'What do you want to put that on for?’ Mrs Soutar asked Ormiston. He shrugged, saying nothing.
'Aye, a grand old tune.’ Dod collapsed onto the sofa. The woman glared at him.
'It's bigotry's what it is. I've nothing against the Catholics.’
'Well neither have I,' Dod countered. He winked at Ormiston. 'But there's no shame in being proud of your roots.’
'What about Davey, Mr Soutar? Does he have anything against Catholics?’
‘No.’
'No? He seems to run around with Protestant gangs.’
'It's the Gar-B,' Mr Soutar said. 'You have to belong.’
Rebus knew what he was saying. Dod Soutar sat forward on the sofa.
'Ye see, it's history, isn't it? The Protestants have run Ulster for hundreds of years. Nobody's going to give that up, are they? Not if the other lot are sniping away and planting bombs and that.’
He realised that Ormiston had turned off the tape. 'Well, isn't that right? It's a religious war, you can't deny it.’
'Ever been there?’ Ormiston asked. Dod shook his head. 'Then what the fuck do you know about it?’
Dod gave a challenging look, and stood up. 'I know, pal, don't think I don't.’
'Aye, right,' Ormiston said.
'I thought you were here to talk about my Davey?’
'We are talking about Davey, Mrs Soutar,' Rebus said quietly. 'In a roundabout way.’
He turned to Dod Soutar. 'There's a lot of you in your son, Mr Soutar.’
Dod Soutar turned his combative gaze from Ormiston. 'Oh aye?’
Rebus nodded. 'I'm sorry, but there it is.’
Dod Soutar's face creased into an angry scowl. 'Wait a fuckn minute, pal. Think you can walk in here and fuckn-‘
'People like you terrify me,' Rebus said coolly. He meant it, too. Dod Soutar, hacking cough and all, was a more horrifying prospect than a dozen Caffertys. You couldn't change him, couldn't argue with him, couldn't touch his mind in any way. He was a closed shop, and the management had all gone home.
'My son's a good boy, brought up the right way,' Soutar was saying. 'Gave him everything I could.’
'Some folk are just born lucky,' said Ormiston.
That did it. Soutar launched himself across the narrow width of the room. He went for Ormiston with his head low and both fists out in front of him, but collided with the shelf unit when Ormiston stepped smartly aside. He turned back towards the two policemen, swinging wildly, swearing barely coherent phrases. When he went for Rebus, and Rebus arched back so that the swipe missed, Rebus decided he'd had enough. He kneed Soutar in the crotch.
'Queensferry Rules,' he said, as the man went down.
'Dod!' Mrs Soutar ran to her husband. Rebus gestured to Ormiston.
'Get out of my house!' Mrs Soutar screamed after them. She came to the front door and kept on yelling and crying. Then she went indoors and slammed her door.
'The cassette was a nice touch,' Rebus said on his way downstairs.
'Thought you'd appreciate it. Where to now?’
'While we're here,' said Rebus, 'maybe the youth club.’
They walked outside and didn't hear anything until the vase hit the ground beside them, smashing into a thousand pieces of shrapnel. Mrs Soutar was at her window.
'Missed!' Rebus yelled at her.
'Jesus Christ,' Ormiston said, as they walked away.
The usual lacklustre teenagers sat around outside the community hall, propping their backs against its door and walls. Rebus didn't bother to ask about Davey Soutar. He knew what the response would be; it had been drilled into them like catechism. His ear was tingling, not hurting exactly, but there was a dull throbbing pain in his nose. When they recognised Rebus, the gang got to their feet.
'Afternoon,' Ormiston said. 'You're right to stand up, by the way. Sitting on concrete gives you piles.’
In the hall, Jim Hay and his theatre group were sitting on the stage. Hay too recognised Rebus.
'Guess what?’ he said. 'We have to mount a guard, otherwise they rip the stuff off.’
Rebus didn't know whether to believe him or not. He was more interested in the youth sitting next to Hay.
'Remember me, Malky?’
Malky Haston shook his head.
'I've got a few questions for you, Malky. Want to do it here or down the station?’
Haston laughed. 'You couldn't take me out of here, not if I didn't want to go.’
He had a point. 'We'll do it here then,' said Rebus. He turned to Hay, who raised his hands.
'I know, you want us to take a fag break.’
He got up and led his troupe away. Ormiston went to the door to stop anyone else coming in.
Rebus sat on the stage next to Haston, getting close, making the teenager uncomfortable.
'I've done nothing, and I'm saying nothing.’
'Have you known Davey a while?’
Haston said nothing.
'I'd imagine since you were kids,' Rebus answered. 'Remember the first time we met? You had bits in your hair. I thought it was dandruff, but it was plaster. I spoke to ScotScaf. They hire out scaffolding to building contractors, and when it comes back it's your job to clean it. Isn't that right?’
Haston just looked at him.
'You're under orders not to talk, eh? Well, I don't mind.’
Rebus stood up, facing Haston. 'There was ScotScaf scaffolding at the two murder sites, Billy's and Calumn Smylie's. You told Davey, didn't you? You knew where building work was going on, empty sites, all that.’
He leaned close to Haston's face. 'You knew. That makes you an accessory at the very least. And that means we're going to throw you in jail. We'll pick out a nice Catholic wing for you, Malky, don't worry. Plenty of the green and white.’
Rebus turned his back and lit a cigarette. When he turned back to Haston, he offered him one. Ormiston was having a bit of bother at the door. The gang wanted in. Haston took a cigarette. Rebus lit it for him.
'Doesn't matter what you do, Malky. You can run, you can lie, you can say nothing at all. You're going away, and we're the only friends you'll ever have.’
He turned away and walked towards Ormiston. 'Let them in,' he ordered. The gang came crashing through the doors, fanning out across the hall. They could see Malky Haston was all right, though he was sitting very still on the edge of the stage. Rebus called to him.
'Thanks for the chat, Malky. We'll talk again, any time you want.’
Then he turned to the gang. 'Malky's got his head screwed on,' he told them. 'He knows when to talk.’
'Lying bastard!' Haston roared, as Rebus and Ormiston walked into the daylight.
Rebus met Lachlan Murdock at the Crazy Hose, despite Bothwell's protests.
Murdock's uncombed hair was wilder than ever, his clothes sloppy. He was waiting in the foyer when Rebus arrived.
'They all think I had something to do with it,' Murdock protested as Rebus led him into the dancehall.
'Well, you did, in a way,' Rebus said.
'What?’
'Come on, I want to show you something.’
He led Murdock up to the attic. In the daytime, the attic was a lot lighter. Even so, Rebus had brought a torch. He didn't want Murdock to miss anything.
`This,' he said, 'is where I found her. She'd suffered, believe me.’
Already, Murdock was close to fresh tears, but sympathy could wait, the truth couldn't. 'I found this on the floor.’
He handed over the disk cover. 'This is what they killed her for. A computer disk, same size as would fit your machine at home.’
He walked up close to Murdock's slouched' figure. 'They killed her for this!' he hissed. He waited a moment,
