A Question of Blood

over.”

“He hadn’t said anything up to this point?”

“Not a word. Mind you, my ears were ringing.”

“Small room like that, I’m not surprised. Is your hearing okay now?”

“There’s still a hissing, but they say that’ll go away.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t hear him say anything. I just lay there, getting ready to play dead. And then there was the fourth shot… and for a split second I thought it was me… finishing me off. But when I heard the body fall, I sort of knew…”

“What did you do?”

“I opened my eyes. I was at floor level, and I could see his body through the legs of the chair. He still had the gun in his hand. I started to get up. My shoulder was feeling numb, and I knew there was blood pouring out, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the gun. I know this’ll sound ridiculous, but I was thinking of those horror films, you know?”

Hood’s voice: “Where you think the bad guy’s dead…”

“And he keeps coming back to life, yes. And then there were people in the doorway… teaching staff, I suppose. They must have got a hell of a shock.”

“What about you, James? You bearing up?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure it’s really hit me yet-pardon the pun. We’re all being offered counseling. I suppose that’ll help.”

“You’ve been through an ordeal.”

“I have, haven’t I? Something to tell the grandkids, I suppose.”

“He’s so calm about it,” Siobhan said. Rebus nodded.

“We really appreciate you talking to us. Would it be okay if we left you a notepad and pen? You see, James, you’re probably going to find yourself going back over it time and again in your mind-and that’s good, it’s how we deal with things like this. But maybe you’ll remember something and want to write it down. Putting it all down is one more way of dealing with it.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“And we’ll want to talk to you again.”

Hood’s voice: “As will the media. It’s up to you whether you want to say anything to them, but I can talk you through it, if you like.”

“I won’t be talking to anybody for a day or two. And don’t worry, I know all about the media.”

“Well, thanks again for this, James. I think your mum and dad are waiting outside.”

“Look, I’m feeling a bit tired after everything. Do you think you could tell them I’ve nodded off?”

At which point the tape went dead. Siobhan let it run for a few more seconds, then switched off the machine. “End of first interview-want to listen to another?” She nodded towards the filing cabinet. Rebus shook his head.

“Not for now, but I’d still like to talk to him,” he said. “He says he knew Herdman. That makes him relevant.”

“He also says he doesn’t know why Herdman did it.”

“All the same…”

“He sounded so calm.”

“Probably the shock. Hood was right, it takes time to sink in.”

Siobhan was thoughtful. “Why do you think he didn’t want to see his parents?”

“Are you forgetting who his dad is?”

“Yes, but all the same… Something like that happens, doesn’t matter what age you are, you want a hug.”

Rebus looked at her. “Do you?”

“Most people would… most normal people, I mean.” A knock at the door. It opened a fraction and the constable’s head appeared.

“No joy with the drinks,” he said.

“We’re done here anyway. Thanks for trying.”

They left the constable to lock the tape away again and headed out, squinting into the daylight. “James didn’t tell us much, did he?” Siobhan said.

“No,” Rebus admitted. He was replaying the interview in his mind, seeking anything they could use. The only glimmer: James Bell had known Herdman. But so what? Plenty of people in the town had known Lee Herdman.

“Shall we head up the High Street, see if we can find a cafe?”

“I know where we can get a cuppa,” Rebus said.

“Where?”

“Same place we got one yesterday…”

Allan Renshaw hadn’t shaved since the day before. He was alone in the house, having sent Kate out to see some friends.

“Not good for her being cooped up here with me,” he said as he led them through to the kitchen. The living room hadn’t been touched, photos still waiting to be pored over, sorted or shoved back into their boxes. Rebus noted that some remembrance cards had appeared on the mantelpiece. Renshaw picked up a remote from the arm of the sofa and switched off the TV. A video had been playing, homemade, family holiday. Rebus decided not to comment. Renshaw’s hair stuck up in places, and Rebus wondered if he’d slept in his clothes. Renshaw sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs, leaving Siobhan to fill the kettle. Boethius was lying on the countertop, and Siobhan made to stroke him, but the cat leapt onto the floor and padded through to the living room.

Rebus sat down opposite his cousin. “Just wondered how you were,” he said.

“Sorry I left you with Kate the other night.”

“No need to apologize. You sleeping okay?”

“Far too much.” A humorless smile. “A way of shutting it all out, I suppose.”

“How are the funeral arrangements?”

“They won’t let us have his body, not just yet.”

“It’ll be soon, Allan. It’ll all be over soon.”

Renshaw looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “You promise, John?” He waited till Rebus nodded. “Then how come the phone keeps ringing, reporters wanting to talk to me? They don’t think it’s going to end soon.”

“Yes, they do. That’s why they’re pestering you. They’ll move on somewhere else in a day or so, just you watch. Anyone in particular you want me to chase off?”

“There’s a guy Kate’s talked to. He seems to upset her.”

“What’s his name?”

“It’s written down somewhere…” Renshaw looked around as if the name might be right there under his nose.

“Next to the phone maybe?” Rebus guessed. He got up and walked back into the hall. The phone was on a ledge just inside the front door. Rebus picked it up, hearing only silence. He saw that the line had been disconnected at its wall jack: Kate’s work. There was a pen next to the phone, but no paper. He looked over towards the stairs and saw a pad. Scribbled names and numbers on its top sheet.

Rebus walked back through to the kitchen, placing the notepad on the table.

“Steve Holly,” he announced.

“That’s the name,” Renshaw agreed.

Siobhan, who’d been pouring tea, paused and looked at Rebus. They both knew Steve Holly. He worked for a Glasgow tabloid and had proved his nuisance value in the past.

“I’ll have a word,” Rebus promised, reaching into his pocket for the painkillers.

Siobhan handed around the mugs and sat down. “You okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” Rebus lied.