In a Dry Season Read Online Free PDF Page B

denim shirt, open at the neck, with no tie, light tan trousers and black wellington boots.
    â€œWhy isn’t it taped off, then?” he asked.
    The woman looked at him and frowned. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, by the look of her, long-legged, tall and slim—probably not much more than an inch shorter than Banks’s five-foot-nine. She was wearing blue jeans and a white blouse made of some silky material. Over the blouse she wore a herringbone jacket that followed the contours of her waist and the gentle outward curve of her hips. Her chestnut hair was parted in the middle and fell in layered, casual waves to her shoulders. Her face was oval, with a smooth, tanned complexion, full lips, and a small mole to the right of her mouth. She was wearing black-rimmed sunglasses, and when she took them off, her serious almond eyes seemed to appraise Banks as if he were a hitherto undiscovered species.
    She wasn’t conventionally good-looking. Hers wasn’t the kind of face you’d find on the pages of a magazine, but her looks showed character and intelligence. And the red wellies set it all off nicely.
    Banks smiled. “Do I have to throw you off the bridge into the river before I can cross, like Robin Hood did to Little John?”
    â€œI think you’ll find it was the other way round, but you could try it,” she said. Then, after they had scrutinized one another for a few seconds, she squinted, frowned, and said, “You’ll be DCI Banks, then?”
    She didn’t appear nervous or embarrassed about mistaking him for a sightseer; there was no hint of apology ordeference in her tone. He didn’t know whether he liked that. “ DS Cabbot, I presume?”
    â€œYes, sir.” She smiled. It was no more than a twitch of one corner of her mouth and a brief flash of light behind her eyes, but it left an impression. Many people, Banks mused, probably thought it was nice to be smiled at by DS Cabbot. Which made him all the more suspicious of Jimmy Riddle’s motives for sending him out there.
    â€œAnd these people?” Banks pointed to the man and woman talking to the uniformed policeman. The man was aiming a video camera at the outbuilding.
    â€œColleen Harris and James O’Grady, sir. They were scouting the location for a TV programme when they saw the boy fall through the roof. They ran to help him. Seems they also had their camera handy. I suppose it’ll make a nice little item on the evening news.” She scratched the side of her nose. “We’d run out of crime-scene tape, sir. At the section station. To be honest, I’m not sure we ever had any in the first place.” She toyed with the sunglasses as she spoke, but Banks didn’t think it was out of nervousness. She had a slight West Country burr, not very pronounced, but clear enough to be noticeable.
    DS Cabbot nodded. “Adam Kelly. He’s thirteen.” “Where is he?”
    â€œI sent him home. To Harkside. He seemed a bit shaken up, and he’d bruised his wrist and elbow. Nothing serious. Anyway, he wanted his mummy, so I got PC Cameron over there to drive him and then come back.
    Poor kid’ll be having nightmares for months as it is.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œAdam was walking on the roof and it gave way under him. Lucky he didn’t break his back, or get crushed to death.” She pointed at the outbuilding. “The rafters that helped support the flagstones must have rotted, all those years under water. It didn’t take much weight. I should think the demolition men were supposed to pull the whole place down before it was flooded, but they must have knocked off early that day.”
    Banks looked around. “It does seem as if they cut a few corners.”
    â€œWhy not? They probably thought no one would ever see the place again. Who can tell what’s there when it’s all under water? Anyway, the mud broke Adam’s