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
“Well, I wanted a word with you anyway…”
“Is this me getting my jotters?”
“You’ve done good work here, John, but the inquiry seems to be moving in different directions.”
“While I’m stuck on the hard shoulder trying to thumb a life?”
“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that. But it’s true that I’m starting to think your time here may be drawing to a close.”
“In which case, I’ve a favor to ask.”
Page’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes?”
“Don’t tell SCRU just yet. I need a bit of time to shift those boxes.” Rebus gestured in the vague direction of Clarke’s desk.
“Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two,” Page countered. “I can get one of the team to help you.”
Rebus was shaking his head. “Not your best use of resources, James. I’m happy to move them myself. I’ll be out of your hair by this time tomorrow.” He held out a hand, which Page studied for a moment before extending his own to meet it.
Ten minutes later, Rebus was on Leith Walk again with a take-away coffee and a box of paracetamol from the local pharmacy. He swallowed two, and browsed the windows of local shops. One of them sold second-hand vinyl, but he knew he didn’t have time for a browse. Having convinced himself that he was fit to drive, he headed to his car, tucking the POLICE OFFICIAL BUSINESS sign under the passenger seat and turning the ignition. It was approaching three p.m. and he was going to meet the rush hour somewhere on his route, but all the same…
“Back in the saddle,” he told his car, patting its dashboard for luck.
I could drive it blind…He remembered the van driver’s words as he headed for the M90. Escaping the city center provided the usual problems: temporary traffic lights; teams digging up the roads. Many a potential rat-run had been blocked off, meaning little was to be gained by diverging from the main route north out of the city. Traffic slowed again on the approach to the Forth Road Bridge, and remained heavy until he had passed the turn-offs to Dunfermline and Kirkcaldy. He stopped at the Kinross services for fuel. The woman behind the till gave a little nod of recognition. Maybe she had a good memory, but it was more likely he had taken on the tics and rhythms of the regular traveler, and she was merely acknowledging him as a member of the tribe.