The Hanging Garden by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online Page A

Rebus asked for another coffee. As Sharpe left, Rebus crouched down by the table and looked at Candice. ‘Ask her how she got to Edinburgh.’
    Colquhoun asked, then listened to what sounded like a long tale. He scratched some notes on a folded sheet of paper.
    ‘The city with the bridges, she says she didn’t see much of it. She was kept inside. Sometimes she was driven to some rendezvous … You’ll have to forgive me, Inspector. I may be a linguist, but I’m no expert on colloquialisms.’
    ‘You’re doing fine, sir.’
    ‘Well, she was used as a prostitute, that much I can infer. And one day they put her in the back of a car, and she thought she was going to another hotel or office.’
    ‘Office?’
    ‘From her descriptions, I’d say some of her … work … was done in offices. Also private apartments and houses. But mostly hotel rooms.’
    ‘Where was she kept?’
    ‘In a house. She had a bedroom, they kept it locked.’ Colquhoun pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘They put her in the car one day, and next thing she knew she was in Edinburgh.’
    ‘How long was the trip?’
    ‘She’s not sure. She slept part of the way.’
    ‘Tell her everything’s going to be all right.’ Rebus paused. ‘And ask her who she works for now.’
    The fear returned to Candice’s face. She stammered, shaking her head. Her voice sounded more guttural than ever. Colquhoun looked like he was having trouble with the translation.
    ‘She can’t tell you,’ he said.
    ‘Tell her she’s safe.’ Colquhoun did so. ‘Tell her again,’ Rebus said. He made sure she was looking at him while Colquhoun spoke. His face was set, a face she could trust. She reached a hand out to him. He took it, squeezed.
    ‘Ask her again who she works for.’
    ‘She can’t tell you, Inspector. They’d kill her. She’s heard stories.’
    Rebus decided to try the name he’d been thinking of, the man who ran half the city’s working girls.
    ‘Cafferty,’ he said, watching for a reaction. There was none. ‘Big Ger. Big Ger Cafferty.’ Her face remained blank. Rebus squeezed her hand again. There was another name … one he’d been hearing recently.
    ‘Telford,’ he said. ‘Tommy Telford.’
    Candice pulled her hand away and broke into hysterics, just as WPC Sharpe pushed open the door.
    Rebus walked Dr Colquhoun out of the station, recalling that just such a walk had got him into this in the first place.
    ‘Thanks again, sir. If I need you, I hope you won’t mind if I call?’
    ‘If you must, you must,’ Colquhoun said grudgingly.
    ‘Not too many Slavic specialists around,’ Rebus said. He had Colquhoun’s business card in his hand, a home phone number written on its back. ‘Well,’ Rebus put out his free hand, ‘thanks again.’ As they shook, Rebus thought of something.
    ‘Were you at the university when Joseph Lintz was Professor of German?’
    The question surprised Colquhoun. ‘Yes,’ he said at last.
    ‘Did you know him?’
    ‘Our departments weren’t that close. I met him at a few social functions, the occasional lecture.’
    ‘What did you think of him?’
    Colquhoun blinked. He still wasn’t looking at Rebus. ‘They’re saying he was a Nazi.’
    ‘Yes, but back then …?’
    ‘As I say, we weren’t close. Are you investigating him?’
    ‘Just curious, sir. Thanks for your time.’
    Back in the station, Rebus found Ellen Sharpe outside the Interview Room door.
    ‘So what do we do with her?’ she asked.
    ‘Keep her here.’
    ‘You mean charge her?’
    Rebus shook his head. ‘Let’s call it protective custody.’
    ‘Does
she
know that?’
    ‘Who’s she going to complain to? There’s only one bugger in the whole city can make out what she’s saying, and I’ve just packed him off home.’
    ‘What if her man comes to get her?’
    ‘Think he will?’
    She thought about it. ‘Probably not.’
    ‘No, because as far as he’s concerned, all he has to do is wait, and we’ll release her eventually.