Several years back I bought 12 Peter Robinson books in a 2nd-hand shop and read them all one after the other. I’ve been reading the rest as they appear – roughly one a year. With a couple of exceptions, they all feature Inspector Banks and they all take place in the north of England. Straightforward detective stories, they’re distinguished by believable characters investigating believable crimes. No Colonel Mustard with the candlestick in the library. No Agatha Christie shenanigans.
In this book, the criminals are sexual predators and one thing that distinguishes the story – as it always does in the best of the Banks series – is the considerable sympathy and attention paid to the victims. In fact that’s one reason I love about these books: the characters. Good or bad, you always want to find out what they’re going to do next.