Free A Cool Head by Ian Rankin

Benjy wanted her to have it. She’s nice.’
    He glared at me. ‘I’m going to ask you one last time . . . Where’s Benjy? Where’s the car? And where’s that tart gone with my money?’
    I managed not to blink. Everything was blurry at the edges, but then it wasn’t. It was really sharp instead. ‘The car park,’ I said.
    ‘Take me.’ He gave me a little shove in the direction of the lifts. Well, what else could I do? He wanted me to, so I took him.

Chapter Thirteen
    Jane is in Edinburgh
    ‘The Mansion Park Hotel,’ Jane said into her phone. She was parked outside. The taxi was about twenty yards away, the driver chatting away on his own phone, paying no mind to anything else.
    ‘In Edinburgh?’ Bob’s voice asked.
    ‘That’s the one.’
    ‘His idea of hiding out?’
    ‘Who knows.’ Jane shifted in the driver’s seat. As soon as she’d got word that George Renshaw was on the move, she’d set off after him. And as soon as she had caught up with the car tailing him, she’d radioed to tell the other car it could pull back. A two-car tail was perfect, meant you could keep swapping, meaning less chance of the car you were following spotting you. The two CID men were parked around the other side of the hotel, just in case.
    ‘Is Andrew Hanley talking?’
    ‘He is,’ Bob confirmed. ‘Remember what I said about Stewart Renshaw’s casino?’
    ‘You were right?’ she guessed.
    ‘Only one hundred per cent.’
    ‘Yet I’m the one who got the promotion.’ Jane was smiling.
    ‘Bit more good news, if you’re up for it.’
    ‘Days like this don’t happen nearly often enough, Bob.’
    ‘Two of Gorgeous George’s boys, the two we’ve been after for the Brigham Woods murder, turned up about forty minutes ago.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘They marched Donald Empson into one of George’s pubs. When our stake-out team sauntered in, pretending to be customers, there was no sign of any of them. The cellar looks a good bet.’
    ‘Empson screwed up, and he’s about to pay the price?’
    ‘I don’t want to go charging in until we’re sure.’
    Jane nodded to herself. ‘I agree. Maybe it’s something I can talk to Renshaw about.’ She saw movement at the hotel doors. Two men making their exit. ‘Hold on,’ she said into the phone. ‘Something’s happening. I’ll have to call you back.’
    ‘Jane?’ Bob was telling her as she ended the call. ‘Remember, look after number one . . .’
    Gravy and Gorgeous George
    The two men crossed the tarmac, heading for the multi-storey car park. Gravy was taller than George Renshaw by a couple of inches. Thinner, too. He carried the blue carrier bag. Renshaw signalled to the driver of his taxi. Everything’s going to plan. Keep the engine running. This won’t take long. On the way down in the lift, he had pulled on a pair of tight leather gloves, an idea borrowed from Don Empson. He flexed his hands as he walked.
    ‘So you’re a mate of Benjy’s?’ Renshaw was asking. ‘How’s he doing?’
    Gravy just shrugged.
    ‘How did he ever think he’d get away with it?’
    Another shrug.
    ‘And Don. You do know Don, don’t you?’
    A shake of the head.
    ‘You don’t know Don?’
    ‘I know it’s his car.’
    ‘So how exactly do you fit in, Mr Gravy?’
    ‘It’s just “Gravy”, not “Mr Gravy”.’
    ‘Whatever. Which floor are we going to?’ They were entering the car park.
    ‘This one,’ Gravy said.
    The level was only half full, and Renshaw spotted Don Empson’s BMW straight away. He gave a low whistle, almost jogging towards it.
    ‘I tried cleaning up the blood,’ Gravy was explaining. ‘I did my best.’
    ‘Sure you did, kid,’ Renshaw said. He rubbed a gloved hand over the car and peered inside. Then he turned to Gravy. ‘So?’
    ‘The boot,’ Gravy said.
    ‘Got the key?’
    Gravy nodded.
    ‘Give it here then.’
    The key changed hands. Renshaw pressed the button and the boot clicked open half an inch. He yanked it all the way up and