Resurrection Men

about drinking and friendship?”

“Misery loves company?” Siobhan guessed mischievously.

“That’s it,” Rebus said with a smile, raising his glass. “Here’s to misery!”

“To misery,” Siobhan echoed. “Where would we be without it?”

He looked at her. “You mean it’s part and parcel of human life?”

“No,” she said. “I mean you and me would be out of a job . . .”

21

As soon as he woke up, Rebus called Jean. He’d actually made it as far as his bed last night, but when he walked through to the living room the hi-fi was still playing. Wishbone Ash’s There’s the Rub — he must have pressed the REPEAT button by mistake. The whiskey glasses were on the dining table. Siobhan had left a good half inch untouched. Rebus thought about finishing it, but dribbled it back into the bottle instead. Then he reached for the telephone.

Jean was still asleep. He imagined her: tousled hair, sun streaming in through her cream burlap curtains. Sometimes when she woke up there were fine white accumulations at the corners of her mouth.

“I said I’d call,” he told her.

“I was hoping it might be at a civilized hour.” But she was good-humored about it. “I take it you didn’t manage to pick up any unsuitable women on your way home?”

“And what sort of woman do you think would be unsuitable for me?” he asked, smiling. He’d already decided that she needn’t know about the break-in . . . or about Siobhan’s little visit.

They chatted for five minutes, then Rebus placed another call — this time to a joiner he knew, a man who owed him a favor — after which he made himself coffee and a bowl of cereal. There wasn’t quite enough milk for both, so he watered the carton down from the cold tap. By the time he’d eaten, showered and got dressed, the joiner had arrived.

“Pull the door shut after you, Tony,” Rebus told him, making his way out onto the landing. As he walked downstairs, he wondered again who might have been behind the break-in. Diamond was the obvious candidate. Maybe he’d wanted to wait for Rebus but had got fed up. As Rebus drove to St. Leonard’s, he replayed the scene on Bruntsfield Links. He was furious that Diamond had pulled a gun on him. Loaded or not, it didn’t matter. He tried to recall how he’d felt. Not scared exactly . . . in fact, fairly calm. When someone aimed a gun at you, it was pointless to worry — either you were going to get shot or you weren’t. He remembered that his whole body had tingled, almost vibrating with an electric energy. Dickie Diamond . . . the Diamond Dog . . . thinking he could get away with something like that . . .

He parked the car and decided to skip his usual cigarette. Instead, he went to the comms room and gave the word that he wanted patrols to be on the lookout for a certain motor vehicle. He gave the description and license plate.

“Nobody’s to go near it: all I want is the whereabouts.”

The uniform had nodded, then started speaking into the mike. Rebus was hoping Diamond would have heeded his warning to clear out of town. All the same, he needed to be sure.

It was another half hour before the rest of the Wild Bunch arrived. They’d come in the one car. Rebus could tell which three had been squeezed into the backseat — Ward, Sutherland and Barclay. They were doing stretching exercises as they walked into the room.

Gray and Jazz: driver and front-seat passenger. Once again, Rebus wondered about Allan Ward, about how he felt being so often the odd man out. He was yawning, his back clicking as he raised and lowered his shoulders.

“So what did you lot get up to last night?” Rebus asked, trying to make it sound like a casual inquiry.

“A few drinks,” Stu Sutherland said. “And early to bed.”

Rebus looked around. “What?” he asked in apparent disbelief. “All of you?”

“Jazz nipped home to see his missus,” Tam Barclay admitted.

“See to her more like,” Sutherland added with a leering grin.

“We should hit a nightclub some evening,” Barclay said. “Kirkcaldy maybe . . . see if we can get a lumber.”

“You make that sound so appetizing,” Allan Ward muttered.

“So the rest of you were in the bar at Tulliallan?” Rebus persisted.

“Pretty much,” Barclay said. “We weren’t pining for you.”

“Why the interest, John?” Gray asked.

“If you’re afraid of being left out,” Sutherland added, “you should move back there with us.”

Rebus knew he daren’t push it any further. He’d got back to his flat around midnight. If the intruder had come from Tulliallan, they’d have had to leave the college around half past ten, eleven o’clock at the latest. That would have given them time to drive into Edinburgh, search the flat and get out again before he arrived home. How had they known he would be out? Something else to think about . . . Dickie Diamond had known he was headed for a rendezvous, reinforcing his position as most likely culprit. Rebus half hoped one of the patrols would call in a sighting. If Diamond was still in Edinburgh, Rebus had a few things to put to him . . .

“So what’s the schedule today?” Jazz McCullough asked, closing the newspaper he’d been reading.

“Leith, I suppose,” Gray informed him. “See if we can track down any more of Diamond’s pals.” He looked at Rebus. “What do you think, John?”

Rebus nodded. “Anyone mind if I stay here for a bit? I’ve a couple of jobs to do.”

“Fine with me,” Gray said. “Anything we can help you with?”

Rebus shook his head. “Shouldn’t take too long, Francis. Thanks all the same.”

“Well, whatever happens,” Ward said, “if we don’t come up with something, Tennant’s going to have us back at Tulliallan pronto.”

They nodded agreement. It would happen . . . today or tomorrow, it would happen, and the Rico case would become paperwork again, and brainstorming sessions, and making a card index, and all the rest. No more side trips, no chances for breaks at the pub or the odd meal out.

The Rico case would have died.

Gray was staring at Rebus, but Rebus kept his eyes on the wall. He knew what Gray was thinking: he was thinking that John Rebus would like that state of affairs just fine . . .

“I’m only doing this because you asked so nicely.”

“What’s that, Mr. Cafferty?” Siobhan asked.

“Letting you bring me here.” Cafferty looked around IR2. “To be honest, I’ve had prison cells bigger than this.” He folded his arms. “So how can I help you, Detective Sergeant Clarke?”

“It’s the Edward Marber case. Your name seems to be cropping up at all sorts of tangents . . .”

“I think I’ve told you everything I can about Eddie.”

“Is that the same as telling us everything you know?”

Cafferty’s eyes narrowed appraisingly. “Now you’re just playing games.”

“I don’t think so.”

Cafferty had shifted his attention to Davie Hynds, who was standing with his back against the wall opposite the desk.

“You all right there, son?” He seemed pleased when Hynds failed to respond. “How do you like working under a woman, DC Hynds? Does she give you a rough ride?”

“You see, Mr. Cafferty,” Siobhan went on, ignoring everything he’d said, “we’ve charged Donny Dow — your driver — with the murder of Laura Stafford.”

“He’s not my driver.”

“He’s on your payroll,” Siobhan countered.

“Diminished responsibility anyway,” Cafferty stated with conviction. “Poor bugger didn’t know what he was doing.”

“Believe me, he knew exactly what he was doing.” When she saw Cafferty’s smile,