early 79.'
Hicks nodded again. 'While we were working there. You think one of us...?'
'We're just following a line of inquiry, sir. Do you remember the fireplace being open?'
'Oh, yes. We were supposed to be putting in a damp-proof course. Pulled the wall open and there it was.'
'When was it closed up again?'
Hicks shrugged. 'I don't remember. Before we finished the job, but I don't actually recall it happening.'
'Who closed it up?'
'No idea.'
'Can you tell us anything about the other men on this list?'
He looked at it again. 'Well, Bert and Terry, the three of us worked together on a lot of jobs. Eddie and Tam were part-timers, cash in hand. Let's see... Harry Connors, he was a bit older, worked with Dean for donkey's. Died a couple of years later. Dod McCarthy moved to Australia.'
'Nobody walked off the job?' Wylie asked.
He shook his head. 'No, we were all present and accounted for at job's end, if that's what you're getting at.' Wylie and Hood shared a look: another theory blown out the water.
Hicks was still studying the list.
'There's one name you haven't mentioned yet,' Hood reminded him.
'Benny Hatton,' Wylie added.
'Barry Hutton,' Hicks corrected her. 'Well, Barry was just with us for a couple of jobs. Bit of a favour to his uncle, or something.'
'But there's something about him?'
'No, not really. It's just, you know...'
'What, sir?'
'Well, Barry's made it big, hasn't he? Out of all of us, he's the one who's got to the top.'
Wylie and Hood looked blank.
'You don't know him?' Hicks seemed surprised. 'Hutton Developments.'
Wylie's eyes widened. 'That's this Barry Hutton?' She looked to Hood. 'He's a land developer,' she explained.
'One of the biggest,' Hicks added. 'You can never tell with people, eh? When I knew Barry, well, he was nothing really.'
'Mr Hicks,' Hood said, 'you were saying something about his uncle?'
'Well, Barry didn't have much experience in the building game. Seemed to me his uncle must have put a word in with Dean, give the boy a bit of a start.'
'His uncle being...?'
Hicks looked at them again; he couldn't believe they didn't know this either.
'Bryce Callan,' he explained, whacking his hammer against the two-by-four again. 'Barry belongs to Bryce's sister. Friends in high places, eh? No wonder the kid's got where he has.'
Rebus took the call on his mobile as Siobhan drove them out to Roslin. When he'd finished, he half- turned in his seat.
'That was Grant Hood. The body in the fireplace; one of the labourers working there at the time was Bryce Callan's nephew. His name's--'
'Barry Hutton,' she interrupted. 'You've heard of him?'
'He's in his thirties, single and a millionaire; of course I've heard of him. I was out with a singles group one night.' She glanced at him. 'Working, I might add. But a couple of the women were talking about eligible bachelors. There was some magazine piece on him. Good-looking, by all accounts.' She looked at Rebus again. 'But he's legit, isn't he? I mean, he runs his own business, nothing to do with his uncle.'
'No.' But Rebus was thoughtful all the same. What was it Cafferty had said about Bryce Callan? Let his family look after him, something like that.
As they drove into Roslin and approached Rosslyn Chapel, Siobhan asked why they had different spellings.
'Just another of the chapel's unfathomable mysteries.' Rebus told her. 'Probably with some conspiracy at the bottom of it all.'
'I wanted you to see it,' Gerald Sithing said as he met them in the car park. He was wearing a knee- length blue plastic mac over a tweed jacket and baggy brown cords. The mac made swishing sounds as he moved. He shook Rebus's hand, but kept his distance from Siobhan.
The chapel's exterior didn't look promising, covered as it was by a corrugated structure.
'That's only until the walls dry out,' Sithing explained. 'Then the repairs can be done.'
He led them inside. Prepared as she was, Siobhan Clarke still gave an audible gasp. The interior was as ornate as any cathedral's, its scale serving to heighten the effect of the stonework. The vaulted ceiling boasted carvings of different kinds of flowers. There were intricate pillars and stained-glass windows. The place was chilled, its doors standing open. Green discoloration on the ceiling showed there was a problem with damp.
Rebus stood in the centre aisle and tapped his foot on the stone floor. 'This is where the spaceship is, eh? Under here.'
Sithing wagged a finger, too excited by his surroundings to be annoyed. 'The Ark of the Covenant, the body of Christ... yes, I know all the stories. But there are Templar artefacts everywhere you look. Shields and inscriptions... some of the carvings. The tomb of William St Clair; he died in Spain in the fourteenth century. He was transporting Robert the Bruce's heart to the Holy Land.'
'Wouldn't it have been easier posting it? Might have got there by now.'
'The Templars', Sithing said patiently, 'were the military wing of the Prieure de Sion, whose purpose was to find the treasure from the Temple of Solomon.'
'Hence the name?' Siobhan guessed. 'There's a village called Temple near here, isn't there?'
'With a ruined Templar church,' Sithing added quickly. 'Some say that Rosslyn Chapel is a replica of the Temple of Solomon. The Templars came to Scotland to escape persecution in the fourteenth century.'
'When was it built?' Siobhan couldn't take her eyes off the treasures around her.
'Fourteen forty-six, that's when the foundations were laid. It took forty years to complete.'
'Sounds like some builders I know,' Rebus said.
'Can't you feel it?' Sithing was staring at Rebus. 'Right at the core of your cynical heart, can't you feel something?'
'It's just indigestion, thanks for asking.' Rebus rubbed his chest. Sithing turned to Siobhan. 'But you can feel it, I know you can.'
'It's an amazing place, I'll grant you that.'
'You could spend a lifetime studying it, and still you wouldn't have learned half its secrets.'
'Who's this ugly mug?' Siobhan pointed to a gargoyle's head.
'That's the Green Man.'
She turned to him. 'Isn't he a pagan symbol?'
'That's the whole point!' Sithing yelped excitedly. He bounded over to her. 'The chapel is almost pantheistic. Not just Christianity, but all belief systems.'
Siobhan nodded.
Rebus shook his head. 'Earth to DC Clarke. Earth to DC Clarke.'
She made a face at him.
'And those carvings on the roof,' Sithing was saying, 'plants from the New World.' He paused for effect. 'Carved a century before Columbus landed in America!'
'Fascinating as this all is, sir,' Rebus said tiredly, 'it isn't why we're here.'
Siobhan pulled her gaze away from the Green Man. 'That's right, Mr Sithing. I told your story to Inspector Rebus, and he felt we should talk.'
'About Chris Mackie?'
'Yes.'
