The Hanging Garden
“Prison-camp prostitutes with teeth filed to points were kneeling in front of him. Jake Tarawicz, in full SS regalia, held him from behind, telling him resistance was useless. Through the barred window, Rebus could see black berets – the maquis, busy freeing the camp but leaving his billet till last. Alarm bells ringing, everything telling him that salvation was at hand ...
... alarm becoming his telephone ... he staggered from his chair, picked it up.
‘Yes.’ ‘John?’ The Chief Super’s voice: Abe...rdonian, instantly recognisable.
‘Yes, sir?’ ‘We’ve got a spot of bother. Get down here.’ ‘What kind of bother?’ ‘I’ll tell you when you get here. Now shift.’ Night shift, to be precise. The city asleep. St Leonard’s was lit up, the tenements around it dark. No sign of the Farmer’s ‘spot of bother’. The Chief Super’s office: the Farmer in conference with Gill Templer.
‘Sit down, John. Coffee?’ ‘No, thanks, sir.’ While Templer and the Chief Super were deciding who should speak, Rebus helped them out.MoreLess
... alarm becoming his telephone ... he staggered from his chair, picked it up.
‘Yes.’ ‘John?’ The Chief Super’s voice: Abe...rdonian, instantly recognisable.
‘Yes, sir?’ ‘We’ve got a spot of bother. Get down here.’ ‘What kind of bother?’ ‘I’ll tell you when you get here. Now shift.’ Night shift, to be precise. The city asleep. St Leonard’s was lit up, the tenements around it dark. No sign of the Farmer’s ‘spot of bother’. The Chief Super’s office: the Farmer in conference with Gill Templer.
‘Sit down, John. Coffee?’ ‘No, thanks, sir.’ While Templer and the Chief Super were deciding who should speak, Rebus helped them out.MoreLess
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