The Black Book Read Online Free PDF Page B

mean is, if there’s anything I can do …’
    ‘You could start by disguising yourself as me and trotting along to see Farmer Watson.’
    But Holmes was shaking his head. ‘I meant anything within reason.’
    Within reason. Rebus wondered if it was within reason to be asking the students to put up with him sleeping on the sofa while his brother slept in the box room. Maybe he should offer to lower the rent. When he’d arrived at the flat unannounced on Friday night, three of the students and Michael had been sitting cross-legged on the floor rolling joints and listening to mid-period Rolling Stones. Rebus stared in horror at the cigarette papers in Michael’s hand.
    ‘For fuck’s sake, Mickey!’ So at last Michael Rebus had elicited a reaction from his big brother. The students at least had the grace to look like the criminals they were. ‘You’re lucky,’ Rebus told them all, ‘that at this exact second I don’t give a shit.’
    ‘Go on, John,’ said Michael, offering a half-smoked cigarette. ‘It can’t do any harm.’
    ‘That’s what I mean.’ Rebus drew a bottle of whisky out of the carrier-bag he was holding. ‘But this can.’
    He had proceeded to spend the final hours of the evening sprawled across the sofa supping whisky and singing along to any old record that was put on the turntable. He’d spent much of the weekend in the same spot, too. The students hadn’t seemed to mind, though he’d made them put away the drugs for the duration. They cleaned the flat around him, with Michael pitching in, and everyone trooped out to the pub on Saturday night leaving Rebus with the TV and some cans of beer. It didn’t look as though Michael had told the students about his prison record; Rebus hoped he’d keep it that way. Michael had offered to move out, or at least give his brother the box room, but Rebus refused. He wasn’t sure why.
    On Sunday he went to Oxford Terrace, but there didn’t seem to be anyone home, and his key still wouldn’t open the door. So either the lock had been changed or Patience was hiding in there somewhere, going through her own version of cold turkey with the kids for company.
    Now he stood outside Farmer Watson’s door and looked down at himself. Sure enough, when he’d gone to Oxford Terrace this morning Patience had left a suitcase of stuff for him outside the door. No note, just the case. He’d changed into the clean suit in the police station toilets. It was a bit crumpled but no more so than anything he usually wore. He hadn’t a tie to match, though: Patience had included two horrible brown ties (were they really his ?) along with the dark blue suit. Brown ties don’t make it. He knocked once on the door before opening it.
    ‘Come in, John, come in.’ It seemed to Rebus that the Farmer too was having trouble making St Leonard’s fit his ways. The place just didn’t feel right. ‘Take a seat.’ Rebus looked around for a chair. There was one beside the wall, loaded high with files. He lifted these off and tried to find space for them on the floor. If anything, the Chief Super had less space in his office than Rebus himself. ‘Still waiting for those bloody filing cabinets,’ he admitted. Rebus swung the chair over to the desk and sat down.
    ‘What’s up, sir?’
    ‘How are things?’
    ‘Things?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Things are fine, sir.’ Rebus wondered if the Farmer knew about Patience. Surely not.
    ‘DC Clarke getting on all right, is she?’
    ‘I’ve no complaints.’
    ‘Good. We’ve got a bit of a job coming up, joint operation with Trading Standards.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Chief Inspector Lauderdale will fill in the details, but I wanted to sound you out first, check how things are going.’
    ‘What sort of joint operation?’
    ‘Money lending,’ said Watson. ‘I forgot to ask, do you want coffee?’ Rebus shook his head and watched as Watson bent over in his chair. There being so little space in the room, he’d taken to keeping his