Set in Darkness by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online Page B

built the walls so thin? Bloody things would barely hold a Rawlplug. When the buggers upstairs were trying for kid number four, you felt like you were in the bed with them. One night, when they’d stopped he’d given them a round of applause. Deadly silence after, so he knew they’d heard.
    He wondered if maybe that was why Jayne had gone off sex: fear of being heard. One day he’d ask her about it. Either that or he’d make her do it anyway. Make her cry out long and hard so they heard her upstairs, give them something to think about. That wee thing on the telly, he’d bet she was a noisy one. You’d have to clamp your hand over her mouth, but making sure she could still breathe.
    Like Nic said, that was the important part.
    ‘You like football then?’
    Derek Linford had taken Siobhan’s number at the Marina. Saturday, he’d left a message on her machine asking if she fancied a Sunday walk. So here they were in the Botanic Gardens, a crisp afternoon, couples all around, strolling just like them. But talking football.
    ‘I go most Saturdays,’ Siobhan confessed.
    ‘I thought there was a winter shutdown or something.’ Struggling to show some knowledge of the game.
    She smiled at the effort he was making. ‘Only for the premier league. Last season, Hibs got knocked down to the first.’
    ‘Oh, right.’ They were coming to a signpost. ‘If you’re cold, we could go to the tropical house.’
    She shook her head. ‘I’m fine. I don’t usually do much on a Sunday.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘Maybe a car boot sale. Mostly, I just stay home.’
    ‘No boyfriend then?’ She didn’t say anything. ‘Sorry I asked.’
    She shrugged. ‘It’s not a sin, is it?’
    ‘Career we’re in, how are we supposed to meet people?’
    She looked at him. ‘Hence the singles club?’
    He reddened. ‘I suppose so.’
    ‘Don’t worry, I’m not about to tell anyone.’
    He tried a smile. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘You’re right anyway,’ she went on, ‘when
do
we ever meet anyone? Apart from other cops, that is.’
    ‘And villains.’
    The way he said it made her suspect he’d not met too many ‘villains’. But she nodded anyway.
    ‘I think the tea room’ll be open,’ he said. ‘If you’re ready . . . ?’
    ‘Tea and a scone.’ She took his arm. ‘A perfect Sunday afternoon.’
    Except that the family at the table next to them had one hyperactive child and a squealing infant in a pushchair. Linford turned to glower at the infant, as though it would instantly recognise his authority and start behaving.
    ‘What’s so funny?’ he said, turning back to Clarke.
    ‘Nothing,’ she said.
    ‘Must be something.’ He started attacking the contents of his coffee cup with a spoon.
    She lowered her voice so the family wouldn’t hear. ‘I was just wondering if you were going to take him into custody.’
    ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ He sounded serious.
    They sat in silence for a minute or two, then Linford started telling her about Fettes. When she got a chance, she asked him: ‘And what do you like to do when you’re not working?’
    ‘Well, there’s always a lot of reading to do: textbooks and journals. I keep pretty busy.’
    ‘Sounds fascinating.’
    ‘It is, that’s what most people . . .’ His voice died away, and he looked at her. ‘You were being ironic, right?’
    She nodded, smiling. He cleared his throat, got to work with the spoon again.
    ‘Change of subject,’ he said at last. ‘What’s John Rebus like? You work with him at St Leonard’s, don’t you?’
    She was about to say that he hadn’t exactly changed the subject, but nodded instead. ‘Why do you ask?’
    He shrugged. ‘The committee, he doesn’t seem to take it seriously.’
    ‘Maybe he’d rather be doing something else.’
    ‘From what I’ve seen of him, that would involve sitting in a pub with a cigarette in his mouth. Got a drink problem, has he?’
    She stared at him. ‘No,’ she said coldly.
    He was shaking his head. ‘Sorry,