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
Once they were outside the office, Page ended the call and closed the door. Then he folded his arms.
“Explain,” he said.
“Explain what, sir?” Clarke countered.
“Maybe you were huddled round Christine’s screen to look at cats being funny on the internet.”
“No, James. We were looking at Twitter and the BBC.”
“Then you know what I’m talking about.”
“Of course—but I still don’t see what needs explaining. Everyone’s a reporter these days. A patrol car turns up at the same spot on the A9 two days running, people nearby are going to gossip about it. Used to be the garden fence would do, but now it’s Twitter and the like. No way we can stop it.”
“In fact, we should do the opposite,” Rebus offered. “Get tongues wagging, people’s memories whirring…”
Page glowered at him. “What about this Hazlitt woman? Where’s she getting her information from?”
“Speculation rather than information,” Clarke jumped in. “It’s the same story she’s always told. Only thing that’s changed is there’s a new MisPer for the media to hang it on.”
Page considered this, eyes still on Rebus. Clarke was looking at him too, willing him to keep his mouth shut.
“We need to get the photo from Annette McKie’s phone out there,” Rebus stated, ignoring her. “If the public want a story, we should give them one, get them working for us. Looks like our only hope anyway of finding out where it was taken.”
“And you should give a statement to the press,” Clarke added, turning her attention to Page. “Just you this time. Set the record straight.”
Page tried not to seem overly keen on the idea.
“You think so?”
“Definitely,” Rebus added. “Dampen down some of the wilder speculation, make sure everything’s kept in proportion.”
“Nothing too formal,” Clarke went on. “Maybe outside the station…”
“It’s not very photogenic,” Page argued. “HQ, maybe? Can you get onto our media people, Siobhan?”
“Sure.”
“Show the press the photo at the same time,” Rebus nudged. “They’ll lap it up.”
Page seemed to be visualizing the scene. He nodded slowly.
“Has to be today, though,” Clarke prompted. “While the story’s still hot.”
“I’ll need a full briefing from the pair of you. Full and quick.” He thought of something else and looked down at the clothes he was wearing.
“Your suit looks fine,” Clarke reassured him.
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