Chapters (87)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Welcome
- Dedication
- Prologue
- i
- ii
- iii
- Part One
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- Part Two
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- Part Three
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- Part Four
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- Part Five
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- Part Six
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- About the Author
- Also by Ian Rankin
- Thank you for buying this e-book, published by Hachette Digital.
- Contents
“Duly noted. You use this road a lot?”
“Like clockwork: Inverness–Perth–Dundee–Aberdeen. I could drive it blind.”
“Maybe not when I’m in the vicinity, eh?”
“Worried I’d dunt your Saab?”
Rebus shook his head. “Worried I’d have to arrest you…”
32
32
Edinburgh again.
Long tailbacks into the city, a forty-mile-per-hour limit enforced by average speed cameras. Bloody roadworks. And then, as he entered the city itself, signs warning him about the tram project with its diversions and road closures. His back was on fire. Too much time at the wheel, and hardly the most relaxing of drives. At Gayfield Square he stuck the POLICE sign on the dashboard before getting out, patting the Saab’s roof in thanks for not breaking down on him. Then he headed inside, expecting his nemesis to be waiting. Instead, there was a new face behind the Plexiglas, and she accepted Rebus’s ID at face value, buzzing him through. He climbed the stairs and entered the CID office. Everyone was clustered around Christine Esson’s computer.
“What have I missed?”
Page looked up briefly. “Welcome back,” he said, gesturing for Rebus to come and look.
“It’s the CCTV from the bus station,” Siobhan Clarke explained. It had been looked at before, but only to make sure Annette really did board the Inverness coach. “Christine had the idea of winding it back a bit…”
Esson was using her mouse pad to move the action forwards and backwards, a few frames at a time. Annette skipped towards the bus queue, then seemed to retreat until she left the frame altogether. There was a cut to another camera, showing her from further away. Different angle, but obviously shot at the same time. Back, back, back towards the glass doors of the bus station. The door opening as she got closer to it, closing as she went through it, her hand pressed to the metal handle. She was on the pavement now, their view of her opaque, glass in the way.
“Can we zoom in?” Rebus asked.
“Not necessary,” Page said. “Watch what happens.”
A figure was approaching her, speaking to her. Rebus sucked air through his teeth. It was recognizably Frank Hammell. His hand was grasping her arm. And then the pair of them moved out of shot again. Esson paused the recording, then played it forward in real time. Hammell and Annette walked into shot, his hand grabbing her as if reluctant to let her go. She shrugged him off and pushed open the door, striding purposefully across the concourse. Cut to the other camera. Was that relief on her face? She was up on her toes, a bag slung over one shoulder, joining the short queue to board the single-decker coach, glancing back just once to see if Hammell was there.