“What’s all this?” a voice said behind them. A doctor in a white coat was standing there, stethoscope folded into one pocket, clipboard in his hand.
“CID,” Gray explained. “We’ve got a few questions for the patient.”
“Does he really need those handcuffs?” the doctor was asking Nolan.
“Orders,” Nolan repeated.
“Any particular reason?” Rebus asked the guard. He knew that Kelly could be a violent man, but he hardly looked an immediate threat to the public.
Nolan wasn’t about to answer the question, so Gray stepped in. “Barlinnie lost a couple of prisoners recently. They walked away from hospital wards just like this one.”
Rebus nodded his understanding, while Nolan reddened at his starched white shirt collar.
“How long till he wakes up?” Gray was asking the doctor.
“Who knows?”
“Will he be in a fit state to talk to us?”
“I’ve really no idea.” The doctor started moving away, checking a message on his pager.
Gray looked across to Rebus. “These doctors, eh, John? Consummate professionals.”
“The crème de la crème,” Rebus agreed.
“Mr. Nolan,” Gray said, “if I give you my number, any chance you could page me when the prisoner comes round?”
“I suppose so.”
“You sure?” Gray made eye contact. “Want to check first to make sure it’s not against orders?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rebus advised Nolan. “He’s a sarky bugger when the mood takes him.” Then, to Gray: “Give the man your number, Francis. I’m melting in here . . .”
They told Fenella Lomax what little they could, leaving aside any mention of the handcuffs.
“He’s sleeping peacefully,” Rebus tried to reassure her, regretting his choice of words immediately. They were what you said just before someone died . . . But Fenella nodded silently and allowed them to lead her down to the ground floor, in search of something to drink. There was no cafeteria as such, just an ill-stocked kiosk. Rebus, who’d skipped breakfast, bought a dry muffin and an overripe banana to go with his tea. The surface of the liquid was the same gray color as all the patients they’d seen.
“You’re hoping he’ll die, aren’t you?” Fenella Lomax said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re cops. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“On the contrary, Fenella,” Gray said. “We want to see Chib up and about. There are a few questions we’d like to ask him.”
“What sort of questions?”
Rebus swallowed a mouthful of crumbs. “We’ve reopened the case on your late husband.”
She looked shocked. “Eric? Why? I don’t understand . . .”
“No case is ever closed until it’s solved,” Rebus told her.
“DI Rebus is right,” Gray said. “And we’ve been given the job of dusting off the files, see if we can add anything new.”
“What’s Chib got to do with it?”
“Maybe nothing,” Rebus assured her. “But something came to light a day or so back . . .”
“What?” Her eyes darted between the two detectives.
“Chib owned your husband’s local, the one he’d been in the night he died.”
“So?”
“So we need to talk to him about it,” Rebus said.
“What for?”
“Just so the file’s complete,” Gray explained. “Maybe you could help by telling us a little yourself?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Well, Fenella, that’s not strictly true,” Rebus told her. “For a start, it didn’t seem to come out at the time that Chib owned the bar.” Rebus waited, but she just shrugged. A woman on crutches was trying to get past their table, and Rebus moved his chair, taking him a little closer to Fenella. “When did you and Chib become an item?”
“It was months after Eric died,” she stressed. She was a pro, knew where they were going with this.
“But you were friendly before?”
Her eyes burned into his. “How do you mean, ‘friendly’?”
Gray sat forward. “I think he’s wondering if you and Chib were maybe a bit more than friends, Fenella?” Then he leaned back again. “It’s not the sort of thing you can hide, is it? Tight-knit community like that . . . I’m guessing we’d just have to ask around and we’d find out the score.”
“Ask all you like,” she said, folding her arms. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“You must have known, though,” Gray persisted. “Women always do, in my experience.”
“Known what?”
“Whether Chib fancied you. That’s all we’re talking about.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said coldly. “You’re talking about framing Chib for something he didn’t do.”
“We just need to be sure of the relationships involved,” Rebus said quietly. “That way, we don’t go jumping to conclusions or heading off down the wrong road.” He tried to inject a bit of hurt into his voice. “We thought you might like to help with that.”
“Eric’s death is ancient history,” she stated, unfolding her arms, reaching for her cup.
“Maybe we’ve just got longer memories than some,” Gray said, his tone gaining more edge as his patience waned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She lifted the cup, as if to drink from it.
“I’m sure DI Gray didn’t mean to suggest . . .” But Rebus didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. She’d hurled the tea into Gray’s face, and was on her feet now, walking purposefully away.
Gray was on his feet too. “Fucking hell!” He held a handkerchief to his face, rubbing it dry. His white shirt was stained. He glanced in Fenella’s direction. “We could have her for that, couldn’t we?”
Rebus was thinking back to his own tea incident . . . “If you want to,” he said.
“Jesus, it’s not like I . . .” Gray realized his pager was sounding. He checked it. “Patient’s awake,” he said.
The lifts were at the far end of the building. Both men left the table and started walking, Rebus glad to see the back of his muffin and banana.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t beat us to it,” he said.
Gray was nodding, shaking drips from his shoes.
In fact, there was no sign of Fenella Lomax on the ward. Someone had put some pillows behind Chib Kelly’s head, and he was accepting sips of water from a nurse. Nolan stood up when Rebus and Gray approached.
“Thanks for letting us know,” Gray said. “That’s a favor I owe you.”
Nolan just nodded. He’d noticed the stained shirt, but didn’t ask. Chib Kelly had finished drinking and was resting his head against the pillows, eyes closed.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Kelly?” Rebus asked.
“You’re CID,” the voice croaked. “I can practically smell it off you.”
“That’s because they make us all wear the same deodorant.” Rebus sat down, watching the nurse. She was saying something to Gray about letting the doctor know Kelly was awake. Gray just nodded, but as she moved away he touched Nolan’s arm.
“Go keep her talking, Kenny. Give us a few extra minutes.” He winked. “You might even get a date.”
Nolan seemed happy with the challenge. Kelly had opened one eye. Gray sat down in the guard’s vacated seat.
“We need to get those cuffs off you, Chib. I’ll have a word when he comes back.”
“What do you want?”
“We want to talk about a pub you used to own: the Claymore.”
“I sold it three years ago.”
“Wasn’t it making you any money?” Rebus asked.
