Read Online Saints of the Shadow Bible (Rebus) by Ian Rankin - Free Book Online
Authors: Ian Rankin
Ads: Link
wife. Then, to Rebus: ‘Too many soap operas, John – that’s the trouble.’
‘Should I pop the pies in the oven, then?’ Maggie asked, starting to get to her feet. Her husband nodded.
‘Pies?’ Paterson queried.
‘Dod thought it would be a nice touch. He says you lot ate nothing else for about two years.’
‘Certainly seemed that way.’ Paterson patted not his own stomach but Rebus’s. ‘With John here and Frazer doing the fetching.’
‘I’ll just be a minute then.’ She went over to her husband’s armchair and kissed him on the forehead before making for the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, Blantyre asked that the door be closed. Stefan Gilmour obliged.
‘All three of you, over here,’ Blantyre demanded. The three visitors approached his chair. ‘Means I don’t have to talk too loud.’
‘What’s going on, Dod?’ Gilmour asked, keeping his own voice low.
‘Last few times I’ve been to see the white coats, I’ve not let Maggie come with me. So she doesn’t know things are as bad as they are. It’s not just the stroke. There’s plenty else wrong with the engine.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Paterson said.
‘I’ve got a few months yet – at least I hope I have. But word’s come to me that they may not be as pleasant as I’d like them to be.’ He looked at each man in turn. ‘Elinor Macari’s on the warpath.’
‘Macari?’ Gilmour queried.
‘The Solicitor General,’ Rebus informed him.
‘She wants the Saunders case looked at.’
‘What the hell for?’
‘Because she can. Double jeopardy’s been axed, if you hadn’t heard.’
‘I hadn’t,’ Gilmour admitted.
‘Not axed exactly,’ Rebus felt it necessary to add. ‘But in certain cases a retrial can be requested.’
‘It was thirty years ago,’ Gilmour argued. ‘We can’t be expected to remember . . .’
‘Won’t stop them asking.’ Paterson turned towards his friend. ‘Fancy seeing your photo in the papers, Stefan? And not in a clinch with a TV star but next to a mug shot of Billy Saunders?’
‘Is Saunders even in the land of the living?’ Gilmour enquired.
‘Macari wouldn’t go after him if he wasn’t,’ Blantyre said. Then: ‘My throat’s dry – can one of you . . . ?’
Paterson lifted the tumbler and angled the straw towards Blantyre’s lips. Gilmour produced a clean cotton handkerchief with which to dab the man’s chin.
‘So what do we do?’ he asked.
‘I’m just giving fair warning,’ Blantyre told him. ‘Few months from now, it won’t matter a damn to me. You lot, on the other hand . . .’
Gilmour turned towards Rebus. ‘You’re the only one of us with a finger in the CID pie, John – can you find out what’s happening?’
‘I can try,’ Rebus conceded.
‘Without looking like there’s something you’re trying to keep covered up,’ Paterson added.
‘Covered up?’ Rebus echoed, as Maggie came back into the room.
‘Oh!’ she said, face growing fearful at the sight of all three guests huddled around her husband. ‘Has something . . . ?’
‘I’m fine,’ Blantyre assured her. ‘Just been taking a drink.’
She pressed a hand to her chest. ‘You scared me there.’ Then she gestured back towards the kitchen. ‘About fifteen minutes for those pies – and I think I need to step out and have a cigarette.’
‘I might join you,’ Rebus said. He fixed his eyes on those of Dod Blantyre. ‘If that’s okay . . . ?’
‘Fine,’ Blantyre agreed, after only a moment’s hesitation.
Rebus followed Maggie through the small kitchen and into the back garden. There was a patio, its furniture covered, awaiting better weather, with a patch of lawn beyond. She lit her own cigarette before handing her gold lighter to Rebus. She had folded her arms in a show of keeping warm.
‘Want me to fetch a coat?’ he asked. But she shook her head.
