The Falls: An Inspector Rebus Novel (Inspector Rebus Novels) by Rankin Ian

Author:Rankin, Ian [Rankin, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781429908054
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2007-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

Having nursed his pint while Rebus downed two double whiskies and two beers, Grant was dismayed to find another half poured into his glass as soon as there was room for it.

“I have to drive home,” he warned.

“Bloody hell, Grant,” Rebus complained, “that’s about all I’ve heard from you.”

“Sorry.”

“And apologies make up the rest. I can’t see there’s any need to apologise for snogging Siobhan.”

“I don’t know how it happened.”

“Don’t try to analyse it.”

“I think the case just got . . .” He broke off at the sound of a dull electronic bleeping. “Yours or mine?” he asked, already reaching into his jacket. But it was Rebus’s mobile. He angled his head to let Grant know he was taking it outside.

“Hello?” Cool twilight, taxis looking for trade. A woman nearly tripped over a cracked paving slab. A young man, shaven head and nosering, helped her retrieve the oranges which had tumbled from her shopping bag. A small act of kindness . . . but Rebus watched until the youth moved away, just in case.

“John? It’s Jean. Are you working?”

“Surveillance,” Rebus told her.

“Oh dear, do you want me to . . . ?”

“It’s okay, Jean. I was joking. I’m just out having a drink.”

“How was the funeral?”

“I didn’t go. I mean, I did go, but I couldn’t face it.”

“And now you’re drinking?”

“Don’t start with the help-line stuff.”

She laughed. “I wasn’t going to. It’s just that I’m sitting here with a bottle of wine and the TV . . .”

“And?”

“And some company would be nice.”

Rebus knew he was in no state to drive; not much of a state for anything, if it came to it. “I don’t know, Jean. You’ve not seen me after a drink.”

“What, you turn into Mr. Hyde?” She laughed again. “I had that with my husband. I doubt you could show me anything new.” Her voice strained for levity, but there was an edge to it. Maybe she was nervous about asking him: no one liked a rejection. Or maybe there was more to it . . .

“I suppose I could take a taxi.” He studied himself: still in the funeral suit, the tie removed and top two buttons of the shirt undone. “Maybe I should go home and change.”

“If you like.”

He looked across the street. The woman with the shopping was waiting at the bus stop now. She kept glancing into her bag as if checking everything was there. City life: mistrust part of the armour you wore; no such thing as a simple good deed.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

Back in the pub, Grant was standing next to his empty pint glass. As Rebus came forwards, he raised his hands in a show of surrender.

“Got to go.”

“Yes, me too,” Rebus said.

Grant looked somehow disappointed, as though he’d wanted Rebus to go on drinking, getting drunker. Rebus looked at the empty glass, wondering if the barman had been persuaded to ditch its contents.

“You all right to drive?” Rebus asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” Rebus slapped Grant’s shoulder. “In that case, you can give me a lift to Portobello .

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