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528 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2002
Another ghost in need of justice. Rebus had confessed to her once, after too many late-night drinks in the Oxford Bar, that he saw ghosts. Or didn’t see them so much as sense them. All the cases, the innocent -- and not so innocent -- victims . . . all those lives turned into CID files . . . They were always more than that to him. He’d seemed to see it as a failing, but Siobhan hadn’t agreed.
We wouldn’t be human if they didn’t get to us, she’d told him. His look had stilled her with its cynicism, as if he were saying that “human” was the one thing they weren’t supposed to be.
This was how the jobs got done: with a tainted conscience, guilty deals, and complicity. With grubby motives and a spirit grown corrupt.It says something about the writing that I have read the book several times and still enjoy it, even though I obviously know the ending perfectly well. The dialogue is good, the tension sustained and nothing is too eye-rollingly absurd. If you like the genre, which is detective fiction without guns and babes to prop up thin plots and increase the word count, this is one of the best.