was rubbing his knuckles as Siobhan approached. One of the uniforms unlocked the cell. She stood in the doorway. Dow sat on the concrete bed with head sunk into his chest. When he lifted it, she saw the bruising. Both eyes were almost closed.
“Looks like you did more than kick him in the nuts, Shiv,” Linford said, provoking more laughter. She turned to him.
“Don’t pretend you did this for
The smiles were back in place, but she just walked past them . . .
18
They’d taken the Lexus. Gray knew Glasgow. Rebus could have driven them to Barlinnie: the famous Bar-L jail was on the Edinburgh side of town, just off the motorway. But Chib Kelly wasn’t in Barlinnie; he was under guard at a city-center hospital. He’d had a stroke, hence the urgency of their visit. If they wanted Chib Kelly cogent, the sooner they talked to him the better.
“He could be faking it,” Rebus said.
“He could,” Gray agreed.
Rebus was thinking of Cafferty and his miracle recovery from cancer. Cafferty’s story was that he was still being treated, albeit privately. Rebus knew it was a lie.
He’d woken early with someone thumping on his door. The Donny Dow story had already reached Tulliallan. Rebus had got on the mobile, trying first Siobhan’s home and then her own mobile. Recognizing his number, she’d picked up.
“You all right?” he’d asked.
“Bit tired.”
“Not hurt?”
“No bruises to report.” It was a good answer; it didn’t mean she wasn’t hurting in other ways.
“The rough stuff is supposed to be my job,” he’d chided her, keeping his voice light.
“You’re not here,” she’d reminded him, before saying good-bye.
Rebus looked out of his passenger-side window. Glasgow roads all looked the same to him. “I always get lost, driving round here,” he confessed to Gray.
“I’m like that in Edinburgh: all those bloody narrow streets, jinking this way and that.”
“It’s the one-way system here, gets me every time.”
“Easy once you know it.”
“You Glasgow-born, Francis?”
“The Lanarkshire coalfields, that’s where I’m from.”
“Fife coalfields me,” Rebus said with a smile, forging this new bond between them.
Gray just nodded. He was concentrating on the world beyond his windshield. “Jazz said there was something you wanted to talk about,” he said.
“I’m not sure.” Rebus hesitated. “Is that why you picked me for this trip?”
“Maybe.” Gray paused, seemed to be watching the scenery. “Anything you want to say, better be quick. Five minutes, we’ll be in the car park.”
“Maybe later,” Rebus said.
Gray gave a half-shrug, as though he didn’t care.
The hospital was a tall modern building on the north side of the city. It looked to be ailing, stonework tarnished, windows clouded with condensation. The car park was full, but Gray stopped on a double yellow, placing a card next to the windshield stating he was a doctor on emergency call.
“Does that help?” Rebus asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Why not use a police sign?”
“Get real, John. People round here see a cop car, they’re likely to christen it with a half-brick.”
The admissions desk was next door to A&E. While Gray queued to find out Chib Kelly’s ward number, Rebus eyed the array of walking wounded. Cuts and bruises; down-and-outs nursing worlds made of shopping bags; sad-faced civilians for whom this was an experience devoutly to be forgotten. Teenage boys swaggered by in packs. They seemed to know each other, patrolled the aisles as though they owned the place. Rebus checked his watch: ten A.M. on a weekday.
“Imagine it at midnight on Saturday,” Gray said, seeming to read Rebus’s thoughts. “Chib’s on the third floor. Lifts are over here . . .”
The lifts opened onto a waiting area and the first person Rebus saw he recognized from the photos they had on file: Fenella, Rico Lomax’s widow.
She knew them for cops straight off, and was on her feet. “Tell them to let me see him!” she cried. “I’ve got my rights!”
Gray put a finger to his lips. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said. “Now behave yourself and we’ll see what we can do.”
“You’ve no business being here. My poor man’s had a heart attack.”
“We heard it was a stroke.”
She started wailing again. “How am I supposed to know what it is? They won’t tell me anything!”
“
A member of the nursing staff was watching through a narrow vertical window in the doors to the ward. As they walked towards her, she pushed the doors open.
“We’re thinking of having her ejected,” she said.
“How about giving her a bit of news instead?”
The nurse glared at Gray. “When we
“How is he?” Rebus asked, trying to calm things down.
“He had a seizure of some kind. There’s paralysis down one side.”
“Would he be able to answer some questions?” Gray asked.
“Able, yes. Willing? I’m not so sure.”
She led them past beds filled with old men and young men. A few of the patients were on their feet, shuffling in carpet slippers along a polished linoleum floor the color of oxblood. There was a faint smell of fried food, mingled with disinfectant. The long, narrow room was stifling. Rebus was already beginning to feel the sweat cloying on his back.
The very last bed had been closed off by curtains, behind which lay a pasty-faced man, hooked up to machines and with a drip going into one arm. He was in his early fifties, a good ten years older than the woman outside. His hair was gray, combed back from the forehead. His chin and cheeks had been shaved erratically, silver stubble flecking the skin. Seated on a chair was a prison guard. He was leafing through a tattered copy of
“He’s that dangerous, is he?” Gray commented, eyeing the cuffs.
“Orders,” the guard said.
Rebus and Gray showed their ID, and the guard introduced himself as Kenny Nolan.
“Nice day out for you, eh, Kenny?” Gray said conversationally.
“Thrilling,” Nolan said.
Rebus walked around the bed. Kelly had his eyes closed. There didn’t seem to be any movement behind the lids, and the chest was rising and falling rhythmically.
“You asleep, Chib?” Gray said, leaning down over the bed.
