The Black Book by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online Page A

the words Nell used when she spoke to her estranged lover. The tone she used made him think of Dr Patience Aitken, made him half-wish he were lying unconscious. It was nice to think people were saying nice things about you.
    After five minutes, she came tiredly back. ‘Hard work?’ Rebus offered.
    Nell Stapleton nodded. ‘You know,’ she said quietly, ‘I think I’ve an idea why this happened.’
    ‘Oh?’
    She was speaking in a near-whisper, though the ward was quiet. They were the only two souls about on two legs. She sighed loudly. Rebus wondered if she’d ever taken drama classes.
    ‘The black book,’ she said. Rebus nodded as though understanding her, then frowned.
    ‘What black book?’ he asked.
    ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you, but you’re not just someone he works with, are you? You’re a friend.’ She let out another whistle of air. ‘It was Brian’s notebook. Nothing official, this was stuff he was looking into on his own.’
    Rebus, wary of waking anyone, led her out of the ward. ‘A diary?’ he asked.
    ‘Not really. It was just that sometimes he used to hear rumours, bits of pub gossip. He’d write them down in the black book. Then he might take things further. It was sort of a hobby with him, but maybe he thought it was also a way to an early promotion. I don’t know. We used to argue about that, too. I was hardly seeing him, he was so busy.’
    Rebus was staring at the wall of the corridor. The overhead lighting stung his eyes. He’d never heard Holmes mention any kind of notebook.
    ‘What about it?’
    Nell was shaking her head. ‘It was just something he said, something before we …’ Her hand went to her mouth, as though she were about to cry. ‘Before we split up.’
    ‘What was it, Nell?’
    ‘I’m not sure exactly.’ Her eyes met Rebus’s. ‘I just know Brian was scared, and I’d never seen him scared before.’
    ‘Scared of what?’
    She shrugged. ‘Something in the book.’ Then she shook her head again. ‘I’m not sure what. I can’t help feeling … feeling I’m somehow responsible. If we’d never …’
    Rebus pulled her to him again. ‘There there, pet. It’s not your fault.’
    ‘But it is ! It is !’
    ‘No it isn’t.’ Rebus made his voice sound determined. ‘Now, tell me, where did Brian keep this wee black book of his?’
    About his person, was the answer. Brian Holmes’ clothes and possessions had been removed when the ambulance delivered him to the Infirmary. But Rebus’s ID was enough to gain access to the hospital’s property department, even at this grim hour. He plucked the notebook out of an A4 envelope’s worth of belongings, and had a look at the other contents. Wallet, diary, ID. Watch, keys, small change. Stuff without personality, now that it had been separated from its owner, but strengthening Rebus’s conviction that this was no mere mugging.
    Nell had gone home still crying, leaving no message to be passed along to Brian. All Rebus knew was that she suspected the beating was something to do with the notebook. And maybe she was right. He sat in the corridor outside Holmes’ ward, sipping water and skipping through the cheap leatherette book. Holmes had employed a kind of shorthand, but the code was not nearly complex enough to puzzle another copper. Much of the information had come from a single night and a single action: the night an animal rights group had broken into Fettes HQ’s records room. Amongst other things, they’d uncovered evidence of a rent-boy scandal among Edinburgh’s most respectable citizens. This didn’t come as news to John Rebus, but some other entries were intriguing, and especially the one referring to the Central Hotel.
    The Central Hotel had been an Edinburgh institution until five years ago, when it had been razed to the ground. An insurance scam was rumoured, and £5,000 had been hoisted by the insurance company involved as a reward for proof that just such a scam had really taken place.