Resurrection Men (2002) Read Online Free PDF Page A

had fallings-out with. Not unusual in the business, apparently, but this came to blows. Turns out the artist is one of these New Scottish Colorists, and leaving him out of the exhibition was a definite snub.”
    “Maybe he whacked Marber with his easel.”
    “Maybe.”
    “And the second story?”
    “That one I’ve been saving up to tell you. Did you ever see the guest list for the preview?”
    “Yes.”
    “Turns out not everyone who turned up was on the list. What we had were people who’d signed Marber’s guest book. But now we’ve printed off a list of the people who actually got invites. Some of them were at the exhibition, hadn’t bothered to RSVP or sign the book.”
    “This artist was one of them?” Rebus guessed.
    “God, no. But a certain M. G. Cafferty was.”
    She heard Rebus whistle. Morris Gerald Cafferty— Big Ger, to those in the know — was the east coast’s biggest gangster, or the biggest one they knew about. Cafferty and Rebus went back a long way.
    “Big Ger a patron of the arts?” Rebus mused.
    “He collects paintings, apparently.”
    “What he doesn’t do is smack people over the head on their doorsteps.”
    “I bow to your superior knowledge.”
    There was a pause on the line. “How’s Gill doing?”
    “Much better since you left. Is she going to take it any further?”
    “Not if I finish this course — that was the deal. How about the L-plate?”
    Siobhan smiled. By L-plate Rebus meant the latest addition to CID, a detective constable called Davie Hynds. “He’s quiet, studious, industrious,” she recited. “Not your type at all.”
    “But is he any good?”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll slap him into shape.”
    “That’s one of the prerogatives, now you’ve been promoted.”
    The pips were sounding again. “Do I get to go now?”
    “A concise and helpful report, DS Clarke. Seven out of ten.”
    “Only seven?”
    “I’m deducting three for sarcasm. You need to address this attitudinal problem of yours, or —”
    The sudden hum on the line told her his time was up. It was taking some getting used to, being addressed as “DS.” She sometimes still introduced herself as Detective Constable Clarke, forgetting that the recent round of promotions had been kind to her. Could jealousy be behind the message on her screen? Silvers and Hood had stayed the same rank — as had most of the rest of CID.
    “Narrowing the field nicely, girl,” she told herself, reaching for her coat.
     
    Back at the table, Barclay lifted a mobile phone and told Rebus he could have borrowed it.
    “Thanks, Tam. I’ve actually got one.”
    “Are the batteries dead?”
    Rebus lifted his glass, shook his head slowly.
    “I think,” Francis Gray said, “John just prefers things done the old-fashioned way. Isn’t that right, John?”
    Rebus shrugged, tipped the glass to his lips. Above the rim, he could see the bald man standing sideways against the bar, watching the group intently . . .

 
     
    2
    G ood morning, gentlemen!” the voice boomed, entering the room.
    Six of them already seated at the same oval table. A dozen or more box-files at one end, the end where the teacher would sit.
    9:15–12:45: Case Management, DCI (ret’d) Tennant.
    “I trust we’re all feeling bright as buttons. No thumping heads or churning stomachs to report!” Another box-file was slammed down onto the table. Tennant dragged his chair out, causing its feet to grate against the floor. Rebus was concentrating on the grain of the table’s wood, trying to keep it in focus. When he did finally look up, he blinked. It was the bald guy from the bar, dressed now in an immaculate chalk-stripe suit, white shirt and navy-blue tie. His eyes seemed little pinpricks of devilment as they alighted on every member of the previous night’s drinking party.
    “I want all those cobwebs blown away, gentlemen,” he said, slapping his hand down on one of the files. Dust rose from it, hanging in a beam of light which was