The Black Book by Ian Rankin Page B

that the tartan isn’t correct.’
    ‘Anyone in the bar you knew?’ Rebus persisted.
    ‘Oh, let me think …’
    ‘With respect, sir, you don’t need to think. You either know or you don’t.’
    ‘Well, I think Tom Hendry was in that night and stopped by the table to say hello. He used to work for the newspapers.’
    Yes, Rebus had seen the name on the list.
    ‘And there was someone else … I didn’t know them, and they didn’t speak. But I recall a scent of lemon. It was very vivid. I thought maybe it was a perfume, but when I mentioned it to Aengus he laughed and said it didn’t belong to a woman. He wouldn’t say any more, but I got the feeling it was a huge joke to him that I’d made the initial comment. I’m not sure any of this is relevant.’
    ‘Me neither.’ Rebus’s stomach was growling. There was a sudden explosion behind them. Vanderhyde slipped his watch from his waistcoat pocket, opened the glass, and felt with his fingers over the dial.
    ‘One o’clock sharp,’ he said. ‘As I said, Inspector, some things about our precipitous city remain immutable.’
    Rebus nodded. ‘Such as the precipitation, for instance?’ It was beginning to drizzle, the morning sun having disappeared like a conjurer’s trick. ‘Anything else you can tell me?’
    ‘Aengus and I talked. I tried to persuade him that he was on a very dangerous path. His health was failing, and so was the family’s wealth. If anything, the latter argument was the more persuasive.’
    ‘So there and then he renounced the bawdy life?’
    ‘I wouldn’t go that far. The Edinburgh establishment has never bided too far from the stews. When we parted he was setting off to meet some woman.’ Vanderhyde was thoughtful. ‘But if I do say so myself, my words had an effect on him.’ He nodded. ‘I ate alone that evening in The Eyrie.’
    ‘I’ve been there myself,’ said Rebus. His stomach growled again. ‘Fancy a burger?’
    After he’d dropped Vanderhyde home he drove back to St Leonard’s – not a lot wiser for the whole exercise. Siobhan sprang from her desk when she saw him. She looked pleased with herself.
    ‘I take it the butcher’s wife was a talker,’ Rebus said, dropping into his chair. There was another note on his desk telling him Jack Morton had called. But this time there was also a number where Rebus could reach him.
    ‘A right little gossip, sir. I had trouble getting away.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Something and nothing.’
    ‘So give me the something.’ Rebus rubbed his stomach. He’d enjoyed the burger, but it hadn’t quite filled him up. There was always the canteen, but he was a bit worried about getting a ‘dough-ring’, as he termed the gut policemen specialised in.
    ‘The something is this.’ Siobhan Clarke sat down. ‘Bone won the Merc in a bet.’
    ‘A bet?’
    Clarke nodded. ‘He put his share of the butcher’s business up against it. But he won the bet.’
    ‘Bloody hell.’
    ‘His wife actually sounded quite proud. Anyway, she told me he’s a great one for betting. Maybe he is, but it doesn’t look like he’s got a winning formula.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    She was warming to her subject. Rebus liked to see it, the gleam of successful detection. ‘There were a few things not quite right in the living room. For instance, they’d videotapes but no video, though you could see where the machine used to sit. And though they had a large unit for storing the TV and video, the TV itself was one of those portable types.’
    ‘So they’ve got rid of their video and their big television.’
    ‘I’d guess to pay off a debt or debts.’
    ‘And your money would be on gambling dues?’
    ‘If I were the betting kind, which I’m not.’
    He smiled. ‘Maybe they had the stuff on tick and couldn’t keep up the payments.’
    Siobhan sounded doubtful. ‘Maybe,’ she conceded.
    ‘Okay, well, it’s interesting so far as it goes, but it doesn’t go very far … not yet. And it doesn’t tell us