A Question of Blood: An Inspector Rebus Novel (A Rebus Novel)
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When a former soldier and recluse murders two 17-year-old students at a posh Edinburgh boarding school, Inspector John Rebus immediately suspects there is more to the case than meets the eye.
“Really?” “Just as soon as I’ve rubbed his nose in the shit.” She smiled, ended the call. Decided she might as well switch her phone off. Wouldn’t be making calls at five thousand feet . . . Glanced at the dashboard clock and saw that she was going to be early. Didn’t suppose Doug Brimson would mind. She tried to shake her head clear of everything she’d heard. Lee Herdman didn’t kill those kids. John Rebus didn’t torch Martin Fairstone’s house. She felt bad about having suspected Rebus, but
thirty years, Allan.” The two men were studying each other, trying to fit faces to their memories. “You took me to the football once,” Renshaw said. “Raith Rovers, wasn’t it? Can’t remember who they were playing.” “Well, you better come in.” “You understand, Allan, I’m here in an official capacity.” “I heard you were in the police. Funny how things turn out.” As Rebus followed his cousin down the hall, Siobhan introduced herself to the young woman, who in turn said she was Kate, “Derek’s
about Carbrae instead. How much are we really going to get from Robert Niles?” “With a bit of luck, more than his name, rank and serial number,” Hogan said, pulling out again to pass. Carbrae Special Hospital was sited, as Hogan himself described it, in “the sweaty armpit of who knows where.” Neither man had been there before. Hogan’s directions were to take the A711 west of Dumfries and head towards Dalbeattie. They seemed to miss a turnoff, Hogan cursing the solid wall of lorries in the
had picked up a bundle of newspapers between his home and Rebus’s. Some had managed to get photos from the vigil into their later editions: the minister leading the singing, the MSP holding up his petition. “I can’t sleep at all,” one resident was quoted as saying, “for fear of who else might be out there.” Fear: the crucial word. Most people would live their whole lives untouched by crime, yet they still feared it, and that fear was real and smothering. The police force existed to allay such
“Where are we going?” “Just cruising around. Maybe we’ll get lucky, find ourselves in Never-Never Land.” It took her a moment to decode the reference. “The Lost Boys?” she said. Rebus nodded, walked around the car to the passenger side. “And while I’m driving, you’ll be telling me the story?” “I’ll tell you the story,” he agreed. And he did. What it boiled down to was: Andy Callis and his partner on patrol in their car. Called to a nightclub on Market Street, just behind Waverley Station.