'It's not dead,' she replied, as he'd known she would. 'Just smells funny.'
Stone stabbed a finger in her direction. 'Don't go thinking you're not in the swill, too, DS Clarke!'
'I've already told you,' Rebus interrupted, 'I take full responsibility-'
'Listen to yourself,' Stone hissed. 'Bailing out your girlfriend here is the last thing you should be focusing on right now.'
'I'm not his girlfriend.' The blood had risen up Clarke's neck.
'Then you're his patsy, which is almost as bad.'
'Stone,' Rebus growled, 'I swear to God I'm going to…” Instead of finishing the sentence, he started balling both hands into fists.
'The only thing you're going to do, Rebus, is make a statement and pray there's a lawyer out there desperate enough to want to represent you.'
'Calum,' Prosser offered as warning to his colleague, 'the bastard's going to have a pop at you…' Prosser edged forward, eager to get his retaliation in first. All four of them froze for a moment as they watched the doors swinging closed. A nurse was standing there, looking bemused. Rebus willed her not to say anything, but she said it anyway.
'Mr Cafferty?' Aiming the words at Rebus and no one else. 'If you're quite finished here, we can let you see your brother now…'
Day Eight. Friday 24 November 2006
35
When Rebus woke up next morning, it was to an insistent buzzing from the entryphone. He rolled over in bed and checked his watch – not yet seven. Still dark outside, and a few more minutes until the timer would kick the central heating into action. The room was cold, the hall floor sucking heat from his feet as he padded down it and picked up the phone next to the door.
'This better be good,' he croaked.
'Depends on your point of view.' Rebus recognised the voice but couldn't place it. 'Come on, John,' the man drawled. 'It's Shug Davidson.'
'Up with the lark, Shug.'
'I've not been to bed yet.'
'Bit early for a social call.'
'Isn't it? Now how about letting me in?'
Rebus's finger hesitated above the entry button. He sensed that if he pressed it, his whole world would start to change – and probably not for the better. Problem was, what was the alternative?
He pressed the button.
DI Shug Davidson was one of the good guys. The force believed that human existence could be divided into two straightforward camps – good guys and bad. Davidson had made few enemies and many friends. He was conscientious and pragmatic, humane and sympathetic. But he had a serious look on his face this morning, only some of which could be attributed to lack of sleep. He also had a uniformed constable with him. Rebus had left the door ajar while he retreated to the bedroom to put some clothes on, yelling that Davidson could make tea if he liked. But Davidson and the uniform seemed content to stand in the hallway, so
that Rebus had to squeeze past them to get to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth with more care than usual, staring at himself in the mirror above the sink. He was still staring at the reflection as he wiped his mouth dry. Back in the hall, he said the word 'shoes' and made for the living room, finding them next to his chair.
'Do I take it,' Rebus asked as he wrestled with the laces, ' West End has need of my finely honed detective skills?'
'Stone's told us all about your rendezvous with Cafferty,'
Davidson stated. 'And Siobhan mentioned the cigarette butt. Not the only thing we found floating in the canal, though…'
'Oh?'
'We found a polythene overshoe, John. Looks like there might be some blood on it.'
'The sort of overshoes the SOCOs wear?'
'The SOCOs wear them, yes, but so do we.'
Rebus nodded slowly. 'I keep some in the boot of the Saab.'
'Mine are in the VWs glovebox.'
'Just the place for them, when you think of it.' Finally, Rebus seemed happy with the knots. He stood up and made eye contact with Davidson. 'Am I a suspect, then, Shug?'
'Bit of questioning should put everyone's minds at rest.'
'Glad to help, DI Davidson.'
There was a bit more work to be done: finding keys and phone, picking out a coat to wear over his suit jacket. But then they were ready. Rebus locked the front door after him and followed Davidson downstairs, the constable bringing up the rear.
'Heard about the poor sod in London?' Davidson asked.
'Litvinenko?'
'Recently deceased. They've ruled out thallium, whatever that is…'
Turned out the two detectives were expected to sit in the back of the Passat while the uniform did the driving. Marchmont to Torphichen Place was a ten-minute ride. Melville Drive was quiet, the morning rush hour not yet begun. There were joggers busy on the Meadows, the car's headlights picking out the reflective strips on their shoes. They waited at the Tollcross junction for the light to change to green, drove round the one-way into Fountainbridge and were soon passing the wine bar at the canal basin. This was where Rebus had waited for Cafferty and Andropov to come out, the night he'd followed them to Granton. Rebus was trying to remember if there was any CCTV on the canal itself. He didn't think so. But
maybe there'd be cameras outside the wine bar. Just because he hadn't noticed any didn't mean they weren't there. Unlikely they'd have spotted him loitering in the vicinity, but you never knew.
The Leamington Lift Bridge wasn't much used at night, but it was used. Drunks congregated with their bottles, youths walked to and fro, looking for action. Might someone have seen something? A figure running away? The tenement on Leamington Road where he'd parked his car that first night… if a neighbour had been peering from their window at the right moment…
'I think I'm being fitted up, Shug,' Rebus said as the car took a right at the roundabout, squeezing down the narrow arc of Gardner's Crescent and signalling left at the next lights, into Morrison Street.
They were back into the one-way system and would have to take a couple more rights to bring them to C Division HQ.
'Lot of people,' Davidson said, 'are going to think he deserves a medal – the guy who clobbered Cafferty, I mean.' He paused, fixing Rebus with a look. 'Just for the record, I don't happen to be among them.'
'I didn't do it, Shug.'
'Then you'll be fine, won't you? We're cops, John, we know the innocent always go free…'
They were silent after that until the patrol car drew up outside the police station. No media, for which Rebus was thankful, but as they entered the lobby he saw Derek Starr having a whispered confab with Calum Stone.
'Nice day for a lynching,' Rebus told them. Davidson just kept moving, so Rebus followed.
'Reminds me,' Davidson was saying, 'I think the Complaints are after a word, too.'
The Complaints: Internal Affairs… cops who liked nothing more than dustbinning their own.
