Rebus 11 by Ian Rankin

Author:Ian Rankin
Language: en-us
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-04-12T00:12:08+00:00

Here being the temporary home of the Scottish Parliament in the General Assembly building at the top of The Mound. The builders were hard at work. Black metal lighting gantreys had already appeared amidst the wooden ceiling beams. Gyproc walls were being cut to shape, their skeletal wooden frames standing ready to receive them. A new floor was being laid on top of the existing one. It rose amphitheatre-style in a graduated semicircle. The desks and chairs hadn't arrived yet. In the courtyard outside, the statue of John Knox had been boxed in - some said for safekeeping, some so that he could not show his disgust at the renovations to the Church of Scotland's supreme court.

'I hear Glasgow had a building ready and waiting to accommodate the parliament,' Grieve said. He tutted, smiling. 'As if Edinburgh would let them get away with that. All the same . . .' He looked around. 'Shame they couldn't just wait for the permanent site to be ready.'

'We can't wait that long, apparently,' Rebus said.

'Only because Dewar has a bee in his bonnet. Look at the way he banjaxed Calton Hill as a site, all because he worried it was a "Nationalist symbol". Bloody man's an eejit.'

'I'd have preferred Leith myself,' Rebus said.

Grieve looked interested. 'Why's that then?'

'Traffic's bad enough in the city as it is. Besides,' Rebus

went on, 'it would have saved the working girls having to tramp all the way to Holyrood to ply their trade.'

Cammo Grieve's laughter seemed to fill the hall. Around them, carpenters were sawing and hammering. Someone had plugged a radio in. Tinny pop tunes, a couple of the workmen whistling along. Someone hit his thumb with a hammer. His blasphemies echoed off the walls.

Cammo Grieve glanced towards Rebus. 'You don't have a very high opinion of my calling, do you, Inspector?'

'Oh, I think politicians have their uses.'

Grieve laughed again. 'Something tells me I better not ask what those uses might be.'

'You're learning. Mr Grieve.'

They walked on. Rebus, remembering snippets of information from his PPLC tours of the site, kept up a commentary for the English-based MP.

'So this will just be the debating hall?' Grieve said.

'That's right. There are six other buildings, most of them council-owned. Corporate services in one, MSPs and their staff in another. I forget the rest.'

'Committee rooms?'

Rebus nodded. 'Other side of George IV Bridge from the MSP offices. There's a tunnel connecting the two.'

'A tunnel?'

'Saves them crossing the road. We wouldn't want accidents.'

Grieve smiled. Rebus, despite himself, was warming to the man.

'There'll be a media centre, too,' Grieve suggested.

Rebus nodded. 'On the Lawnmarket.'

'Bloody media.'

'Are they still camping outside your mother's house?'

'Yes. Every time I visit, I have to field the same questions.' He looked at Rebus; all the humour had leaked from his features, leaving them pale and tired.

'Have you still no idea who killed Roddy?'

'You know what I'll say, sir.'

'Oh yes: inquiries are proceeding ... all that guff.'

'It might be guff, but it's also true.'

Canmo Grieve plunged his hands deep into the pockets of his black Crombie-style coat.

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