Free The Hanging Garden by Ian Rankin Page B

at him, too.
    ‘Just a guess,’ Rebus said with a shrug. ‘Japanese businessmen, it’s what they like about Scotland.’
    Claverhouse turned back to Candice. ‘Ask her if she … accommodated any of these men.’
    Colquhoun cleared his throat again, colour flooding his cheeks as he spoke. Candice looked down at the table, moved her head in the affirmative, started to speak.
    ‘She says that’s why she was there. She was fooled at first. She thought maybe they just wanted a pretty woman to look at. They had a nice lunch … the beautiful drive … But then they came back into town, dropped the Japanese off at a hotel, and she was taken up to one of the hotel rooms. Three of them … she, as you put it yourself, DS Claverhouse, she “accommodated” three of them.’
    ‘Does she remember the name of the hotel?’
    She didn’t.
    ‘Where did they have lunch?’
    ‘A restaurant next to flags and …’ Colquhoun corrected himself. ‘Next to a golf course.’
    ‘How long ago was this?’
    ‘Two or three weeks.’
    ‘And how many of them were there?’
    Colquhoun checked. ‘The three Japanese, and maybe four other men.’
    ‘Ask her how long she’s been in Edinburgh,’ Rebus asked.
    Colquhoun did so. ‘She thinks maybe a month.’
    ‘A month working the street … funny we haven’t picked her up.’
    ‘She was put there as a punishment.’
    ‘For what?’ Claverhouse asked. Rebus had the answer.
    ‘For making herself ugly.’ He turned to Candice. ‘Ask her why she cuts herself.’
    Candice looked at him and shrugged.
    ‘What’s your point?’ Ormiston asked.
    ‘She thinks the scars will deter punters. Which means she doesn’t like the life she’s been leading.’
    ‘And helping us is her only sure ticket out?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    So Colquhoun asked her again, then said: ‘They don’t like that she does it. That’s why she does it.’
    ‘Tell her if she helps us, she won’t ever have to do anything like that again.’
    Colquhoun translated, glancing at his watch.
    ‘Does the name Newcastle mean anything to her?’ Claverhouse asked.
    Colquhoun tried the name. ‘I’ve explained to her that it’s a town in England, built on a river.’
    ‘Don’t forget the bridges,’ Rebus said.
    Colquhoun added a few words, but Candice only shrugged. She looked upset that she was failing them. Rebus gave her another smile.
    ‘What about the man she worked for?’ Claverhouse asked. ‘The one before she came to Edinburgh.’
    She seemed to have plenty to say about this, and kept touching her face with her fingers while she talked.Colquhoun nodded, made her stop from time to time so he could translate.
    ‘A big man … fat. He was the boss. Something about his skin … a birthmark maybe, certainly something distinctive. And glasses, like sunglasses but not quite.’
    Rebus saw Claverhouse and Ormiston exchange another look. It was all too vague to be much use. Colquhoun checked his watch again. ‘And cars, a lot of cars. This man crashed them.’
    ‘Maybe he got a scar on his face,’ Ormiston offered.
    ‘Glasses and a scar aren’t going to get us very far,’ Claverhouse added.
    ‘Gentlemen,’ Colquhoun said, while Candice looked towards Rebus, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave.’
    ‘Any chance of coming back in later, sir?’ Claverhouse asked.
    ‘You mean today?’
    ‘I thought maybe this evening …?’
    ‘Look, I do have other commitments.’
    ‘We appreciate that, sir. Meantime, DC Ormiston will run you back into town.’
    ‘My pleasure,’ Ormiston said, all charm. They needed Colquhoun, after all. They had to keep him sweet.
    ‘One thing,’ Colquhoun said. ‘There’s a refugee family in Fife. From Sarajevo. They’d probably take her in. I could ask.’
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ Claverhouse said. ‘Maybe later on, eh?’
    Colquhoun seemed disappointed as Ormiston led him away.
    Rebus walked over to Claverhouse, who was shuffling his photos together.
    ‘Bit of