Fleshmarket Alley
Chapter One
I'm not supposed to be here," Detective Inspector John Rebus said.
Not that anyone was listening.
Knoxland was a housing scheme on the western edge of Edinburgh, off
Rebus's patch. He was there because the West End guys were
shorthanded. He was also there because his own bosses couldn't think
what to do with him. It was a rainy Monday afternoon, and nothing
about the day so far boded anything but ill for the rest of the
working week. Rebus's old police station, his happy hunting ground
these past eight or so years, had seen itself reorganized. As a
result, it no longer boasted a CID office, meaning Rebus and his
fellow detectives had been cast adrift, shipped out to other
stations. He'd ended up at Gayfield Square, just off Leith Walk: a
cushy number, according to some. Gayfield Square was on the
periphery of the elegant New Town, behind whose eighteenth- and
nineteenth-century facades anything could be happening without those
outside being any the wiser. It certainly felt a long way from
Knoxland, farther than the three factual miles. It was another
culture, another country.
Knoxland had been ... read full excerpt from: Fleshmarket Alley ebook
