Black and Blue by Ian Rankin

Author:Ian Rankin [Rankin, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Published: 1997-05-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Back in Aberdeen, he thought he could still feel the deck moving beneath him. Lumsden had headed off home, carrying with him a promise from Rebus that he’d be packed and off the following morning.

Rebus hadn’t mentioned he might be back.

It was early evening, cool but bright, the streets busy with last shoppers trudging home and Saturday night revellers starting early. He walked down to Burke’s Club. A different bouncer again, so no grief there. Rebus paid his money like a good boy, waded through the music until he reached the bar. The place hadn’t been open long, only a few punters in, looking like they’d be moving on if things didn’t start happening. Rebus bought an overpriced short loaded with ice, gave the place a once-over in the mirror. No sign of Eve and Stanley. No sign of any obvious dealers. But Willie Ford was right about that: what did dealers look like? Leave aside the junkies and they looked much like anyone else. Their trade was in eye contact, in a shared knowledge with the person whose eyes they were meeting. A cross between a transaction and a chat-up.

Rebus imagined Michelle Strachan dancing in here, beginning the last movements of her life. As he sloshed the ice around his glass, he decided to walk a route from the club to Duthie Park. It might not be the route she took, and he doubted it would throw up anything like a clue, but he wanted to do it, same as he’d driven down to Leith to pay his respects to Angie Riddell’s patch. He started off down South College Street, saw from his map that if he kept to this route he’d be walking a main thoroughfare alongside the Dee. Lots of traffic: he decided Michelle would have cut through Ferryhill, so did likewise. Here the streets were narrower and quieter; big houses, leafy. A comfortable middle-class enclave. A couple of corner shops were still doing business -- milk, ice-lollies, evening papers. He could hear children playing in back gardens. Michelle and Johnny Bible had walked down here at two am. It would have been deserted. If they’d been making any noise, it would have been noted behind the net curtains. But no one had reported anything. Michelle couldn’t have been drunk. Drunk, her student friends said, she got loud. Maybe she was a bit merry; just enough to have lost her survival instinct. And Johnny Bible … he’d been quiet, sober, his smile failing to betray his thoughts.

Rebus turned on to Polmuir Road. Michelle’s digs were halfway down. But Johnny Bible had persuaded her to keep walking down to the park. How had he managed it? Rebus shook his head, trying to clear it of jumble. Maybe her digs were strict, she couldn’t invite him in. She liked it there, didn’t want to be kicked out for an infraction of the rules. Or maybe Johnny had commented on the nice mild night, how he didn’t want it to end, he liked her so much.

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