Ian RankinBuy a Copy of this Book
'Here's a story I don't often tell,' the Farmer said. 'My first week on the force, they had me working the front desk, graveyard shift. This young lad - not even in his teens - comes in, walks straight up to the desk. "I've broke my wee sister," he says.' The Farmer's eyes were staring into space. 'I can see him now, the way he looked, the exact words . . . "I've broke my wee sister." I hadn't a clue what he meant. Turned out he'd pushed her down the stairs, killed her.' He paused, took another gulp of whisky. 'My first week on the force. Know what my sergeant said? "It can only get better."' He forced a smile. 'I've never been sure he was right . . .' Suddenly his arms went into the air, the smile broadening into a grin. 'Here she is! Here she is! Just when I thought I was being stood up.'
Classic Crime Fiction
Books Wanted Bibliography Dust Jackets