10 Great Rebus Novels by Ian Rankin

Author:Ian Rankin [Rankin, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
Publisher: ORION
Published: 2013-09-11T23:00:00+00:00

29

The city was definitely coming out to play.

It was the start of September, and therefore the beginning of that slow slide into chill autumn and long dark winter. The Festival was winding down for another year, and everyone was celebrating. It was on days like this that the city, so often submerged like Atlantis or some subaqua Brigadoon, bubbled to the surface. The buildings seemed less dour and the people smiled, as though cloud and rain were unknowns.

Rebus might have been driving through a thunderstorm for all the notice he took. He was a hunter, and hunters didn’t smile. Abernethy had just admitted being Marie’s anonymous caller, the one who’d put her on to Calumn Smylie.

‘You knew you were putting his life in danger?’ Rebus asked.

‘Maybe I thought I was saving it.’

‘How did you know about Mairie anyway? I mean, how did you know to contact her?’

Abernethy just smiled.

‘You sent me that stuff about Clyde Moncur, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You could have warned me what I was getting into.’

‘You were more effective the way you were.’

‘I’ve been a walking punch-bag.’

‘But you’re still here.’

‘I bet you’d lose a lot of sleep if I wasn’t.’

The sun had finally given up. The street lights were on. There were a lot of people on the streets tonight. Hogmanay apart, it was the city’s biggest night of the year. The traffic was all headed into town, where most of the parking spaces had been grabbed hours ago.

‘Families,’ Rebus explained, ‘on their way to the fireworks.’

‘I thought we were on our way to the fireworks,’ Abernethy said, smiling again.

‘We are,’ said Rebus quietly.

There were never signposts to places like the Gar-B, the inference being that if you wanted to go there, you must already know the place. People didn’t just visit on a whim. Rebus took the slip-road past the gable end – ENJOY YOUR VISIT TO THE GAR-B – and turned into the access road.

‘Nine o’clock, he said.’

Abernethy checked his watch. ‘Nine it is.’

But Rebus wasn’t listening. He was watching a van roaring towards them. The road was barely wide enough for two vehicles, and the van driver didn’t seem to be paying much attention. He was crouched down, eyes on his wing mirror. Rebus slammed on the brakes and the horn and whipped the steering wheel around. The rust bucket slew sideways like it was on ice. That was the problem with bald tyres.

‘Out!’ Rebus called. Abernethy didn’t need telling twice. The driver had finally seen them. The van was skidding to an uncertain stop. It hit the driver’s side door, shuddered, and was still. Rebus pulled open the van door and hauled out Jim Hay. He’d heard of people looking white as a sheet, white as a ghost, but Jim Hay looked whiter than that. Rebus held him upright.

‘He’s gone off his fucking head!’ Hay yelled.

‘Who has?’

‘Soutar.’ Hay was looking behind him, back down the road which curled snake-like into the Gar-B. ‘I’m only the delivery man, not this . . . not this.’

Dusting himself off, Abernethy joined them.

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