‘I dare say.’ Rebus allowed himself a smile, flicking ash from the window.
‘You somewhere with a breeze?’
‘Taking the air.’
‘Next few weeks might be uncomfortable. Lot of questions are going to be asked.’
‘I’ll be ready.’
‘Maybe we can compare notes when we meet?’
‘Are you sure that isn’t against the rules?’
‘I suppose it might be. Lucky we’ve got Malcolm to keep us on the straight and narrow.’
‘Best place to be, Siobhan.’
‘I’ve called Laura Smith and given her a heads-up. Reckoned she just about deserves it.’
‘You never know when you might need a friendly journalist. I’ll see you tonight.’
‘Tapas afterwards at Café Andaluz?’
‘Couple of drinks is all I can manage.’
‘Other plans?’ She paused. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got a
‘You better not be about to tell me I’m too old.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Am I not allowed a private life?’
‘You know I’m going to keep digging.’
‘I’ll see you tonight.’
‘Best suit, remember. And don’t take her anywhere cheap. .’
Rebus was smiling as he ended the call.
He kept his eyes on his wing mirror as he finished the cigarette. Then he got out of the Saab, lifting something from the back seat. The wind whipped around him as he started tearing methodically at the loose-leaf pages of the Shadow Bible, gusts scooping them up, sending them flying. He had just finished, nothing left but the leather covers, when the Evoque crawled past, settling in the same spot as before. The three men got out, the man-monster holding Peter Meikle upright while Darryl Christie walked towards Rebus.
‘He’ll show you,’ he said. ‘Right now, if you like.’
Rebus opened the passenger door of the Saab, threw the remains of the Shadow Bible on to the seat and picked up Peter Meikle’s shoe.
