A Question of Blood: An Inspector Rebus Novel (A Rebus Novel)
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When a former soldier and recluse murders two 17-year-old students at a posh Edinburgh boarding school, Inspector John Rebus immediately suspects there is more to the case than meets the eye.
reference seemed lost on his fellow prisoner . . . Siobhan was back at St. Leonard’s, loitering by the drink machine. A couple of uniforms were seated at a table in the small cafeteria, munching on sandwiches and crisps. The drink machine was in the adjoining hallway, with a view out to the car park. If she were a smoker, she would have an excuse to step outside, where there was less chance of Gill Templer finding her. But she didn’t smoke. She knew she could try ducking into the
Silvers’s questions. “He should change his name to canary.” Bob stared at him dully. “Why’s that, then?” “Why do you think?” “Dunno.” “What do canaries do?” “Fly around . . . live in trees.” “They live in your grannie’s fucking birdcage, you moron. And they sing.” Bob thought about this; Rebus could almost hear the cogs grinding. With a lot of lowlifes, it was an act. Many of them were clever enough, wise not just in the ways of the street. But either Bob was Robert De Niro in full method
wouldn’t that be a first for the books?” Both men ended up laughing, Hogan insisting on picking up the tab, Rebus leaving a tip. Back in the car, they found the road to Dalbeattie. Ten miles out of Dumfries, a single signpost pointed right, taking them up a narrow, winding track with grass growing in the middle. “Not much traffic, then,” Rebus commented. “Bit out of the way for visitors,” Hogan agreed. Carbrae had been purpose-built in the forward-looking 1960s, a long box-shaped structure
trying to find the one he shot me with.” Siobhan had taken the magazine from Rebus. “I think I can understand that,” she said. “You want to know all about it?” “I didn’t get much of a look at it.” “You sure about that, James?” Rebus asked. “Lee Herdman collected gun stuff.” He nodded towards the magazine, which Siobhan was now flicking through. “That one of his?” “What?” “Did he let you borrow it? We hear you knew him a bit better than you’ve been letting on.” “I never said I didn’t know
three-quarters full. Holly had yet to start on his own second drink. “What’s the rush?” he said. “You don’t think I came here to pass the time of day with you?” Holly said. “I don’t like you, Rebus, and I certainly don’t trust you.” He paused. “No offense.” “None taken,” Rebus said, rising to follow the reporter out of the bar. “By the way,” Holly said, “something that’s been bugging me . . .” “What?” “I was talking to a guy, and he said he could kill someone with a newspaper. You ever heard