Blood Hunt by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online Page A

the waitress. “Can I have the bill?”
    “We call it a check,” McCluskey told Reeve when they were in the detective’s car, heading out to La Jolla.
    “What?”
    “We don’t call it a bill, we call it a check.”
    “Thanks for the advice. Can I see the police report on my brother’s suicide?”
    McCluskey turned his gaze from the windshield. “I guess,” he said. “It’s on the backseat.”
    Reeve reached around and picked up the brown cardboard file. While he was reading, a message came over McCluskey’s radio.
    “No can do,” McCluskey said into the radio at the end of a short conversation.
    “Sorry if I’m taking you away from anything,” Reeve said, not meaning it. “I could probably have done this on my own.”
    “No problem,” McCluskey told him.
    The report was blunt, cold, factual. Male Caucasian, discovered Sunday morning by two joggers heading for the oceanfront. Body found in a locked rental car, keys in the ignition, Browning pistol still gripped in the decedent’s right hand…
    “Where did he get the gun?”
    “It’s not hard to get a gun around here. We haven’t found a receipt, so I guess he didn’t buy it at a store. Still leaves plenty of sellers.”
    Decedent’s wallet, passport, driver’s license, and so forth were still in his jacket pocket, along with the car rental agreement. Rental company confirmed that male answering the de-scription of James Mark Reeve hired the car on a weekend rate at 7:30 P.M. Saturday night, paying cash up front.
    “Jim always used plastic if he could,” Reeve said.
    “Well, you know, suicides… they often like to tie up the loose ends before they… uh, you know, they like to make a clean break…” His voice trailed off. Suicides; the next of kin. McCluskey was used to dealing with howling uncontrollable grief, or a preternatural icy calm. But Gordon Reeve was being… the word that sprang to mind was methodical. Or businesslike.
    “Maybe,” Reeve said.
    Decedent’s motel room was located and searched. No note was found. Nothing out of the ordinary was found, save small amounts of substances which tested positive as amphetamine and cocaine.
    “We’ve had the autopsy done since that report was typed,” McCluskey said. “Your brother had some booze in his system, but no drugs. I don’t know if that makes you feel any better.”
    “You didn’t find a note,” Reeve stated.
    “No, sir, but fewer suicides than you might think actually bother to leave a note. It looked like there’d been a message of some kind left on the mirror of the motel bathroom. He, uh… looks like it was written with toothpaste, but then wiped off. Might indicate the state of mind he was in.”
    “Any obvious reason why he would commit suicide?”
    “No, sir, I have to admit I can’t see one. Maybe his career?”
    “I wouldn’t know about that, I was only his brother.”
    “You weren’t close?”
    Reeve shook his head, saying nothing. Soon enough they arrived in La Jolla, passing pleasant bungalow-type houses and then larger, richer residences as they neared the oceanfront. La Jolla’s main shopping street had parking on both sides of the road, trees sprouting from the sidewalk, and benches for people to sit on. The shops looked exclusive; the pedestrians wore tans, sunglasses, and smiles. McCluskey pulled the car into a parking bay.
    “Where?” Reeve asked quietly.
    “Two bays along.” McCluskey nodded with his head.
    Reeve undid his seat belt and opened the car door. “I’ll be fine on my own,” he told the detective.
    There was a car in the second space along. It was a family model, with two kids playing in the back. They were boys, broth-ers. Each held a plastic spaceman; the spacemen were supposed to be battling each other, the boys providing sound effects. They looked at him suspiciously as he stared in at them, so he went and stood on the sidewalk and looked up and down the street. Jim’s body had been found at six o’clock Sunday