The Black Book Read Online Free PDF

a frayed and faded pair of work denims, not far from the end of their life.
    ‘What are you saying?’ Rebus asked.
    ‘I’m saying I think we should drop it, sir, with all respect.’
    ‘“With all respect”, Brian? That’s what people say when they mean “you fucking idiot”.’ Rebus still wasn’t looking at Holmes, but he could feel the young man blushing. Clarke was looking down at her lap.
    ‘Listen,’ said Rebus, ‘this guy, he staggers a couple of hundred yards with a two-inch gash in his gut. Why?’ No answer was forthcoming. ‘Why,’ Rebus persisted, ‘does he walk past a dozen shops, only stopping at his cousin’s?’
    ‘Maybe he was making for a doctor’s, but had to stop,’ Clarke suggested.
    ‘Maybe,’ said Rebus dismissively. ‘Funny that he can make it into his cousin’s shop, though.’
    ‘You think it’s something to do with the cousin, sir?’
    ‘Let me ask the both of you something else.’ Rebus stood up and took a few paces, then retraced his steps, catching Holmes and Clarke exchanging a glance. It set Rebus wondering. At first, there had been sparks between them, sparks of antagonism. But now they were working well together. He just hoped the relationship didn’t go further than that. ‘Let me ask you this,’ he said. ‘What do we know about the victim?’
    ‘Not much,’ said Holmes.
    ‘He lives in Dalkeith,’ Clarke offered. ‘Works as a lab technician in the Infirmary. Married, one son.’ She shrugged.
    ‘That’s it?’ asked Rebus.
    ‘That’s it, sir.’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Rebus. ‘He’s nobody, a nothing. Not one person we’ve talked to has had a bad word to say about him. So tell me this: how did he end up getting stabbed? And in the middle of a Wednesday morning? If it had been a mugger, surely he’d tell us about it. As it is, he’s clammed up as tight as an Aberdonian’s purse at a church collection. He’s got something to hide. Christ knows what, but it involves a car.’
    ‘How do you work that out, sir?’
    ‘The blood starts at the kerb, Holmes. Looks to me like he got out of a car and at that point he was already wounded.’
    ‘He drives, sir, but doesn’t own a car at present.’
    ‘Smart girl, Clarke.’ She prickled at ‘girl’, but Rebus was talking again. ‘And he’d taken a half day off work without telling his wife.’ He sat down again. ‘Why, why, why? I want the two of you to have another go at him. Tell him we’re not happy with his lack of a story. If he can’t think of one, we’ll pester him till he does. Let him know we mean business.’ Rebus paused. ‘And after that, do a check on the butcher.’
    ‘Chop chop, sir,’ commented Holmes. He was saved by the phone ringing. Rebus picked up the receiver. Maybe it would be Patience.
    ‘DI Rebus.’
    ‘John, can you come to my office?’
    It wasn’t Patience, it was the Chief Super. ‘Two minutes, sir,’ said Rebus, putting down the phone. Then, to Holmes and Clarke: ‘Get onto it.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘You think I’m making too much of this, Brian?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Well, maybe I am. But I don’t like a mystery, no matter how small. So bugger off and satisfy my curiosity.’
    As they rose, Holmes nodded towards the large suitcase which Rebus had placed behind his desk, supposedly out of view. ‘Something I should know about?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Rebus. ‘It’s where I keep all my graft payments. Yours still probably fit in your back pooch.’ Holmes didn’t look like budging, though Clarke had already retreated to her own desk. Rebus expelled air and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve just joined the ranks of the dispossessed.’ Holmes’ face became animated. ‘Not a bloody word, mind. This is between you and me.’
    ‘Understood.’ Holmes thought of something. ‘You know, most evenings I eat at the Heartbreak Cafe …’
    ‘I’ll know where to find you then, if I ever need to hear any early Elvis.’
    Holmes nodded. ‘And Vegas Elvis too. All I