Resurrection Men by Ian Rankin

Author:Ian Rankin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3, pdf
Published: 2011-10-18T13:58:10+00:00

Chapter 18

They’d taken the Lexus. Gray knew Glasgow. Rebus could have driven them to Barlinnie: the famous Bar-L jail was on the Edinburgh side of town, just off the motorway. But Chib Kelly wasn’t in Barlinnie; he was under guard at a city-center hospital. He’d had a stroke, hence the urgency of their visit. If they wanted Chib Kelly cogent, the sooner they talked to him the better.

“He could be faking it,” Rebus said.

“He could,” Gray agreed.

Rebus was thinking of Cafferty and his miracle recovery from cancer. Cafferty’s story was that he was still being treated, albeit privately. Rebus knew it was a lie.

He’d woken early with someone thumping on his door. The Donny Dow story had already reached Tulliallan. Rebus had got on the mobile, trying first Siobhan’s home and then her own mobile. Recognizing his number, she’d picked up.

“You all right?” he’d asked.

“Bit tired.”

“Not hurt?”

“No bruises to report.” It was a good answer; it didn’t mean she wasn’t hurting in other ways.

“The rough stuff is supposed to be my job,” he’d chided her, keeping his voice light.

“You’re not here,” she’d reminded him, before saying good-bye.

Rebus looked out of his passenger-side window. Glasgow roads all looked the same to him. “I always get lost, driving round here,” he confessed to Gray.

“I’m like that in Edinburgh: all those bloody narrow streets, jinking this way and that.”

“It’s the one-way system here, gets me every time.”

“Easy once you know it.”

“You Glasgow-born, Francis?”

“The Lanarkshire coalfields, that’s where I’m from.”

“Fife coalfields me,” Rebus said with a smile, forging this new bond between them.

Gray just nodded. He was concentrating on the world beyond his windshield. “Jazz said there was something you wanted to talk about,” he said.

“I’m not sure.” Rebus hesitated. “Is that why you picked me for this trip?”

“Maybe.” Gray paused, seemed to be watching the scenery. “Anything you want to say, better be quick. Five minutes, we’ll be in the car park.”

“Maybe later,” Rebus said.

Bait the hook, John. Make sure the point drives home.

Gray gave a half-shrug, as though he didn’t care.

The hospital was a tall modern building on the north side of the city. It looked to be ailing, stonework tarnished, windows clouded with condensation. The car park was full, but Gray stopped on a double yellow, placing a card next to the windshield stating he was a doctor on emergency call.

“Does that help?” Rebus asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Why not use a police sign?”

“Get real, John. People round here see a cop car, they’re likely to christen it with a half-brick.”

The admissions desk was next door to A&E. While Gray queued to find out Chib Kelly’s ward number, Rebus eyed the array of walking wounded. Cuts and bruises; down-and-outs nursing worlds made of shopping bags; sad-faced civilians for whom this was an experience devoutly to be forgotten. Teenage boys swaggered by in packs. They seemed to know each other, patrolled the aisles as though they owned the place. Rebus checked his watch: ten A.M. on a weekday.

“Imagine it at midnight on Saturday,” Gray said, seeming to read Rebus’s thoughts.

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