Free Beggars Banquet by Ian Rankin Page B

sprinter. Holmes looked towards Rebus, seemed about to say something, but decided against it. ‘Come on then!’ he said.
    Rebus started the car’s engine, signalled, and moved out into the traffic. Holmes was focusing through the windscreen. ‘I can see him. Put your foot down!’
    ‘ “Put your foot down, sir ”,’ Rebus said calmly. ‘Don’t worry, Brian.’
    ‘Hell, he’s turning into Randolph Place.’
    Rebus signalled again, brought the car across the oncoming traffic, and turned into the dead end that was Randolph Place. Only, while it was a dead end for cars, there were pedestrian passages either side of West Register House. The young man, carrying the narrow box under his arm, turned into one of the passages. Rebus pulled to a halt. Holmes had the car door open before it had stopped, and leapt out, ready to follow on foot.
    ‘Cut him off !’ he yelled, meaning for Rebus to drive back on to Queensferry Street, around Hope Street and into Charlotte Square, where the passage emerged.
    ‘ “Cut him off, sir ”,’ mouthed Rebus.
    He did a careful three-point turn, and just as carefully moved back out into traffic held to a crawl by traffic lights. By the time he reached Charlotte Square and the front of West Register House, Holmes was shrugging his shoulders and flapping his arms. Rebus pulled to a stop beside him.
    ‘Did you see him?’ Holmes asked, getting into the car.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Where have you been anyway?’
    ‘A red light.’
    Holmes looked at him as though he were mad. Since when had Inspector John Rebus stopped for a red light? ‘Well, I’ve lost him anyway.’
    ‘Not your fault, Brian.’
    Holmes looked at him again. ‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘So, back to the shop? What was it anyway?’
    ‘Hi-fi shop, I think.’
    Holmes nodded as Rebus moved off again into the traffic. Yes, the box had the look of a piece of hi-fi, some slim rack component. They’d find out at the shop. But instead of doing a circuit of Charlotte Square to take them back into Queensferry Street, Rebus signalled along George Street. Holmes, still catching his breath, looked around disbelieving.
    ‘Where are we going?’
    ‘I thought you were fed up with Queensferry Street. We’re going back to the station.’
    ‘ What? ’
    ‘Back to the station.’
    ‘But what about—?’
    ‘Relax, Brian. You’ve got to learn not to fret so much.’
    Holmes examined his superior’s face. ‘You’re up to something,’ he said at last.
    Rebus turned and smiled. ‘Took you long enough,’ he said.

    But whatever it was, Rebus wasn’t telling. Back at the station, he went straight to the main desk.
    ‘Any robberies, Alec?’
    The desk officer had a few. The most recent was a snatch at a specialist hi-fi shop.
    ‘We’ll take that,’ said Rebus. The desk officer blinked.
    ‘It’s not much, sir. Just a single item, thief did a runner.’
    ‘Nevertheless, Alec,’ said Rebus. ‘A crime has been committed, and it’s our duty to investigate it.’ He turned to head back out to the car.
    ‘Is he all right?’ Alec asked Holmes.
    Holmes was beginning to wonder, but decided to go along for the ride anyway.

    ‘A cassette deck,’ the proprietor explained. ‘Nice model, too. Not top of the range, but nice. Top-of-the-range stuff isn’t kept out on the shop floor. We keep it in the demonstration rooms.’
    Holmes was looking at the shelf where the cassette deck had rested. There were other decks either side of the gap, more expensive decks at that.
    ‘Why would he choose that one?’ Holmes asked.
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Well, it’s not the dearest, is it? And it’s not even the closest to the door.’
    The dealer shrugged. ‘Kids these days, who can tell?’ His thick hair was still tousled from where he had stood in the Queensferry Street wind-tunnel, yelling against the elements as passers-by stared at him.
    ‘I take it you’ve got insurance, Mr Wardle?’ The question came from Rebus, who was standing in front of a row