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
Hammell poured himself another generous shot of vodka. Rebus could smell it. Wasn’t the worst aroma in the world…
“Cafferty’s finished anyway. Game over.” Hammell tipped the glass and drained it.
“Can you tell me what Annette’s like?” Rebus asked. “Or is that none of my business either?”
“Annette’s a proper little madam—always needs to get her own way.”
“I was thinking that,” Rebus said, nodding his agreement. “Her busing it to Inverness…”
“One of my guys would have driven her!” Hammell growled.
“You suggested as much?”
“But she had to do it her way—and see where that got her!” Hammell made an exasperated sound and started refilling the glass again.
“You blame her?”
“If she’d just listened to reason, none of this would be happening.” He paused, stared down into his glass, swirling its contents. “Look, you know me, right? You know who I am…It annoys me that I can’t do anything to help.”
“You put up the reward.”
“And all that’s done is flushed out every nut job and greedy bastard in a four-hundred-mile radius.”
“I doubt you could be doing anything we’re not. It only gets problematic if you decide to go your own way.”
“I’ll say it one more time: I don’t know anything about this guy Robertson. But if you need a hand getting him back…” Hammell fixed Rebus with a look.
“I don’t think that’s necessary—or wise.”
Hammell gave a shrug. “The offer’s there. And how about that bonus? Bankers can’t be the only ones, eh?” He had reached into one of the pockets in his jeans and produced a fat wad of what looked like fifty-pound notes.
“No,” Rebus said.
“Aye,” Hammell stated, reckoning he knew the truth of it. “Cafferty already pays you a big enough retainer.”
Rebus decided it was time to go, but Hammell had other ideas.
“I’d been told you’re like him, and it’s true. You could almost be brothers.”
“Now I’m feeling insulted.”
Hammell smiled. “Don’t be. It’s just that one like Cafferty has always seemed too many.” He stared into his drink before lifting it to his lips. “Shame you didn’t leave well alone in that hospital when you had the chance.”
28
28
It was two a.m. when Darryl Christie got back to the house in Lochend. His mother had dozed off in front of one of the TV shopping channels. He roused her and sent her to bed, though she’d demanded a hug first. The hug had been forthcoming, in exchange for a promise to take things easy with the booze and the pills.