as though humans had no say in the matter…
`Inspector,' the old man was saying, `do you think I'm Linzstek?’
Rebus nodded. `I know you are.’
A wry smile. `Then arrest me.’
`Here comes the blue-nose,' Father Conor Leary said. `Out to steal Ireland's God-given Guinness.’
He paused, eyes narrowing. `Or are you still on that abstention kick?’
`I'm trying,' Rebus said.
`Well, I won't tempt you then.’
Leary smiled. `But you know me, John. I'm not one to judge, but a wee drop never harmed a soul.’
`Problem is, you put lots of wee drops together and you get a bloody big fall.’
Father Leary laughed. `But aren't we all the fallen? Come away in.’
Father Leary was priest of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Years back, someone had defaced the board outside to turn `Help' into `Hell'. The board had been corrected many times, but Rebus always thought of the place as `Perpetual Hell': it was what the followers of Knox and Calvin would have believed. Father Leary took him through to the kitchen.
`Here, man, sit yourself down. I haven't seen you in so long, I thought you'd renounced me.’
He went to the fridge and lifted out a can of Guinness.
`Are you operating a pharmacy on the side?’
Rebus asked. Father Leary looked at him. Rebus nodded towards the fridge. `The shelves of medicine.’
Father Leary rolled his eyes. `At my age, you go to the doctor with angina and they dose you for every conceivable ailment. They think it makes old folk feel better.’
He brought a glass to the table, placed it next to his can. Rebus felt a hand fall on his shoulder.
`I'm hellish sorry about Sammy.’
`How did you hear?’
`Her name was in one of the rags this morning.’
Father Leary sat down. `Hit and run, they said.’
`Hit and run,' Rebus echoed.
Father Leary shook his head wearily, one hand rubbing slowly over his chest. He was probably in his late- sixties, though he'd never said Well-built, with a thatch of silver hair. Tufts of grey sprouted from his ears, nose and dog-collar. His hand seemed to smother the can of Guinness. But when he poured, he poured gently, almost with reverence.
`It's a terrible thing,' he said quietly. `Coma, is it?’
`Not until the doctors say so.’ Rebus cleared his throat. `It's only been a day and a half.’
`You know what we believers say,' Father Leary went on. `When something like this happens, it's a test for all of us. It's a way of making us stronger.’
The head on his Guinness was perfect. He took a swallow, licked his lips thoughtfully. `That's what we say; it may not be what we think.’
He looked into his drink.
`It didn't make me strong. I went back to the whisky.’
`I can understand that.’
`Until a friend reminded me it was the lazy way out, the cowardly way.) 'And who's to say he's not right?’
`'Faint-Heart and the Sermon',' Rebus said with a smile.
`What's that?’
`A song. But maybe it's us, too.’
`Get away, we're just two old boys having a natter. So how are you holding up, John?’
`I don't know.’
He paused. `I don't think it was an accident. And the man I think is behind it… Sammy isn't the first woman he's tried to destroy.’
Rebus looked into the priest's eyes. `I want to kill him.’
`But so far you haven't?’
`I haven't even talked to him.’
`Because you're worried what you might do?’
`Or not do.’
Rebus's mobile sounded. He gave a look of apology and switched it on.
`John, it's Bill.’
`Yes, Bill?’
`Green Rover 600.2 'Yes?’
`We've got it.’
The car had been parked illegally on the street outside Piershill Cemetery. There was a parking ticket on its windscreen, dated the previous afternoon. If anyone had checked, they'd have found the driver's-side door unlocked. Maybe someone had: the car was empty, no coins, no map-books or cassettes. The fascia had been removed from the radio/cassette. There were no keys in the ignition. A car transporter had arrived, and the Rover was being winched aboard.
`I called in a favour at Howdenhall,' Bill Pryde was saying, `they've promised to fingerprint it today.’
Rebus was studying the front passenger side. No dents, nothing to suggest this car had been used as a battering ram against his daughter.
`I think maybe we need your permission, John.’
`What for?’
`Someone should go to the Infirmary and print Sammy.’
Rebus stared at the front of the car, then got out the drawing. Yes, she'd put out a hand. Her prints might be there, invisible to him.
`Sure,' he said. `No problem. You think this is it?’
`I'll tell you once we print it.’
`You steal a car,' Rebus said, `then you hit someone with it, and leave it a couple of miles away.’
He looked around. `Ever been on this street before?’
Pryde shook his head. `Me neither.’
`Someone local?’
`I'm wondering why they stole it in the first place.’
`Stick false plates on and sell it,' Pryde suggested. `Spot of joyriding maybe.’
`Joy-riders don't leave cars looking like this.’
`No, but they'd had a fright. They'd just knocked someone down.’
`And they drove all the way over here before deciding to dump it?, 'Maybe it was stolen for a job, turn over a petrol station. Then they hit Sammy and decide to jump ship. Maybe the job was this side of town.’
`Or Sammy was the job.’
Pryde put a hand on his shoulder. `Let's see what the boffins turn up, eh?’
Rebus looked at him. `You don't go for it?’
`Look, it's a feeling you've got, and that's fair enough, but right now all you've got is that student's word for it. There were other witnesses, John, and I asked them all again, and they told me the same thing: it looked like the driver lost control, that's all.’
There was an edge of irritation to Pryde's voice. Rebus knew why: long hours.
`Will Howdenhall let you know tonight?’
`They promised. And I'll phone you straight away, okay?’
`On my mobile,' Rebus said. `I'm going to be on the move.’
He looked around. `There was something about Piershill Cemetery recently, wasn't there?’
'Kids,' Pryde said, nodding. `They pushed over a load of gravestones.’
Rebus remembered now. `Just the Jewish headstones, wasn't it?’
`I think so.’
And there, sprayed on the wall near the gates, the same piece of graffiti: Won't Anyone Help?
It was late evening, and Rebus was driving. Not the M90 into Fife: tonight, he was on the M8, heading west,
