Ian Rankin - Black Book

A swamp with an eviction order over its head.

The police couldn’t turn a blind eye forever and a day, especially when complaints from the public were rising by the month. And the more trash was introduced to the Central, the more trash was produced by the place. Until almost no real drinkers went there at all. If you ventured into the Central, you were looking for a woman, cheap drugs, or a fight. And God help you if you weren’t.

Then, as had to happen, one night the Central burnt down. This came as no surprise to anyone; so much so that reporters on the local paper hardly bothered to cover the blaze. The police, of course, were delighted. The fire saved them having to raid the joint.

But the next morning there was a solitary surprise: for though all the hotel’s staff and customers had been accounted for, a body turned up amongst the charred ceilings and roofbeams. A body that had been burnt out of all recognition.

A body that had been dead when the fire started.

These scant details Rebus knew. He would not have been a City of Edinburgh detective if he hadn’t known. Yet here was Holmes’ black book, throwing up tantalising clues. Or what looked like tantalising clues. Rebus read the relevant section through again.

Central fire. El was there! Poker game on 1st floor. R. Brothers involved (so maybe Mork too??). Try finding.

He studied Holmes’ handwriting, trying to decide whether the journal said El or E1; the letter 1 or the number 1. And if it was the letter 1, did he mean El to stand as the phonetic equivalent of a single letter 1? Why the exclamation mark? It seemed that the presence of El (or L or E-One) was some kind of revelation to Brian Holmes. And who the hell were the R. Brothers? Rebus thought at once of Michael and him, the Rebus brothers, but shook the picture from his mind. As for Mork, a bad TV show came to mind, nothing else.

No, he was too tired for this. Tomorrow would be time enough. Maybe by tomorrow Brian would be up and talking. Rebus decided he’d say a little prayer for him before he went to sleep.

A prayer which went unanswered. Brian Holmes had still not regained consciousness when. Rebus phoned the Infirmary at seven o’clock.

‘Is he in a coma or something, then?’

The voice on the other end of the phone was cold and factual. ‘There will be tests this morning.’

‘What sorts of tests?’

‘Are you part of Mr Holmes’ immediate family?’

‘No, I’m bloody not. I’……police officer? His boss? Just a friend? ‘Never mind.’ He put down the receiver. One of the students put her head around the living-room door.

‘Want some herbal tea?’

‘No thanks.’

‘A bowl of muesli?’

Rebus shook his head. She smiled at him and disappeared. Herbal tea and muesli, great God almighty. What sort of way was that to start the day? The door of the box room opened from within, and Rebus was startled when a teenage girl dressed only in a man’s shirt came out into the daylight, rubbing at her eyes. She smiled at him as she passed, making for the living-room door. She walked on tiptoe, trying not to put too much bare foot on the cold linoleum.

Rebus stared at the living-room door for another ten seconds, then walked over to the box room. Michael was lying naked on the narrow single bed, the bed Rebus had bought secondhand at the weekend. He was rubbing a hand over his chest and staring at the ceiling. The air inside the box room was foetid.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Rebus asked.

‘She’s eighteen, John.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Oh? What did you mean?’

But Rebus wasn’t sure any more. There was just something plain ugly about his brother sharing a box room bed with some student while he slept on the sofa not eight feet away. It was all ugly, all of it. Michael would have to go. Rebus would have to move into a hotel or something. None of it could go on like this much longer. It wasn’t fair on the students.

‘You should come to the pub more often,’ Michael offered. ‘That’s what’s wrong you know.’

‘What?’

‘You just don’t see life, John. It’s time you started to live a little.’ Michael was still smiling when his brother slammed the door on him.

‘I’ve just heard about Brian.’

DC Siobhan Clarke looked in some distress. She had lost all colour from her face except for two dots of red high on her cheeks and the paler red of her lips. Rebus nodded for her to sit down. She pulled a chair over to his desk.

‘What happened?’

‘Somebody hit him over the head.’

‘What with?’

Now that was a good question, the sort of question a detective would ask. It was also a question Rebus had forgotten to ask last night. ‘We don’t know,’ he said. ‘Nor do we have any motive, not yet.’

‘It happened outside the Heartbreak Cafe?’

Rebus nodded. ‘In the car park out back.’

‘He kept saying he was going to take me there for a meal.’

‘Brian always keeps his word. Don’t worry, Siobhan, he’ll be all right.’ She nodded, trying to believe this. ‘I’ll go see him later.’

‘If you like,’ said Rebus, not sure quite what his tone was supposed to mean. She looked at him again.

‘I like,’ she said.

After she’d gone, Rebus read through a message from Chief Inspector Lauderdale. It detailed the initial surveillance plans for the money lending operation. Rebus was asked for questions and ‘useful comments’. He smiled at that phrase, knowing Lauderdale had used it hoping to deter Rebus from his usual basic critique of anything put in front of him. Then someone delivered a hefty package, the package he had been waiting for. He lifted the flaps of the cardboard box and started to pull out bulging files. These were the notes referring to the Central Hotel, its history and final sorry end. He knew he had a morning’s reading ahead of him, so he found Lauderdale’s letter, penned a large OK on it, scrawled his signature beneath, and tossed it into his out tray. Lauderdale wouldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe Rebus had accepted the surveillance without so much as a murmur. It was bound to perplex the Chief Inspector.

Not a bad start to the working day.

Rebus sat down with the first file from the box and started to read.

He was filling a second page with his own notes when the telephone rang. It was Nell Stapleton.

‘Nell, where are you?’ Rebus continued writing, finishing a sentence. ‘I’m at work. Just thought I’d call and see if you’d found anything.’ He finished the sentence. ‘Such as?’

‘Well, what happened to Brian.’

‘I’m not sure yet. Maybe he’ll tell us when he wakes up. Have yo talked to the hospital?’

‘First thing.’

‘Me too.’ Rebus started writing again. There was a nervous silence on the other end of the line.

‘What about the black book?’

‘Oh, that. Yes, I had a wee read of it.’

‘Did you find whatever Brian was afraid of?’

‘Maybe and maybe not. Don’t worry, Nell, I’m working on it.’

‘That’s good.’ There was genuine relief in her voice. ‘Only, when Brian wakes up, don’t tell him I told you, will you?’

‘Why not? I think it’…it shows you care about him.’

‘Of course I care!’

‘That didn’t stop you chucking him out.’ He wished he hadn’t said it but he had. He could hear her anguish, and imagined her in the University library, trying not to let any of the other staff see her face.

‘John,’ she said at last, ‘you don’t know the whole story. You’ve on heard Brian’s side.’

‘That’s true. Want to tell me yours?’

She thought it over. ‘Not like this, on the telephone. Maybe some other time.’