The Naming Of The Dead (2006) by Ian Rankin Read Free Book Online Page A

evidence is shaping up.”
    Rebus heard a tired chuckle at the other end of the phone. “You never let up, do you?”
    “It’s not for me, Ray. I’m just helping out Siobhan. This could mean a big promotion for her if she nails it. She’s the one who found the patch.”
    “The evidence only came in three hours ago.”
    “Ever heard of striking while the iron is hot?”
    “But the beer in front of me is cold, John.”
    “It would mean a lot to Siobhan, Ray. She’s looking forward to you claiming that prize.”
    “What prize?”
    “The chance to show off that car of yours. A day out in the country, just the two of you on those winding roads...Who knows, maybe even a hotel room at the end of it if you play your cards right.” Rebus paused. “What’s that music?”
    “One of the trivia questions.”
    “Sounds like Steely Dan, ‘Reelin’ in the Years.’”
    “But how did the band get their name?”
    “A dildo in a William Burroughs novel. Now tell me you’re heading to the lab straight after.”
    Well satisfied with the outcome, Rebus treated himself to a mug of coffee and a stretch of the legs. The building was quiet. The desk sergeant had been replaced by one of his juniors. Rebus didn’t know the face, but nodded anyway.
    “Been trying to get CID to take a call,” the young officer said. He ran a finger along his shirt collar. His neck was pitted with acne or some species of rash.
    “That’ll be me then,” Rebus told him. “What’s the emergency?”
    “Trouble at the castle, sir.”
    “Have the protests started early?”
    The uniform shook his head. “Reports of a scream and a body landing in the gardens. Looks like someone fell from the ramparts.”
    “Castle’s not open this time of night,” Rebus stated, brow creasing.
    “Dinner for some of the bigwigs...”
    “So who ended up going over the edge?”
    The constable just shrugged. “Shall I tell them there’s no one available?”
    “Don’t be crazy, son,” Rebus announced, heading off to fetch his jacket.
    As well as being a major tourist attraction, Edinburgh Castle acted as a working barracks, something Commander David Steelforth stressed to Rebus when he intercepted him just inside the portcullis.
    “You get about a bit,” Rebus said by way of response. The Special Branch man was dressed formally: bow tie and cummerbund, dinner jacket, patent shoes.
    “Thing is, that means it is quite properly under the aegis of the armed forces.”
    “I’m not sure what aegis means, Commander.”
    “It means,” Steelforth hissed, losing patience, “military police will be looking into the whys and wherefores of what occurred here.”
    “Good dinner, was it?” Rebus was still walking. The path wound uphill, fierce gusts whipping around both men.
    “There are important people here, DI Rebus.”
    As if on cue, a car appeared from some sort of tunnel ahead. It was making for the gates, forcing Rebus and Steelforth to stand aside. Rebus caught a glimpse of the face in the back: a glint from metal-rimmed glasses; long, pale, worried-looking face. But then the foreign secretary often seemed to look worried, as Rebus pointed out to Steelforth. The Special Branch man frowned, disappointed at the recognition.
    “Hope I don’t need to interview him,” Rebus added.
    “Look, Inspector...”
    But Rebus was moving again. “Here’s the thing, Commander,” he said over his shoulder. “Victim may have fallen—or jumped, or any other ‘why’ or ‘wherefore’—and I’m not disputing he was on army turf when he did, but he landed a few hundred feet farther south, in Princes Street Gardens”—Rebus proffered a smile—“and that makes him mine.”
    Rebus started walking again, trying to remember the last time he’d been inside the castle walls. He’d brought his daughter here, of course, but twenty-odd years ago. The castle dominated the Edinburgh skyline. You could see it from Bruntsfield and Inverleith. On the drive in from the