Resurrection Men (2002) Read Online Free PDF

streaking through the window behind him, its sole purpose to fry the eyeballs of last night’s drinkers. Allan Ward, who’d hardly said three words in the bar but who’d moved quickly from pints to shots of straight tequila, was now sporting a pair of blue-tinted wraparound sunglasses and looked like he should be on the ski slopes rather than stuck in this airless room. He’d smoked a cigarette with Rebus outside after breakfast, hadn’t said a thing. But then Rebus hadn’t felt much like talking either.
    “Never trust a man when you can’t see his eyes!” Tennant barked. Ward turned his head slowly towards him. Tennant didn’t add anything, just waited him out. Ward reached into his pocket, brought out a pouch and slipped the sunglasses into it.
    “That’s better, DC Ward,” Tennant said. There were a couple of surprised looks around the table. “Oh yes, I know all your names. Know what that’s called? It’s called preparation. No case can succeed without it. You need to know who and what you’re dealing with. Wouldn’t you agree, DI Gray?”
    “Absolutely, sir.”
    “No use jumping to conclusions, is there?”
    The look Gray gave Tennant, Rebus knew Tennant had struck a chord. He was showing that he had done his research: not just names, but everything else in their files.
    “No, sir,” Gray said coldly.
    There was a knock at the door. It opened, and two men started carrying in what looked like a series of large collages. It took only a moment for Rebus to realize what they were: the Wall of Death. Photographs, charts, news cuttings . . . the sort of stuff you pinned to the walls of an inquiry room. The material was mounted on sheets of cork boarding, and the men placed these against the walls of the room. When they’d finished, Tennant thanked them and told them to close the door when they left. Then he got up and walked around the table.
    “Case management, gentlemen. Well, you’re old pros, aren’t you? You know how to manage a murder inquiry. No new tricks to be learned?” Rebus remembered Tennant’s words to him last night at the bar: he’d been on a fishing expedition, wondering how much Rebus would say . . . “That’s why I’m not going to bother with new tricks. Instead, how about sharpening up the old ones, eh? Some of you will know about this part of the course. I’ve heard it called ‘Resurrection.’ We give you an old case, something dormant, unsolved, and we ask you to take another look. We require you to work as a team. Remember how that used to be? Once upon a time you were all team players. These days you think you know better.” He was spitting out the words now, circling the table. “Maybe you don’t believe anymore. Well, believe this: for me, you’ll work together as a team. For me,” he paused, “and for the poor bloody victim.” He was back at his end of the table, opening a file, bringing out a series of glossy photographs. Rebus was remembering regimental sergeant majors he’d known in his army days. He was wondering if Tennant had served in the forces.
    “You’ll remember your CID training here, how we put you in teams we called ‘syndicates’ and gave you a case to work on. You were videotaped . . .” Tennant pointed upwards. Cameras were watching from the corners of the room. “There’d be a whole squad of us watching and listening in another room, feeding you tidbits of information, seeing what you’d do with it.” He paused. “That won’t happen here. This is just you lot . . . and me. If I tape you, it’s for my own satisfaction.” As he started his walk around the table again, he deposited one print in front of each man.
    “Take a look. His name is Eric Lomax.” Rebus knew the name. His heart missed a beat. “Beaten to death with something resembling a baseball bat or pool cue. Hit with such force that splinters of wood were embedded in the skull.” The photo landed in front of Rebus. It showed the body at the scene of