It is late autumn in Edinburgh and the final days of police service for Inspector Rebus. Nothing to look forward to and many loose ends to tie up before he retires, Rebus and his sergeant Siobhan attempt to solve the murder of a dissident Russian poet.
I am delighted to tell you that Inspector John Rebus is not killed off but the prospect of his retirement is not a happy one. The man is a very flawed character, so wonderfully depicted by Ian Rankin throughout the series - each book lets you in to another secret about his life - and he faces a lonely retirement. As usual, the story is a cracking yarn that fairly speeds along recounting the events of one week in the investigation.
My artwork is an attempt at a watercolour evoked by the description of Rebus returning at night to his flat.
"Rebus had driven through the silent pre-dawn streets to Marchmont, an eventual parking space, and his second-floor tenement flat. The living room had a bay window, and that was where his chair was. He was promising himself he'd make it as far as the bedroom, but there was a spare duvet behind the sofa just in case. He had a bottle of whisky, too - eighteen- year- old Highland Park, bought the previous weekend with a couple of good hits left in it. Ciggies and booze and a little night music. At one time they would have provided enough consolation, but he wondered if they would sustain him once the job was behind him. What else did he have?"
A jolly good read.
Thank you for stopping by and do feel free to leave a comment - I appreciate them all.
