A Suitable Vengeance (Inspector Lynley)
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Award-winning author Elizabeth George gives us an early glimpse into the lives of Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley, forensic scientist Simon Allcourt-St. James, and Lady Helen Clyde in a superlative mystery that is also a fascinating inquiry into the crimes of the heart. Lynley, the eighth earl of Asherton, has brought to Howenstow, his family home, the young woman he has asked to be his bride. But the savage murder of a local journalist is the catalyst for a lethal series of events that shatters the calm of a picturesque Cornwall village and embroils Lynley and St. James in a case far outside their jurisdiction—and a little too close to home. When a second death follows closely on the heels of the first, Lynley finds he can't help taking the investigation personally—because the evidence points to a killer within his own family.
From the Paperback edition.
In whatever fashion she would judge them, the words had been said. Three years too late, but said all the same. And even if she chose to leave him now, at least she chose knowing the worst he was and the best. He could live with that. “What do you want of me?” she asked. “You know the answer to that.” Peach moved restlessly at their feet. Someone shouted from the patch of green across Cheyne Walk. Deborah watched the river. He followed the direction of her gaze to see that the swans had
romantic. I’m in the wrong line of work.” “But it’s noble work, Harriman.” “Just what I need to hear.” She left him, calling out to someone to answer a phone that was ringing in an unmanned office nearby. Lynley folded the memo and flipped open his pocket watch. It was half past five. He’d been on duty since seven. There were at least three more reports on his desk waiting for comment, but his concentration was dwindling. It was time to join her, Lynley decided. They needed to talk. He left
paternal patience, and willing communication. Saddled with a child whose impetuous personality was nothing like his own, Cotter had managed to adjust his own thinking in a constant attempt to understand hers. If devotion existed between them now, it was only due to years in which the seeds of a future relationship had been planted and cultivated. “You’re estranged from Tommy, aren’t you?” Deborah said impulsively. Lady Asherton smiled, but she looked very tired. For a moment Deborah thought
this to Mickey. And I won’t stop the story. Nothing’ll stop it. We have a free press. My boy lived for that, died for that as well. But it won’t be in vain.” “If he died for a story in the first place,” St. James said quietly. Cambrey’s face grew dark. “What else is there?” “Mick’s women.” Cambrey removed the cigarette from his mouth in a movement that was slow, studied, like an actor’s. His head gave a tiny nod of approbation. “They’re talking like that about Mickey, are they? Well now, why
haven’t left the room since last night. I’ve only been in the bath. If Tommy came for the cameras, why wouldn’t he have told me?” “Let me ask,” Lady Helen said again. She left the room to do so. Deborah sank onto the stool in front of the dressing table, staring at the floor. The pattern of flowers and leaves in the carpet blurred before her as she considered the loss. Three cameras, six lenses, dozens of filters, all purchased from the proceeds of her first successful show in America,