Black & Blue by Ian Rankin

Author:Ian Rankin [Rankin, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Large type books, Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural, Police, Serial murderers, Crime, Edinburgh, Scotland, Edinburgh (Scotland), Rebus; Inspector (Fictitious Character), Traditional British
ISBN: 9780783884431
Publisher: G.K. Hall
Published: 1998-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

and he trained them on the protest vessel. Orange oilskins - half a dozen figures on the deck. Banners tied to the rails. NO DUMPING. SAVE

OUR OCEANS.

`That boat doesn't look too healthy to me,' someone said. Figures were going below, reappearing, waving their arms as they explained something.

`Stupid buggers, they've probably let the engine flood.' `She can't be left to drift.'

`Could be a Trojan horse, lads.'

They all laughed at that. Eric moved off, Rebus and Lumsden following. They climbed up and down ladders. At certain points, Rebus

could see clear through the latticework of steel flooring to the churning sea below. There were cables and pipes everywhere, but nowhere you

could trip over them. Eventually, Eric opened a door and led them

down a corridor. It was a relief to be out of the wind; Rebus realised they'd been outdoors for all of eight minutes.

They passed rooms with pooi tables in them, and table-tennis tables, dart boards, video games. The video games seemed popular, Nobody

was playing table-tennis.

`Some platforms have swimming pools,' Eric said, `but not us.'

`Is it my imagination,' Rebus asked, `or did I just feel the floor move?' `Oh aye,' Eric said, `there's a bit of give, has to be. In a swell, you'd swear she was going to break free.' And he laughed again. They kept walking along the corridor, passing a library - no one in it - and a TV room.

`We've three TV rooms,' Eric explained. `Satellite telly only, but mostly the lads prefer videos. Willie should be in here.'

They entered a large room with a couple of dozen stiff-backed chairs and a large-screen TV. There were no windows, and the lights had

been dimmed. Eight or nine men sat, arms folded, in front of the screen. They were complaining about something. A man was standing at the

video recorder, holding a tape in his hand, turning it over. He shrugged. `Sorry about this,' he said.

`That's Willie,' Eric said.

Willie Ford was in his early forties, well built but slightly hunched, with a regulation number one haircut: down to the wood. His nose covered a quarter of his face, a beard protected most of the rest. With more of a tan, he might have passed for a Muslim fundamentalist.

Rebus walked up to him.

`Are you the policeman?' Willie Ford asked. Rebus nodded. `The natives look restless.'

`It's this video. It was supposed to be Black Rain, you know, Michael Douglas. But instead it's some Jap flick with the same name, all about

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