Chat at the bar, cigarettes and laughter, a fug of heat and alcohol: he knew these things better than he knew his own daughter. He passed three pubs on his way to his car. He could make for there now – he was still on shift after all – but he had other plans. After a stint in Craigmillar, he was back at St Leonard 's. Rebus, of course, lived and worked on the south side. The south side of the city seemed to get the first frost earlier than the north. One morning soon he would find himself scraping frost from his car windscreen, feeling the cold like jabs to his kidneys. He could drive or he could walk – he wasn't going far.Įdinburgh on firework night, leaves blown into thick lines down the pavement. Checking his watch, he saw it was nearly nine o'clock. He ran his hands down the front of his jacket, feeling the bulge in his inside breast pocket, his own little time-bomb. Even tonight he should have been elsewhere. Sometimes it was her fault, more often his. It had been a tortuous process: dates rejigged, last-minute cancellations.
He didn't know nearly enough about her, which was why he'd wanted them to meet for dinner. He knew she was headed for a Guy Fawkes party, but didn't intend staying long. He knew that the brown of her hair was its natural colour. He knew that she wore a bracelet of braided leather, three silver rings, a cheap watch with black plastic strap and indigo face. He knew that if she wanted to concentrate, she might tuck the corner of one jacket-lapel into her mouth. He knew that her nose would twitch when she thought of something funny. Rebus could only imagine her now: making sure the pizza box was secure beneath her left arm walking with eyes fixed firmly ahead of her rubbing a thumb behind her right ear, which she'd recently had pierced for the third time. Isn't she incredible? But the youth kept shuffling along the pavement, oblivious to her world.Īnd then she'd turned a corner and was gone. Turn round and look at her, Rebus commanded.
He was staring at the pavement, the thin black cord from a pair of earphones dribbling down his neck. But on the opposite pavement she half-turned, saw him watching her, waved her hand in acknowledgment. One final wave, and she turned away from him, head moving as she checked the evening traffic, crossing the road without looking back. Maybe the three of us…?’īy which she meant Ned Farlowe, her boyfriend. She'd even tried to pay for the pizza, arguing that she'd eaten half while he'd chewed on a single slice. She was twenty-four and independent didn't need the gesture and certainly wouldn't take the money. He thought of offering her some money wasn't that what fathers did? – but she'd only laugh. Rebus put his hands in his pockets, felt folded banknotes beneath his handkerchief. 'Dead people don't wake up, 'she said, hugging Pa Broon. There's nothing the witches and evil queens can do about that.’ 'Daddy,' she said, 'what if I fall asleep and don't wake up? Like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty?’ He tucked her in, started to read her a story. 'Come on, pet, I'll take you back to bed.’ But the girl ran to her,father, wrapped herself around his legs. The mother crouched down, opening her arms. She was peering round the doorway, thumb in her mouth. She was holding her teddy bear, Pa Broon, by one well-chewed ear. `You know bloody well!' 'I'm working my arse off for the three of us!' 'Don't give me that crap.’Īnd then they saw her. `Look, if your bloody job's so precious…’ `I went to Scotland and found nothing there that looks like Scotland ' `If all time is eternally present All time is unredeemable.’ The ninth book in the Inspector Rebus series, 1998 Before he can act the waters are muddied further when the war criminal is found hanging in Warriston Cemetery. But the Crime Squad are forced to bring him back to the present day when a young upstart gangster, Tommy Telford, muscles in on Big Ger Cafferty's turf and Rebus's local knowledge becomes essential to the efforts to shut down Telford's business as a drug dealer, pimp and extortionist. His immediate superiors are more than happy to have him tucked away in a quiet backwater for several months looking into ancient history. Rebus is buried under a pile of paperwork generated by his investigations into a possible war criminal resident in Edinburgh. Genre: thriller The Hanging Garden Ian RankinĪ tense and complicated thriller featuring inspector John Rebus from the acclaimed author of BLACK AND BLUE.
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