Rebus 15 by Ian Rankin

Author:Ian Rankin
Language: en-us
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-04-12T00:07:19+00:00

There were a few more drinkers in the Bane than on her previous visit. They moved aside to give her some room at the bar. The barman recognised her, nodded something that could have been either a greeting or an apology for Cruikshank's behaviour last time round.

She ordered a soft drink.

`On the house,' he said.

`Aye, aye,' said one of the drinkers, `Malky's trying some foreplay for a change.'

Siobhan ignored this. `I don't usually get free drinks until after I've identified myself as a detective.' She held up her warrant card as proof.

`Good choice, Malky,' a man said. `I suppose it's about young Donny?' Siobhan turned to the speaker. He was in his sixties, a flat cap perched above a shiny dome of a head. He held a pipe in one hand. There was a dog lying at his feet, fast asleep.

`That's right,' she admitted.

`The lad was a bloody idiot, we all know that . . . Didn't deserve to die for it, though.'

`No?'

The man shook his head. `Lassies cry rape too quick these days.' He held up a hand to stifle the barman's protest. `No, Malky, I'm just saying, though . . . put a bit of drink in a girl, she'll walk into trouble. Look at the way they dress when they parade up and down Main Street. Go back fifty years, women covered themselves up a bit . . . and you didn't read about indecent assaults every day in your paper.'

`Here it comes,' someone called out.

`Things have changed . . . ' The drinker almost relished the groans all around him. Siobhan realised that this was a regular performance, unscripted but dependable. She glanced at Malky, but he shook his head, telling her it wasn't worth fighting her corner. The drinker would relish such a prospect. Instead she excused herself and headed to the loo. Inside the cubicle, she sat down, placing Ishbel's address book and Susie's note on her lap, comparing the writing to the messages on the wall. Nothing new had been added since her last visit. She was pretty sure that `Donny Pervo' had been done by Susie, `Cook the Cruik' by Ishbel. But there were other hands at work. She thought of Angie, and even the women under the driers.

Claimed in blood . . .

Dead Man Walking . . .

Neither Ishbel nor Susie had written those, but someone had.

The solidarity of the hair salon.

A town full of suspects . . .

Flicking through the address book, she noticed that under the letter C there was an address that looked familiar—LIMP Barlinnie. E Wing, which was where they kept the sex offenders. Written there in Ishbel's hand, filed under C for Cruikshank. Siobhan went through the rest of the book but found nothing else of note.

All the same, did this mean Ishbel had written to Cruikshank? Were there ties between them Siobhan didn't yet know of? She doubted the parents would know—they'd be horrified at the thought. She walked back into the bar, lifted her drink, fixed her eyes on those of Malky the barman.

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