‘I get too hot in the house sometimes. Dod likes the thermostat turned up.’
‘The two of you have been managing
‘Should I pop the pies in the oven, then?’ Maggie asked, starting to get to her feet. Her husband nodded.
‘Pies?’ Paterson queried.
‘Dod thought it would be a nice touch. He says you lot ate nothing else for about two years.’
‘Certainly seemed that way.’ Paterson patted not his own stomach but Rebus’s. ‘With John here and Frazer doing the fetching.’
‘I’ll just be a minute then.’ She went over to her husband’s armchair and kissed him on the forehead before making for the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, Blantyre asked that the door be closed. Stefan Gilmour obliged.
‘All three of you, over here,’ Blantyre demanded. The three visitors approached his chair. ‘Means I don’t have to talk too loud.’
‘What’s going on, Dod?’ Gilmour asked, keeping his own voice low.
‘Last few times I’ve been to see the white coats, I’ve not let Maggie come with me. So she doesn’t know things are as bad as they are. It’s not just the stroke. There’s plenty else wrong with the engine.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Paterson said.
‘I’ve got a few months yet – at least I hope I have. But word’s come to me that they may not be as pleasant as I’d like them to be.’ He looked at each man in turn. ‘Elinor Macari’s on the warpath.’
‘Macari?’ Gilmour queried.
‘The Solicitor General,’ Rebus informed him.
‘She wants the Saunders case looked at.’
‘What the hell for?’
‘Because she can. Double jeopardy’s been axed, if you hadn’t heard.’
‘I hadn’t,’ Gilmour admitted.
‘Not axed exactly,’ Rebus felt it necessary to add. ‘But in certain cases a retrial can be requested.’
‘It was thirty years ago,’ Gilmour argued. ‘We can’t be expected to remember . . .’
‘Won’t stop them asking.’ Paterson turned towards his friend. ‘Fancy seeing your photo in the papers, Stefan? And not in a clinch with a TV star but next to a mug shot of Billy Saunders?’
‘Is Saunders even in the land of the living?’ Gilmour enquired.
‘Macari wouldn’t go after him if he wasn’t,’ Blantyre said. Then: ‘My throat’s dry – can one of you . . . ?’
Paterson lifted the tumbler and angled the straw towards Blantyre’s lips. Gilmour produced a clean cotton handkerchief with which to dab the man’s chin.
‘So what do we do?’ he asked.
‘I’m just giving fair warning,’ Blantyre told him. ‘Few months from now, it won’t matter a damn to me. You lot, on the other hand . . .’
Gilmour turned towards Rebus. ‘You’re the only one of us with a finger in the CID pie, John – can you find out what’s happening?’
‘I can try,’ Rebus conceded.
‘Without looking like there’s something you’re trying to keep covered up,’ Paterson added.
‘Covered up?’ Rebus echoed, as Maggie came back into the room.
‘Oh!’ she said, face growing fearful at the sight of all three guests huddled around her husband. ‘Has something . . . ?’
‘I’m fine,’ Blantyre assured her. ‘Just been taking a drink.’
She pressed a hand to her chest. ‘You scared me there.’ Then she gestured back towards the kitchen. ‘About fifteen minutes for those pies – and I think I need to step out and have a cigarette.’
‘I might join you,’ Rebus said. He fixed his eyes on those of Dod Blantyre. ‘If that’s okay . . . ?’
‘Fine,’ Blantyre agreed, after only a moment’s hesitation.
Rebus followed Maggie through the small kitchen and into the back garden. There was a patio, its furniture covered, awaiting better weather, with a patch of lawn beyond. She lit her own cigarette before handing her gold lighter to Rebus. She had folded her arms in a show of keeping warm.
‘Want me to fetch a coat?’ he asked. But she shook her head.
‘I get too hot in the house sometimes. Dod likes the thermostat turned up.’
‘The two of you have been managing
Similar Books
