Strip Jack by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online Page B

silence came. Then:
    ‘No comment,’ he said. And with that he began to close the gates. Rebus pushed through the good-natured crush until he was face to face with Mr Sneer.
    ‘Inspector Rebus,’ he said. ‘Could I have a word with Mr Jack?’
    Mr Sneer and Miss Teatray seemed highly suspicious, even when they accepted and examined Rebus’s ID. Fair enough: he’d known of reporters who’d try a stunt just like this, fake ID and all. But eventually there was a curt nod, and the gates opened again wide enough to allow him to squeeze through. The gates were shut again, locked. With Rebus on the inside.
    He had a sudden thought: What the hell am I doing? The answer was: He wasn’t sure. Something about the scene at the gates had made him want to be on the other side of those gates. Well, here he was. Being led back up the gravel driveway, towards the large car, the larger house behind it,and the garage off to the side. Being led towards Gregor Jack MP, with whom, apparently, he wanted a word.
    I believe you want a word, Inspector?
    No, sir, just being nosey.
    It wasn’t much of an opening line, was it? Watson had warned him before about this . . . this . . . was it a character flaw? This need to push his way into the centre of things, to become involved, to find out for himself rather than accepting somebody’s word, no matter who that somebody was.
    Just passing, thought I’d pay my respects. Jesus, and Jack would recognize him, wouldn’t he? From the brothel. Sitting on the bed, while the woman in the bed kicked up her legs, screeching with laughter. No, maybe not. He’d had other things on his mind after all.
    ‘I’m Ian Urquhart, Gregor’s constituency agent.’ Now that he had his back to the reporters, the sneer had left Urquhart’s face. What was left was a mixture of worry and bewilderment. ‘We got word last night of what was coming. I’ve been here ever since.’
    Rebus nodded. Urquhart was compact, a bunching of well-kept muscles inside a tailored suit. A bit smaller than the MP, and a bit less good-looking. In other words, just right for an agent. He also looked efficient, which Rebus would say was a bonus.
    ‘This is Helen Greig, Gregor’s secretary.’ Urquhart was nodding towards the young woman. She gave a quick smile towards Rebus. ‘Helen came over this morning to see if there was anything she could do.’
    ‘The tea was my idea actually,’ she said.
    Urquhart glanced towards her. ‘Gregor’s idea, Helen,’ he warned.
    ‘Oh yes,’ she said, reddening.
    Efficient and faithful, thought Rebus. Rare qualities indeed. Helen Greig, like Urquhart himself, spoke in an educated Scots accent which did not really betray county of origin. He would hazard at east coast for both of them, but couldn’t narrow things down any further. Helen looked either like she’d been to an early Kirk service, or was planning to attendone later on. She was wearing a pale woollen two-piece with plain white blouse offset by a simple gold chain around her neck. Sensible black shoes on her feet and thick black tights. She was Urquhart’s height, five feet six or seven, and shared something of his build. You wouldn’t call her beautiful: you’d call her handsome, in the way Nell Stapleton was handsome, though the two women were dissimilar in many ways.
    They were passing the Saab now, Urquhart leading. ‘Was there anything in particular, Inspector? Only, I’m sure you can appreciate that Gregor’s hardly in a state . . .’
    ‘It won’t take long, Mr Urquhart.’
    ‘Well, in you come then.’ The front door opened, and Urquhart ushered both Rebus and Helen Greig into the house before him. Rebus was immediately surprised by how modern the interior was. Polished pine flooring, scatter rugs, Mackintosh-style chairs and low-slung Italian-looking tables. They passed through the hall and into a large room boasting more modern furnishings still. Pride of place went to a long angular sofa constructed from leather