Resurrection Men

Gray knew he’d been rumbled, decided silence was the best policy.

“DCS Templer tells me you were nosing around her inquiry.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She wasn’t happy about it.”

“And she came crying to you, sir?” Ward said belligerently.

“No, DC Ward . . . she quite properly mentioned it to me, that’s all.”

“There’s us and there’s them,” Ward went on, his eyes scanning the Wild Bunch. Rebus knew what he meant: it wasn’t so much a team thing, more something approaching a siege mentality.

There’s us . . . and there’s them.

Except that Rebus didn’t feel that way. Instead, he felt isolated inside his own head. Because he was a mole, brought here to con the group, and now working a case which, if solved, would be his ruin.

“Take this as a warning,” Tennant was telling Gray.

“You’re saying we shouldn’t fraternize?” Gray asked. “We’re a leper colony now, are we?”

“We’re here through the good graces of DCS Templer. This is her station. And if you want to get through this course . . .” He paused to allow them to prepare for his next words. “You’ll do exactly what you’re told, understood?”

There were mutters of grudging acquiescence.

“Now get back to work,” Tennant said, checking his watch. “I’m headed back to base, and I’ll expect to see all of you at Tulliallan tonight. Just because you’re in the big city, don’t think you’re here on anything other than parole . . .”

After he’d gone, they sat staring into space and at each other, wondering where they went from here. Ward was first to speak.

“That guy should be in porn films.”

Barclay frowned. “Why’s that then, Allan?”

Ward looked at him. “Tell me, Tam, when did you last see a bigger prick?”

The laughter eased some of the tension. Not that Rebus felt inclined to join in. He was imagining a blind woman, suddenly feeling a stranger’s hand grab her wrist. He was thinking of the terror involved. There was a question he’d asked of a psychologist at the time: “Blind or sighted, which would have been worse?”

The psychologist had just shaken his head, unable to provide an answer. Rebus had gone home and fashioned a blindfold for himself. He’d lasted all of twenty minutes, then had collapsed into his chair, his shins bruised, crying himself towards sleep.

He took a break now and went to the toilet, Gray warning him not to stray too close to “the real detectives.” When he walked in, Derek Linford was shaking his hands free of water.

“No towels,” Linford said, explaining his actions. He was studying his appearance in the mirror above the sinks.

“I heard you were filling my shoes,” said Rebus, approaching the urinals.

“I don’t think we’ve got anything to say to one another, do you?”

“Fair enough.” The silence lasted only half a minute.

“I’m about to do an interview,” Linford couldn’t help revealing. He tucked a stray hair behind one ear.

“Don’t let me keep you,” Rebus said. As he faced the urinal, he could almost feel Linford’s eyes drilling into his back. Then the door swung open again. It was Jazz. He started to introduce himself to Linford, but was interrupted.

“Sorry, I’ve got a suspect waiting for me.” By the time Rebus had zipped himself up, Linford was gone.

“Was it something I said?” Jazz mused.

“The only people Linford gives the time of day to are ones he thinks he should be sucking up to.”

“Career opportunist,” Jazz said, nodding his understanding. He went to the sink and ran his hands under the cold tap. “What was that Clash song again . . . ?”

“ ‘Career Opportunities.’ ”

“That’s the one. I always felt I wasn’t supposed to like The Clash: too old, not political enough.”

“I know what you mean.”

“A good band’s a good band, though.”

Rebus watched Jazz looking around for a towel of some kind. “Cutbacks,” Rebus explained. Jazz sighed and took out his handkerchief.

“That night we ran into your . . . your girlfriend, was it?” He waited till Rebus nodded. “Everything sorted now between the pair of you?”

“Not exactly.”

“They never tell you when you join, do they? That being a cop will screw up your love life.”

“You’re still married, though.”

Jazz nodded. “It’s never easy, though, is it?” He paused. “That rape inquiry got to you, I could see it in your eyes. The moment you read that story, you were back in the middle of it.”

“A lot of cases have got to me over the years, Jazz.”

“Why let them?”

“I don’t know.” Rebus paused. “Maybe I used to be a good cop.”

“Good cops put up barriers, John.”

“Is that what you do?”

Jazz took his time before answering. “End of the day, it’s just a job. Not worth losing sleep over, never mind anything else.”

Rebus saw an opening. “I started coming to that same conclusion . . . Maybe too late, though: I’ll be retiring soon.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning all that’s waiting for me out there is a lousy pension. This job’s taken away my wife, my kid . . . most of the friends I ever had . . .”

“That’s pretty tough.”

Rebus nodded. “And what’s it given me?”

“Apart from the drinking problem and lack of discipline?”

Rebus smiled. “Apart from those, yes.”

“I can’t answer that, John.”

Rebus let the silence rest between them, then asked the question he’d been preparing for.

“You ever crossed the line, Jazz? I don’t mean the little things, the shortcuts we take . . . I mean, something big, something you had to learn to live with?”

Jazz stared at him. “Why? Have you?”

Rebus wagged a finger. “I asked first.”

Jazz grew thoughtful. “Maybe,” he said. “Just the once.”

Rebus nodded. “Ever wished you could go back and change it?”

“John . . .” Jazz paused. “Are we talking about me or you here?”

“I thought we were talking about both of us.”

Jazz took half a step closer. “You know something about Dickie Diamond, don’t you? Maybe even about Rico’s murder . . . ?”

“Maybe,” Rebus conceded. “So what’s your big secret, Jazz? Is it something we can work out between us?” Rebus’s voice was almost a whisper, inviting confession.

“I hardly know you,” Jazz stated.

“I think we know one another well enough.”

“I . . .” Jazz swallowed. “You’re not ready yet,” he said with something akin to a sigh.

“I’m not ready? What about you, Jazz?”

“John . . . I don’t know what it is you . . .”

“I’ve been getting an idea, something to make my pension that touch more secure. Thing is, I’d need help, people I could trust.”