10 Great Rebus Novels (John Rebus) by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online Page A

the whole investigation the wrong way to protect his flesh and blood. It would make a cracking good story when it broke, but he knew that he would be treading on eggs from here on in. No one would go out of their way to help him nail a policeman, and if anyone found out what he was up to, he would be in very serious trouble indeed. He needed to do two things: check his life insurance policy, and tell nobody about this.
    ‘Jim!’
    The editor gestured for him to step into the torture chamber. He rose from his seat, as though tearing himself up from something organic, straightened his mauve and pink striped tie, and headed towards a presumed bawling-out.
    ‘Yes, Tom?’
    ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at a press conference?’
    ‘Plenty of time, Tom.’
    ‘Which photographer are you taking?’
    ‘Does it matter? I’d be better off taking my bloody instamatic. These young boys don’t know the ropes, Tom. What about Andy Fleming? Can’t I have him?’
    ‘No chance, Jim. He’s covering the royal tour.’
    ‘What royal tour?’
    Tom Jameson seemed about to rise again from his chair, which would have been an unprecedented move. He only straightened his back and shoulders however, and eyed his ‘star’ crime reporter suspiciously.
    ‘You are a journalist, Jim, aren’t you? I mean, you’ve not gone into early retirement, or become a recluse? No history of senile dementia in the family?’
    ‘Listen, Tom, when the Royal Family commits a crime, I’llbe the first on the scene. Otherwise, as far as I’m concerned, they don’t exist. Not outside of my nightmares, anyway.’
    Jameson pointedly examined his wristwatch.
    ‘Okay, okay, I’m going.’
    With that, Stevens turned on his heels with amazing speed and left the office, ignoring the cries of his boss at his back, asking which of the available photographers he wanted.
    It wouldn’t matter. He had yet to meet a policeman who was photogenic. Then, leaving the building, he remembered who was Liaison Officer on this particular case, and he changed his mind, smiling.
    ‘“There are clues everywhere, for those who read between the times.” It’s pure gobbledygook, isn’t it, John?’
    Morton was driving the car towards the Haymarket district of the city. It was another afternoon of consistent, wind-driven rain, the rain itself fine and cold, the kind that seeped into bones and marrow. The city had been dull all day, to a point where motorists were using their headlamps at noon. A great day for some outside work.
    ‘I’m not so sure, Jack. The second part leads on from the first as if there was a logical connection.’
    ‘Well, let’s hope he sends you some more notes. Maybe that would make things clearer.’
    ‘Maybe. I’d rather he’d just stop this shit altogether. It’s not very nice knowing that a crank knows where you work and where you live.’
    ‘Is your phone number in the telephone book?’
    ‘No, unlisted.’
    ‘That rules out that idea then. So how does he know your home address?’
    ‘He or she,’ said Rebus, tucking the notes back into his pocket. ‘How should I know?’
    He lit two cigarettes and passed one to Morton, breaking the filter off for him.
    ‘Ta,’ said Morton, placing the tiny cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The rain was easing. ‘Floods in Glasgow,’ he said, expecting no reply.
    Both men were bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, but the case had taken possession of them, so they drove, minds numbed, towards the bleak heart of the inquiry. A portakabin had been set up on waste ground next to the spot where the girl’s body had been found. From there, a door-to-door operation was being co-ordinated. Friends and family were also to be interviewed. Rebus foresaw much tedium in the day ahead.
    ‘What worries me,’ Morton had said, ‘is that if the two murders are linked, then we’re dealing with someone who probably didn’t know either of the girls. That makes for a bastard of a job.’
    Rebus had nodded. There was