Let It Bleed Read Free Page B

distinguished, which was why Rebus had pegged him for a senior consultant, something like that.
    ‘I thought only lackeys and L-plates worked nights,’ Rebus commented, while Klasser shone a light in his eyes.
    Klasser put down the light and started to squeeze Rebus’s back, prodding it like he was plumping up a cushion.
    ‘Any pain there?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What about there?’
    ‘No more than usual.’
    ‘Hmm … In answer to your question, John, I notice
you’re
working nights. Does that make you lackey or L-plate?’
    ‘That hurts.’
    Dr Klasser smiled.
    ‘So,’ Rebus said, easing his shirt back on, ‘what’ve I got?’
    Klasser found a pen that worked and scribbled something on his clipboard. ‘By my estimate, the way you’re going, you’ve got a year, maybe two.’
    The two men stared at one another. Rebus knew precisely what the doctor was talking about.
    ‘I’m serious, John. You smoke, you drink like a fish, and you don’t exercise. Since Patience stopped feeding you, your diet’s gone to hell. Starch and carbohydrate, saturated fat …’
    Rebus tried to stop listening. He knew his drinking was a problem these days precisely because he’d learned self-control. As a result, few people noticed that he
had
a problem. He was well dressed at work, alert when the occasion demanded, and even visited the gym some lunchtimes. He ate lazily, and maybe too much, and yes, he was back on the cigs. But then nobody was perfect.
    ‘An uncanny prognosis, Doctor.’ He finished buttoning his shirt, started tucking it into his waistband, then thought better of it. He felt more comfortable with the shirt outside his trousers. He knew he’d feel even more comfortable with his trouser button undone. ‘And you can tell that just by prodding my back?’
    Dr Klasser smiled again. He was folding up his stethoscope. ‘You can’t hide that sort of thing from a doctor, John.’
    Rebus eased into his jacket. ‘So,’ he said, ‘see you in the pub later?’
    ‘I’ll be there around six.’
    ‘Fine.’
    Rebus walked out of the hospital and took a deep breath.
    It was two-thirty in the morning, about as cold and dark as the night could get. He thought about checking on Lauderdale, but knew it could wait till morning. His flat was just across The Meadows, but he didn’t fancy the walk. The sleet was still falling, beginning to turn to snow, and there was that stabbing wind, like a thug you meet in a narrow lane, one who won’t let you go.
    Then a car horn sounded. Rebus saw a cherry-red Renault 5, and inside it DC Siobhan Clarke, waving towards him. He almost danced to the car.
    ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘I heard,’ she said.
    ‘How come?’ He opened the passenger-side door.
    ‘I was curious. I wasn’t on shift, but I kept in touch with the station, just to find out what happened at the meet. When I heard about the crash, I got dressed and came down here.’
    ‘Well, you’re a sight for sore teeth.’
    ‘Teeth?’
    Rebus rubbed his jaw. ‘Sounds crazy, but I think that dunt has given me toothache.’
    She started the car. It was lovely and warm. Rebus could feel himself drifting off.
    ‘Bit of a disaster then?’ she said.
    ‘A bit.’ They turned out of the gates, heading left towards Tollcross.
    ‘How’s the CI?’
    ‘I don’t know. They’re X-raying him. Where are we going?’
    ‘I’m taking you home.’
    ‘I should go back to the station.’
    She shook her head. ‘I called in. They don’t want you till morning.’
    Rebus relaxed a little more. Maybe the painkillers were kicking in. ‘When’s the post-mortem?’
    ‘Nine-thirty.’ They were on Lauriston Place.
    ‘There was a shortcut you could have taken back there,’ Rebus told her.
    ‘It was a one-way street.’
    ‘Yes, but nobody uses it this time of night.’ He realised what he’d said. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered, rubbing his eyes.
    ‘So what was it?’ Siobhan Clarke asked. ‘I mean, was it an accident, or were they