Free Let It Bleed by Ian Rankin Page A

‘So what are you up to today?’
    It was a good question. Rebus formed his answer. ‘Chasing ghosts,’ he said, making for his desk.
    He phoned Tresa McAnally. She’d identified her husband’s clothes, and had been able to identify his body, albeit with the face discreetly covered. Now all that was left for her were the funeral arrangements.
    ‘Sorry to bother you again,’ Rebus said, after introducing himself.
    ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Just wondered how you were coping.’
    ‘Oh aye?’ He should’ve known she wouldn’t fall for that sort of patter.
    ‘You knew your husband was ill, Mrs McAnally?’
    ‘He told me he was.’
    ‘Seriously ill though?’
    ‘He never really said.’
    ‘Well, what did he tell you was wrong with him?’
    ‘Where do you want me to start? High blood pressure, kidney stones, ulcers, a heart murmur, emphysema … see, Wee Shug was a bit of a hypochondriac.’
    ‘But he
was
ill; he was on medication.’
    ‘You know what doctors are like, they’ll hand you a placebo and kiss you goodbye. I’ve read the stories, I know what goes on.’ She paused. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the point asking about his health now?’
    ‘Well, I’ve reason to believe your husband was seriously ill. Terminally ill, Mrs McAnally.’
    ‘I should’ve guessed,’ she said finally, her tone chastened. ‘He was different when he came out this time, quieter like. Was it the big C?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Used to smoke rollies. I always told him, that’s the way my own mother went.’ Another pause as she dragged on her filter-tip. ‘Is that why he did himself in?’
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘Makes sense, eh? Poor wee bugger.’
    Rebus cleared his throat. ‘Mrs McAnally, have you any idea where he could have got the gun?’
    ‘Not a clue.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘What’s the difference where he got it? He only hurt himself.’
    Thinking back to Councillor Gillespie and Miss Profitt, Rebus wondered about that. It seemed to him that Wee Shug McAnally had managed to hurt a lot of people … which brought him to thoughts of Maisie Finch.
    ‘The funeral’s next Tuesday, Inspector. You’d be welcome at the house.’
    ‘Thanks, Mrs McAnally. I’ll do my best.’
    The sun was out, bathing the tired buildings in dazzling light. Edinburgh’s architecture was best suited to winter, to sharp, cold light. You got the feeling of being a long way north of anywhere, some place reserved for only the hardiest and most foolhardy.
    Rebus was glad to be out of the office. He knew he worked best on the street. Besides, the office was a battleground. He knew Flower would already be plotting against Gill Templer, marshalling his forces, waiting for her defences to slip. But she was tough – the way she was handling Rebus was proof of that. He knew she would keep him at arm’s length and beyond. She was right, he did havea bad reputation. She wouldn’t want any of his failures to rub off on her. So what if they’d known one another, had been an item? She was right – it was a long time ago. Now they were colleagues; more than that, she was his acting superior. He hadn’t known many women make chief inspector. Good luck to her.
    He drove past the Infirmary, chiding himself for not stopping to visit Lauderdale, and headed for Tollcross. He didn’t want Tresa McAnally this time though.
    He wanted her neighbour.
    He pressed the buzzer marked FINCH and waited, shuffling his feet. His tooth was acting up. He’d made the mistake of opening his mouth to take a deep breath, and the frozen air had made straight for the nerve. He pressed the buzzer again, hoping he wouldn’t have to visit a dentist.
    The intercom came to life.
    ‘Who is it?’ The voice was neutral.
    ‘Miss Finch? My name’s Inspector Rebus, we sort of met last night.’
    ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Can I come up?’
    The door buzzed and Rebus pushed it open. At the top of the stairs, he all but tiptoed past Tresa McAnally’s door.