‘Remember me?’ he asked.
‘You want to take a shot at me, go ahead.’
‘In front of your solicitor? No, I’ll get my satisfaction watching you in the dock. Only thing that’ll help you is grassing your boss. It’ll feel like a blow to the guts, but you’ll do it anyway, because it’ll bring your sentence down. But all the time you’re inside, the cons will know what you did. They’ll know you blabbed. That feeling in your guts won’t ever go away. .’ Rebus straightened up, his attention moving to the lawyer.
‘Don’t knock yourself out,’ he said, turning to leave.
That evening, when he returned home, the only parking space on the street was next to a white Range Rover Evoque. As Rebus got out, so did Darryl Christie.
‘I heard about Rory Bell,’ Christie said.
‘He won’t be trying any more land-grabs,’ Rebus acknowledged.
‘I also hear you had something to do with his demise.’ Christie held out a hand. Rebus stared at it until the young man lowered his arm. ‘Whether you like it or not, I owe you a favour. Any time you want to call it in, I’m at the end of the phone.’
‘Right,’ Rebus said, locking his car and heading for his tenement. He paused at the door, key not quite in the lock, and turned his head back towards Christie.
‘Is that a serious offer?’ he called out.
Epilogue
At four the next afternoon, like clockwork, Peter Meikle emerged from the bookmaker’s on Clerk Street with a disappointed look on his face, a look which only intensified when he clocked Rebus.
‘Again?’
‘Again,’ Rebus agreed.
‘What if I say no?’
‘This is the last time, Peter. Just take this ride with me and that’s us.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Meikle got into the passenger seat of Rebus’s Saab and fastened his belt. ‘Holyrood Park?’ he guessed.
‘Holyrood Park,’ Rebus confirmed. Then, signalling to move into the stream of traffic: ‘It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Has there ever been a day it didn’t prey on your mind?’
‘I didn’t kill Dorothy.’
‘Ach, Peter, of
‘You still seem to enjoy a bit of intimidation.’
‘Is that what this is?’ Rebus glanced at Meikle. ‘But I’m not smacking your head against a wall, am I? And I’m not framing you — planting evidence, altering paperwork. This is just the two of us, out for a drive, having a little heart-to-heart.’
They were heading towards the Commonwealth Pool. Left at the lights and they would enter Holyrood Park.
‘Some stuff’s happened lately,’ Rebus went on, ‘and it’s got me thinking. The good guys are never all good and the bad ones never all bad.’ He offered a shrug. ‘I know that’s not exactly news. But there’s a place where the two meet, and that’s when it can get interesting. It’s like we’re all standing on the same carpet, without bothering to look down at the pattern.’ He glanced towards his passenger again. ‘Does that make sense?’
‘Maybe to you — but then you’ve been drinking.’
‘Just the one whisky, Peter. Call it Dutch courage.’
Meikle was staring at him. ‘What are you going to do?’
Rebus offered a cold smile. ‘We’re just driving,’ he repeated.
And so they were — snaking around the foot of Salisbury Crags, with the Dumbiedykes estate on their left, then passing Holyrood and taking a right at St Margaret’s Loch, beginning the ascent around Arthur’s Seat. Meikle knew where they would stop — opposite the gateway that led to Willowbrae, just like before. There was another car parked up, and Rebus drew to a halt behind it.
‘We’ve not got long, Peter,’ he said, checking his watch as he turned off the ignition. ‘You carried her body up here, yes? Buried her somewhere in the vicinity.’ He paused. ‘Did you find your phone, by the way?’
‘Took me almost half an hour, scouring those bushes.’
Rebus nodded his satisfaction. ‘You’d had a bit of marital strife. Neighbours knew it, Dorothy’s sister knew it. Dorothy had gone to her saying she was terrified of what you’d do to her if she tried walking out. Maybe she was packing a case when you came home. Maybe you thumped her and she decided enough was enough. Lots of ways it could have played out, Peter. The one way it
‘You’re barking up the wrong tree.’
‘Am I? All right then, fair enough.’ He tapped his hands against the steering wheel.
‘Eh?’
‘I’ve done what I can.’ Rebus sounded the horn and the doors of the car in front opened. Two men emerged. One was Darryl Christie, the other a huge, shaven-headed creature who had presumably taken over Dean Grant’s role.
‘What’s this?’ Peter Meikle asked, his left hand gripping the Saab’s door handle, as if to stop it being opened from outside.
‘This is where we say goodbye.’
‘That’s Darryl Christie,’ Meikle spluttered.
‘Darryl owes me a favour, Peter, and I’ve decided you’re it. Now out you get.’
‘What?’
‘You’re going with them.’ Rebus nodded towards the Evoque. ‘I’m too old and too tired. All the stuff I used to be able to do to you,
‘You can’t do this!’
‘Why not?’
‘You’re the police!’
Rebus leaned towards him, face tightening. ‘I’m from the eighties, Peter — I’m not the newfangled touchy- feely model. Now get out of my fucking car!’
When Meikle, wide-eyed, looked through the passenger window, he saw Christie and the man-monster standing right there. Then his door was being wrenched open, despite his best efforts, and Rebus was helpfully unclipping his seat belt.
‘No!’ he pleaded as he was hauled out of the car. One of his cheap slip-on shoes came off and lay there on the floor. He was dragged to the Evoque and shoved on to its back seat, the bodyguard climbing in next to him. Rebus wound down his window and got a cigarette going. Then he watched as Christie pulled shut the driver’s- side door and the car moved off. As it disappeared around a bend, his phone rang.
‘Hiya, Siobhan,’ he said. ‘We still on for tonight?’
‘Can we not find anywhere more salubrious than the back room of the Ox?’
‘That’s a deal-breaker for me.’
‘Fine, then.’ She sighed. ‘Eight thirty?’
‘I might be first to arrive.’
‘You’re on your way there now?’
‘Not quite. Can Malcolm definitely come?’
‘Says he’s looking forward to it.’
‘The management might feel differently if he sticks to drinking Coke.’
‘I dare say you and me can make up for him.’
