The Black Book: An Inspector Rebus Novel (Inspector Rebus Novels)
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Five years ago, a mysterious fire burned Edinburgh's seed Central Hotel to ashes. Long-forgotten and unsolved, the case reappears when a charred body--with a bullet in its head--is found amongst the ruins. Inspector John Rebus knows that his superiors would rather he let sleeping dogs lie. He knows that part of the answer lies somewhere in a cryptic black notebook. Ane he knows that to solve the case, he'll have to peel back layer upon layer of unspeakable secrets to arrive at the truth. . .
The Sunday Telegraph raves, "No one captures the noirish side of the city as well as Rankin," and The Black Book is one of his best.
‘Is he?’ said Rebus. ‘Are you sure?’ The man thought about it and calmed down. ‘That’s better.’ Rebus rose from the man’s chest. ‘Now is someone going to explain all this to me?’ It was quickly explained, once Petrie had been sent off to find a doctor for his nose and the boys had been sent home. The man was called Bill Chilton, and Bill Chilton didn’t like squatters. ‘Squatters?’ ‘That’s what Wee Neilly told me.’ ‘Squatters?’ Rebus turned to Siobhan Clarke. She’d been downstairs to check
twenties, sir, hardly a “youth”.’ ‘Some of us take longer to grow up than others.’ ‘Why did you arrange to meet Matthew Vanderhyde there?’ Gibson sat back in his chair. ‘Ah, now I see why you’re here. Well, I thought Uncle Matthew might appreciate the seedy glory of the Central. He was wild himself in years past.’ ‘And maybe also you thought it might shock him?’ ‘Nobody could shock Matthew Vanderhyde, Inspector.’ He smiled. ‘But perhaps you’re right. Yes, I’m sure there was an element of
of gleaming drips outside, all the way along and halfway up Lutton Place (insultingly close to St Leonard’s), where they suddenly stopped kerbside. The man’s name was Rory Kintoul, and he had been stabbed in the abdomen. This much they knew. They didn’t know much more, because Rory Kintoul was refusing to speak about the incident. This was not an attitude shared by those who had been in the butcher’s at the time. They were outside now, passing on news of the excitement to the crowd who had
dropped in on. ‘Will I need my lawyer?’ Cafferty growled, sounding amused. ‘I’ll answer that for you, Strawman, no I fucking won’t. Because I’ve got something better than a lawyer here, better than a fucking judge in my pocket. I’ve got a dog that’ll rip your oesophagus out if I tell it to lick your chops. Be here at six.’ The phone went dead, leaving Rebus dry-mouthed and persuading himself all over again that this jumped-up bastard didn’t scare him. What scared him more was the realisation
money. You also took another man’s identity – Thomas Greenwood. You knew Tommy wouldn’t complain because he was dead. Another one of Big Ger’s incredible disappearing acts. You took his name and his identity, and you set up for yourself in the arse-end of Fife, living out of a suitcase full of money till you got this place in profit.’ Rebus paused. ‘How am I doing?’ Greenwood, aka Eck Robertson, swallowed loudly and refilled his glass. ‘You took too much of Greenwood’s identity, though. When