“Someone was knocking on his door. An authoritarian knock, using the old brass knocker that he never cleaned. Rebus opened his eyes. The sun was streaming into his living room, a record’s run-out track crackling. Another night spent in the chair, fully clothed. He’d be as well selling the mattress in the bedroom. Would anyone buy a mattress without a bed-frame? Knockity knock knock again. Still patient. Still waiting for him to answer. His eyes were gummy, and he pushed his shirt back into h...is trousers as he walked from the living room to the door. He felt not too bad, considering. Not stiff, no tightness in the neck. A wash and a shave, and he might even feel human. He opened the door, just as Holmes was about to knock again. ‘Brian.’ Rebus sounded genuinely pleased. ‘Morning. Mind if I come in?’ ‘Not at all. Is Nell okay?’ ‘I phoned this morning. They say she had a good night.’ They were walking in the direction of the kitchen, Rebus leading.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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