The Black Book by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online

they took anything.’
    ‘Maybe they were interrupted.’
    ‘By someone coming up the alley? Then how did they escape? That car park’s a dead end.’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Rebus kept watching Pat Calder. He was a few years older than Ringan, but looked younger. He’d drawn his dark hair back into what Rebus supposed was a fashionable ponytail, and had kept long straight sideburns reaching down past his ears. He was tall and thin. Indeed, he looked like he could use a good meal. Rebus had seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil. ‘Maybe,’ Calder was saying, ‘maybe he did fall after all. It’s pretty dark out there. We’ll get some lighting put in.’
    ‘Very commendable of you, sir.’ Rebus rose from the uncomfortable barstool. ‘Meantime, if anything does come to mind, and especially if any names come to mind, you can always call us.’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    Rebus paused in the doorway. ‘Oh, and Mr Calder?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘If you let Mr Ringan drive tonight, I’ll have him pulled over before he reaches Haymarket. Can’t you drive him home?’
    ‘I don’t drive.’
    ‘Then I suggest you put your hand in the till for cab fare. Otherwise Mr Ringan’s next creation might be Jailhouse Roquefort.’
    As Rebus left the restaurant, he could actually hear Eddie Ringan starting to laugh.
    He didn’t laugh for long. Drink was demanding his attention. ‘Gimme another,’ he ordered. Pat Calder silently poured to the level of the shot-glass. They’d bought the glasses on a trip to Miami, along with a lot of other stuff. Much of the money had come out of Pat Calder’s own pockets, as well as those of his parents. He held the glass in front of Ringan, then toasted him before draining the contents himself. When Ringan started to complain, Calder slapped him across the face.
    Ringan looked neither surprised nor hurt. Calder slapped him again.
    ‘You stupid bugger!’ he hissed. ‘You stupid, stupid bugger!’
    ‘I can’t help it,’ said Ringan, proffering his empty glass. ‘I’m all shook up. Now give me a drink before I do something really stupid.’
    Pat Calder thought about it for a moment. Then he gave Eddie Ringan the drink.
    The ambulance took Brian Holmes to the Royal Infirmary.
    Rebus had never been persuaded by this hospital. It seemed full of good intentions and unfilled staff rosters. So he stood close by Brian Holmes’ bed, as close as they’d let him stand. And as the night wore on, he didn’t flinch; he just slid a little lower down the wall. He was crouching with his head resting against his knees, arms cold against the floor, when he sensed someone towering over him. It was Nell Stapleton. Rebus recognised her by her very height, long before his eyes had reached her tear-stained face.
    ‘Hello there, Nell.’
    ‘Christ, John.’ And the tears started again. He pulled himself upright, embracing her quickly. She was throwing words into his ear. ‘We talked only this evening. I was horrible. And now this happens …’
    ‘Hush, Nell. It’s not your fault. This sort of thing can happen anytime.’
    ‘Yes, but I can’t help remembering, the last time we spoke it was an argument. If we hadn’t argued …’
    ‘Sshh, pet. Calm down now.’ He held her tight. Christ, it felt good. He didn’t like to think about how good it felt. It felt good all the same. Her perfume, her shape, the way she moulded against him.
    ‘We argued, and he went to that bar, and then …’
    ‘Sshh, Nell. It’s not your fault.’
    He believed it, too, though he wasn’t sure whose fault it was: protection racketeers? Jealous restaurant owners? Simple neds? A difficult one to call.
    ‘Can I see him?’
    ‘By all means.’ Rebus gestured with his arm towards Holmes’ bed. He turned away as Nell Stapleton approached it, giving the couple some privacy. Not that the gesture meant anything; Holmes was still unconscious, hooked up to some monitor and with his head heavily bandaged. But he could almost make out