Set in Darkness by Ian Rankin Page B

the prospect. ‘Some hard work ahead. No easy answers.’
    It sounded like he was trying to convince himself the whole thing was worth the candle. ‘John’s reliable, is he? Just between you and me.’
    She thought it over, nodded slowly. ‘Once he gets his teeth in, he doesn’t let go.’
    ‘That’s what I’d heard. Doesn’t know when to let go.’ He made it sound like something less than praise. ‘The ACC wants me running the show. How do you think John will take it?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    He attempted a laugh. ‘It’s all right, I won’t tell him we’ve spoken.’
    ‘It’s not that,’ she said, though partly it was. ‘I genuinely don’t know.’
    Linford looked disappointed in her. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said.
    But Siobhan knew that it did.
    Nic Hughes was driving his friend Jerry through the city streets. Jerry kept asking him where they were headed.
    ‘Christ almighty, Jerry, you’re like a broken record.’
    ‘I just like to know.’
    ‘What if I say we’re not going anywhere?’
    ‘That’s what you said before.’
    ‘And have we reached a destination?’ Jerry didn’t seem to understand. ‘No, we have not.’ Nic told him. ‘Because we’re driving aimlessly, and sometimes that can be fun.’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Just shut up, will you?’
    Jerry Lister stared from his passenger window. They’d been south as far as the bypass, taken it to the Gyle and headed back towards Queensferry Road. But then instead of heading back into the centre, Nic had forked off towards Muirhouse and Pilton. They saw some guy urinating against a lamp-post and Jerry said to watch; pressed the button so his window slid down, and as they passed he letout a blood-curdling scream, laughing afterwards, checking the result in the rearview. You could hear the guy swearing.
    ‘They’re dogs out here, Jerry,’ Nic had warned him, as if Jerry needed telling.
    Jerry liked Nic’s car. It was a shiny black Sierra Cosworth. When they passed a group of lads, Nic sounded the horn, waved as if he knew them. They stared, watching the car, watching its driver watching them.
    ‘Car like this, Jer, those kids would kill for it. I’m not joking, they’d do their granny in just for the chance of a test drive.’
    ‘Better not run out of petrol then.’
    Nic looked at him. ‘We could take them, pal.’ All bravado with some speed in his system and wearing his blue suede jacket. ‘You don’t think so?’ Slowing the car, his foot all the way off the accelerator. ‘We could go back there and . . .’
    ‘Just keep driving, eh?’
    A few moments of silence after that, Nic caressing the steering wheel round all the roundabouts they came to.
    ‘Are we going to Granton?’
    ‘Do you want to?’
    ‘What’s there?’ Jerry asked.
    ‘I don’t know. You’re the one who brought it up.’ A sly glance at his friend. ‘Ladies of the night, Jer, is that it? You want to try another?’ Tongue lolling from his mouth. ‘They won’t get in the car with two of us, you know. Too sussed for that, the night ladies. Maybe you could hide in the boot. I’d pick one up, take her to the car park . . . There’d be two of us, Jer.’
    Jerry Lister licked his lips. ‘I thought we’d decided?’
    ‘Decided what?’
    Jerry sounding worried. ‘You know.’
    ‘Memory’s shot, pal.’ Nic Hughes tapped his head. ‘It’s the drink. I drink to forget, and it seems to work.’ His facehardened, left hand twisting the gear stick. ‘Only I forget all the wrong things.’
    Jerry turned to him. ‘Let her go, Nic.’
    ‘Easy for you to say.’ He bared his teeth as he spoke. There were flecks of white at the corners of his mouth. ‘Know what she told me, pal? Know what she said?’
    Jerry didn’t want to hear. James Bond’s car had an ejector seat; all the Cosworth boasted was a sunroof. Jerry looked around anyway, as if seeking the ejector button.
    ‘She said this was a crap car. Said everyone laughed at it.’
    ‘They