The Beat Goes On: The Complete Rebus Stories (Rebus Collection) by Ian Rankin Page A

happen to remember working at a wine merchant’s in the Cowgate?’
    ‘When?’
    ‘The spring of 1960.’
    ‘A wine merchant’s?’ Abbot furrowed his brow. ‘Should be able to remember that. Long time ago, mind. A wine merchant’s?’
    ‘You were laying a new floor in one of his cellars, amongst other work. Hillbeith Vintners.’
    ‘Oh, aye, Hillbeith, it’s coming back now. I remember him. Little funny chap with glasses. Gave us a case of wine when the job was finished. Nice of him, but the wine was a bit off as I remember.’
    ‘How many men were working on the job?’
    Abbot exhaled noisily. ‘Now you’re asking. It was over thirty years ago, Inspector.’
    ‘I appreciate that, sir. Would there be any records?’
    Abbot shook his head. ‘There might have been up to about ten years ago, but when we moved into this place a lot of the older stuff got chucked out. I regret it now. It’d be nice to have a display of stuff from the old days, something we could set up in the reception. But no, all the Abbot & Ford stuff got dumped.’
    ‘So you don’t remember how many men were on that particular job? Is there anyone else I could talk to, someone who might—’
    ‘We were small back then, I can tell you that. Mostly using casual labour and part-timers. A job that size, I wouldn’t think we’d be using more than three or four men, if that.’
    ‘You don’t recall anyone going missing? Not turning up for work, that sort of thing?’
    Abbot bristled. ‘I’m a stickler for time-keeping, Inspector. If anyone had done a bunk, I’d remember, I’m pretty sure of that. Besides, we were careful about who we took on. No lazy buggers, nobody who’d do a runner halfway through a job.’
    Rebus sighed. Here was one of the dead ends. He rose to his feet. ‘Well, thanks anyway, Mr Abbot. It was good of you to find time to see me.’ The two men shook hands, Abbot rising to his feet.
    ‘Not at all, Inspector. Wish I could help you with your little mystery. I like a good detective story myself.’ They were almost at the door now.
    ‘Oh,’ said Rebus, ‘just one last thing. Where could I find your old partner Mr Ford?’
    Abbot’s face lost its animation. His voice was suddenly that of an old man. ‘Hugh died, Inspector. A boating accident. He was drowned. Hell of a thing to happen. Hell of a thing.’
    Two dead ends.
    Mr Hillbeith’s telephone call came later that day, while Rebus was ploughing through the transcript of an interview with a rapist. His head felt full of foul-smelling glue, his stomach acid with caffeine.
    ‘Is that Inspector Rebus?’
    ‘Yes, hello, Mr Hillbeith. What can I do for you?’ Rebus pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed shut his eyes.
    ‘I was thinking all last night about that skeleton.’
    ‘Yes?’ In between bottles of wine, Rebus didn’t doubt.
    ‘Well, I was trying to think back to when the work was being done. It might not be much, but I definitely recall that there were four people involved. Mr Abbot and Mr Ford worked on it pretty much full-time, and there were two other men, one of them a teenager, the other in his forties. They worked on a more casual basis.’
    ‘You don’t recall their names?’
    ‘No, only that the teenager had a nickname. Everyone called him by that. I don’t think I ever knew his real name.’
    ‘Well, thanks anyway, Mr Hillbeith. I’ll get back to Mr Abbot and see if what you’ve told me jogs his memory.’
    ‘Oh, you’ve spoken to him then?’
    ‘This morning. No progress to report. I didn’t realise Mr Ford had died.’
    ‘Ah, well, that’s the other thing.’
    ‘What is?’
    ‘Poor Mr Ford. Sailing accident, wasn’t it?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Only I remember that, too. You see, that accident happened just after they’d finished the job. They kept talking about how they were going to take a few days off and go fishing. Mr Abbot said it would be their first holiday in years.’
    Rebus’s eyes were open now.