# Read the first page of The Naming of the Dead by Ian Rankin Read the opening of The Naming of the Dead by Ian Rankin free, no signup. A detective probes an MP's suicide during the G8 summit in Scotland. - Page: https://uncovered.ink/read/the-naming-of-the-dead-ian-rankin - Genre: Crime fiction - Year: 2008 - ISBN: 9780316004404 - Read it blind (cover and title hidden): https://uncovered.ink/?b=9781409107569&s=read-page - Buy: https://bookshop.org/a/125786/9780316004404 - Borrow: https://search.worldcat.org/search?q=9780316004404 ## The opening In place of a closing hymn, there was music. The Who, ‘Love Reign O’er Me’. Rebus recognised it the moment it started, thunderclaps and teeming rain filling the chapel. He was in the front pew; Chrissie had insisted. He’d rather have been further back: his usual place at funerals. Chrissie’s son and daughter sat next to her. Lesley was comforting her mother, an arm around her as the tears fell. Kenny stared straight ahead, storing up emotion for later. Earlier that morning, back at the house, Rebus had asked him his age. He would be thirty next month. Lesley was two years younger. Brother and sister looked like their mother, reminding Rebus that people had said the same about Michael and him: The pair of you, the spit of your mum. Michael … Mickey if you preferred. Rebus’s younger brother, dead in a shiny-handled box at the age of fifty-four, Scotland’s mortality rate that of a Third World nation. Lifestyle, diet, genes – plenty of theories. The full post-mortem hadn’t come through yet. Massive stroke was what Chrissie had told Rebus on the phone, assuring him that it was ‘sudden’ – as if that made a difference. Sudden meant Rebus hadn’t been able to say goodbye. It meant his last words to Michael had been a joke about his beloved Raith Rovers in a phone call three months back. A Raith scarf, navy and white, had been draped over the coffin alongside the wreaths. Kenny was wearing a tie that had been his dad’s, Raith’s shield on it – some kind of animal holding a belt-buckle. Rebus had asked the significance, but Kenny had just shrugged. Looking along the pew, Rebus saw the usher make a gesture. Everyone rose to their feet. Chrissie started walking up the aisle, flanked by her children. The usher looked to Rebus, but he stayed where he was. Sat down again so the others would know they didn’t have to wait for him. The song was only a little over halfway through. It was the closing track on Quadrophenia. Michael had been the big Who fan, Rebus himself preferring the Stones. Had to admit, though, albums like Tommy and Quadrophenia did things the Stones never could. Daltrey was whooping that he could use a drink. Rebus had to agree, but there was the drive back to Edinburgh to consider. The function room of a local hotel had been booked. All were welcome, as the minister had reminded them from the pulpit. Whisky and tea would be poured, sandwiches served. There would be anecdotes and reminiscences, smiles, dabs at the eyes, hushed tones. The staff would move quietly, out of respect. Rebus was trying to form sentences in his head, words which would act as his apology. I need to get back, Chrissie. Pressure of work. He could lie and blame the G8. That morning in the house, Lesley had said he must be busy with the build-up. He could have told her, I’m the only cop they don’t seem to need. Officers were being drafted in from all over. Fifteen hundred were coming from London alone. Yet Detective Inspector John Rebus seemed surplus to requirements. Someone had to man the ship – the very words DCI James Macrae had used, with his acolyte smirking by his shoulder. DI Derek Starr reckoned himself the heir apparent to Macrae’s throne. One day he’d be running Gayfield Square police station. John Rebus posed no threat whatsoever, not much more than a year away from retirement. Starr himself had said as much: Nobody’d blame you for coasting, John. It’s what anyone your age would do. Maybe so, but the Stones were older than Rebus; Daltrey and Townshend were older than him too. Still playing, still touring. ## Books with a similar feel - [Free Fire by C. J. Box](https://uncovered.ink/read/free-fire-c-j-box.md) - [Prayers for Rain by Dennis Lehane](https://uncovered.ink/read/prayers-for-rain-dennis-lehane.md) - [The Bat by Jo Nesbo](https://uncovered.ink/read/the-bat-jo-nesbo.md) - [The Crossing by Michael Connelly](https://uncovered.ink/read/the-crossing-michael-connelly.md) - [The Kings of Cool by Don Winslow](https://uncovered.ink/read/the-kings-of-cool-don-winslow.md) - [Fever Of The Bone by Val McDermid](https://uncovered.ink/read/fever-of-the-bone-val-mcdermid.md) --- Source: Uncovered (https://uncovered.ink). A short sample shown for reading and discovery. Rights holders can request removal at https://uncovered.ink/takedown.