shame.
Actually, it didn’t look to Rebus as though Mrs MacKenzie would twig. And McPhail would doubtless come up with some reason for Rebus’s visit. Probably the City of Edinburgh Police were about to award him a commendation for saving some puppies from the raging torrents of the Water of Leith. McPhail was good at making up stories, after all. Children just loved to hear stories.
Rebus stood outside Mrs MacKenzie’s house and looked across the road. It had to be coincidence that McPhail had chosen a boarding house within ogling distance of a primary school. Rebus had seen it on his arrival; it had been enough to decide him on identifying himself to the landlady. After all, he didn’t believe in coincidence.
And if McPhail couldn’t be persuaded to move, well, maybe the neighbours would find out the true story of Mrs MacKenzie’s lodger. Rebus got into his car. He didn’t always like himself or his job.
But some bits were okay.
Back at St Leonard’s, Siobhan Clarke had nothing new to report on the stabbing. Rory Kintoul was being very cagey about another interview. He’d cancelled one arranged meeting, and she’d not been able to contact him since.
‘His son’s seventeen and unemployed, spends most of the day at home, I could try talking to him.’
‘You could.’ But it was a lot of trouble. Maybe Holmes was right. ‘Just do your best,’ said Rebus. ‘After you’ve talked with Kintoul, if we’re no further forward we’ll drop the whole thing. If Kintoul wants to get himself stabbed, that’s fine with me.’
She nodded and turned away.
‘Any news on Brian?’
She turned back. ‘He’s been talking.’
‘Talking?’
‘In his sleep. I thought you’d know.’
‘What’s he been saying?’
‘Nothing they can make out, but it means he’s slowly regaining consciousness.’
‘Good.’
She started to turn away again, but Rebus thought of something. ‘How are you getting to Aberdeen on Saturday?’
‘Driving, why?’
‘Any room in the car?’
‘There’s just me.’
‘Then you won’t mind giving me a lift.’
She looked startled. ‘Not at all. Where to?’
‘Pittodrie.’
Now she looked even more surprised. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a Hibs fan, sir.’
Rebus screwed up his face. ‘No, you’re all alone in that category. I just need a lift, that’s all.’
‘Fine.’
‘And on the way, you can tell me what you’ve learned from the files on Big Ger.’
8
By Saturday, Rebus had argued three times with Michael (who was talking about moving out anyway), once with the students (also talking about moving), and once with the receptionist at Patience’s surgery when she wouldn’t put Rebus through. Brian Holmes had opened his eyes briefly, and it was reckoned by the doctors that he was on his way to recovery. None of them, however, hazarded the phrase ‘full recovery’. Still, the news had cheered Siobhan Clarke, and she was in a good mood when she arrived at Rebus’s Arden Street flat. He was waiting for her at street level. She drove a two-year-old cherry-red Renault 5. It looked young and full of life, while Rebus’s car (parked next to it) looked to be in terminal condition. But Rebus’s car had been looking like this for three or four years now, and just when he’d determined to get rid of it it always seemed to go into remission. Rebus had the feeling the car could read his mind.
‘Morning, sir,’ said Siobhan Clarke. There was pop music coming from the stereo. She saw Rebus cringe as he got into the passenger seat, and turned the volume down. ‘Bad night?’
‘People always seem to ask me that.’
‘Now why could that be?’
They stopped at a bakery so Rebus could buy some breakfast. There had been nothing in the flat worth the description ‘food’, but then Rebus couldn’t really complain. His contribution to the larder so far had filled a single shopping basket. And most of that had been meat, something the students didn’t touch. He
Actually, it didn’t look to Rebus as though Mrs MacKenzie would twig. And McPhail would doubtless come up with some reason for Rebus’s visit. Probably the City of Edinburgh Police were about to award him a commendation for saving some puppies from the raging torrents of the Water of Leith. McPhail was good at making up stories, after all. Children just loved to hear stories.
Rebus stood outside Mrs MacKenzie’s house and looked across the road. It had to be coincidence that McPhail had chosen a boarding house within ogling distance of a primary school. Rebus had seen it on his arrival; it had been enough to decide him on identifying himself to the landlady. After all, he didn’t believe in coincidence.
And if McPhail couldn’t be persuaded to move, well, maybe the neighbours would find out the true story of Mrs MacKenzie’s lodger. Rebus got into his car. He didn’t always like himself or his job.
But some bits were okay.
Back at St Leonard’s, Siobhan Clarke had nothing new to report on the stabbing. Rory Kintoul was being very cagey about another interview. He’d cancelled one arranged meeting, and she’d not been able to contact him since.
‘His son’s seventeen and unemployed, spends most of the day at home, I could try talking to him.’
‘You could.’ But it was a lot of trouble. Maybe Holmes was right. ‘Just do your best,’ said Rebus. ‘After you’ve talked with Kintoul, if we’re no further forward we’ll drop the whole thing. If Kintoul wants to get himself stabbed, that’s fine with me.’
She nodded and turned away.
‘Any news on Brian?’
She turned back. ‘He’s been talking.’
‘Talking?’
‘In his sleep. I thought you’d know.’
‘What’s he been saying?’
‘Nothing they can make out, but it means he’s slowly regaining consciousness.’
‘Good.’
She started to turn away again, but Rebus thought of something. ‘How are you getting to Aberdeen on Saturday?’
‘Driving, why?’
‘Any room in the car?’
‘There’s just me.’
‘Then you won’t mind giving me a lift.’
She looked startled. ‘Not at all. Where to?’
‘Pittodrie.’
Now she looked even more surprised. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a Hibs fan, sir.’
Rebus screwed up his face. ‘No, you’re all alone in that category. I just need a lift, that’s all.’
‘Fine.’
‘And on the way, you can tell me what you’ve learned from the files on Big Ger.’
8
By Saturday, Rebus had argued three times with Michael (who was talking about moving out anyway), once with the students (also talking about moving), and once with the receptionist at Patience’s surgery when she wouldn’t put Rebus through. Brian Holmes had opened his eyes briefly, and it was reckoned by the doctors that he was on his way to recovery. None of them, however, hazarded the phrase ‘full recovery’. Still, the news had cheered Siobhan Clarke, and she was in a good mood when she arrived at Rebus’s Arden Street flat. He was waiting for her at street level. She drove a two-year-old cherry-red Renault 5. It looked young and full of life, while Rebus’s car (parked next to it) looked to be in terminal condition. But Rebus’s car had been looking like this for three or four years now, and just when he’d determined to get rid of it it always seemed to go into remission. Rebus had the feeling the car could read his mind.
‘Morning, sir,’ said Siobhan Clarke. There was pop music coming from the stereo. She saw Rebus cringe as he got into the passenger seat, and turned the volume down. ‘Bad night?’
‘People always seem to ask me that.’
‘Now why could that be?’
They stopped at a bakery so Rebus could buy some breakfast. There had been nothing in the flat worth the description ‘food’, but then Rebus couldn’t really complain. His contribution to the larder so far had filled a single shopping basket. And most of that had been meat, something the students didn’t touch. He
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