    â€œNo. The blue bit. I didn’t think DCI s went in for dye jobs.”
    Banks felt himself blush. He touched the spot she had indicated. “It must be paint. I was painting my living-room when Jimmy Riddle phoned. I thought I’d washed it all off.”
    She smiled. “Never mind. Looks quite nice, actually.” “Maybe I should get an earring to go with