Standing in another's man grave

‘Is it something I can help you with?’ she asked.

Rebus took out his ID and held it towards her. ‘I’m with the Edderton team,’ he explained. ‘Your husband was out at Jim Mellon’s farm yesterday.’

‘That’s right.’

‘It just occurred to us, the job he does, he might have noticed any suspicious activity or a stranger in the area.’

‘Well, he’d have said something, wouldn’t he?’ Her eyes had narrowed a little.

‘Maybe he would,’ Rebus countered. ‘But sometimes you don’t remember something until you’re asked about it.’

‘Really?’ She took a moment to consider this. Rebus decided to fill the silence with another question.

‘Have you lived here long, Mrs Magrath?’

‘All my life.’

‘Been married a while?’

‘Don’t remind me,’ she said, making a joke of it.

Rebus managed a big, friendly smile. ‘You’ve got a couple of kids?’

Her demeanour stiffened.

‘I saw photos at Gregor Magrath’s house,’ he explained. ‘Are they still at home?’

‘They’re in their twenties.’ She had relaxed a little. ‘One’s in Inverness, the other Glasgow. So you’ve been talking to Gregor?’

‘Not officially. I work with one of his old colleagues. The colleague told me to drop by and say hello.’

She seemed to have made up her mind about him. Taking a step back into the hall, she asked if he wanted to come in.

‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’

‘No trouble,’ she said. ‘Kenny said he’d be home around one for a pit stop. The kettle’s already on. .’

The house was bright and well furnished. Plenty of framed photos on the living room walls, mostly of the offspring in every stage of development from cradle to graduation. Rebus tried not to look as though he was snooping.

‘Does your husband work from a shop?’ he asked.

‘More a sort of shed — just somewhere he can store all his bits and pieces.’

‘That’s near here, is it?’

She nodded. ‘Opposite the pub.’ She paused. ‘Sorry, I didn’t seem to catch your name.’

‘Rebus,’ he said.

‘Rebus?’

‘It’s Polish, if you care to go back far enough.’

‘Lots of Poles in Scotland just now. Kenny’s noticed it in the building trade.’

‘He’s got enough work, though?’

‘Oh, yes. No complaints there.’

‘Always local jobs?’

She looked at him, trying to fathom the reason for the question. Rebus tried out his smile again.

‘Sorry, just me being nosy,’ he said.

‘Kenny has built a name for himself.’ She poured tea from a pot and handed him the mug. There was a plate of shortbread, too, but he shook the offer away.

‘He’s in demand?’

‘Always.’ She took a sip of her own tea. Rebus’s father would have called it a ‘sergeant major’s special’ — the colour of mahogany and giving a tannic coating to the inside of the mouth. He studied some of the photographs.

‘See much of your son and daughter?’

‘When we can. It’s easier with Joanne.’

‘She’s in Inverness?’ Rebus guessed.

Mrs Magrath nodded. ‘Though actually, Kenny saw Brendan a few weeks back.’

‘And Brendan’s in Glasgow?’ Rebus checked.

‘I couldn’t go — had to visit a friend in Raigmore.’

‘Quite a hike from here to the west, isn’t it?’ Rebus sympathised. He’d done that drive himself, after all. A9, then M80, Sally Hazlitt waiting for him at journey’s end.

And if you needed petrol, you might leave the road at Pitlochry. .

‘A few weeks back, eh?’ he added. ‘Can you be more specific, Mrs Magrath?’

‘Being nosy again?’ Her tone had grown cool.

‘Hard to switch off sometimes.’

‘It was a Satur-’

She heard the van before he did. It was pulling up outside.

‘A Saturday?’ Rebus prompted. Same day of the week Annette was abducted. ‘Just over three weeks ago, would that be, Mrs Magrath?’

‘Kenny has a system — he’ll tell you so himself. Leaves here early, lunch with Brendan, then he can start home and miss the football traffic.’

The motor revved once before juddering to a stop.

‘That’s good,’ Rebus was saying. ‘I must remember that.’ Leave Glasgow just after three. . reach Pitlochry between half past four and five. .

An unoiled van door creaked open, then slammed shut. Mrs Magrath was on her feet when the front door rattled open.

‘I’ve only got ten minutes,’ a male voice boomed out. Kenny Magrath walked into the room, doing a double- take when he saw there was a stranger there.

‘This is Detective Rebus,’ his wife began to explain.

‘I know who he is — just had Gregor nipping my ear about him.’ A finger was pointed at Rebus. ‘You’re not welcome here.’

His wife looked from one man to the other. ‘What’s going on?’

Kenny Magrath’s eyes were burning into Rebus’s. He was taller and broader than his brother, and maybe ten years younger. A thick head of hair only now beginning to go silver at the temples. Chiselled face and deep-set eyes beneath bushy eyebrows. Rebus stood his ground, happy to continue the staring contest. He had risen to his feet and was sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, showing he was in no hurry to be anywhere else. The fingers of his right hand grazed the guitar pick.

‘I’m asking you to leave.’ Magrath gestured towards the door. Then, to his wife: ‘Maggie, call the police.’

‘But he is the police.’

‘Not according to Gregor.’

Maggie Magrath looked at Rebus, feeling cheated and let down by the visitor.

‘I’m attached to the Edderton inquiry,’ Rebus stated, eyes never leaving Magrath’s.

‘He’s from Edinburgh,’ Magrath told his wife. ‘Got no business being here, barging into people’s homes. .’

Rebus was about to explain that he’d been invited in, but didn’t want to get Maggie Magrath into any extra bother. ‘We need to talk,’ he told Magrath.

‘No we don’t.’ Magrath took a step towards him.

‘I still don’t know what this is about,’ his wife was complaining.

‘It’s about all those dead women, Mrs Magrath,’ Rebus obliged.

Magrath bared his teeth and took another step forward. ‘You want me to throw you out?’

Rebus knew that a struggle would make a mess of Maggie Magrath’s impeccable room. His eyes were fixed on Magrath’s.

‘Maybe we should talk outside.’

‘We’re not talking anywhere!’ Magrath clamped his fingers around Rebus’s forearm.

‘Let go of me,’ Rebus said quietly.