amp; Ravenscroft and Marks amp; Spencer. From what Rebus could see of the computer screen, Traynor had been perusing spreadsheets.
‘How is Jessica?’ Rebus asked.
‘She’s in her room — physio’s there with her.’
‘Could we maybe go talk to her?’
Traynor stared hard at Rebus, then checked his watch. ‘Five minutes till the session ends. I take it you’ve some news for us?’
Rebus gave a twitch of the mouth.
‘You want a drink?’ Traynor was gesturing towards the minibar.
‘Bit early.’
‘Sure about that?’
Rebus looked at him. ‘You’ve been checking up on me?’
‘Internet’s a wonderful thing, Inspector.’
‘Detective Sergeant, actually.’
‘Why is that? I mean, you
‘I stuck around.’
‘Something you seem to be good at, judging by the stories. A lot of results down the years. .’
‘I didn’t realise the web knew so much about me.’
‘Never know what to believe, though — I’m betting you’ve looked me up online. Not all of it is accurate.’ There was a hard gleam in Traynor’s eye.
‘Just most of it?’ Rebus speculated. ‘Ah, but which bits. .?’
There was a knock at the door. Traynor answered and a young man stood there.
‘How’s she doing?’ Traynor asked.
‘I’ve given her some exercises I’d like her to try. Nothing too strenuous just yet.’
Traynor nodded and reached into his back trouser pocket, pulling out a wallet. The physio held up a hand.
‘We’ll bill you, Mr Traynor.’
‘Right.’ But Traynor pressed an English twenty-pound note on the man anyway. ‘Same time tomorrow?’
‘Of course.’ And with a smile, stuffing the tip into his pocket, the physio headed down the corridor towards the lift.
‘Not the NHS, then?’ Rebus guessed.
‘Not a bloody chance.’ Traynor turned to study him. ‘You sure you need to speak to Jessica? You can’t just tell me?’
‘Afraid not.’ Rebus could have added:
Having checked he had key cards to both rooms, Traynor locked his door and knocked on his daughter’s, before sliding the key in and out of its slot.
Her room was smaller, but still had space for a sofa and chairs. There were fresh flowers in a vase on a table. She was wearing a simple dress, bare legs showing bruising from the crash, one ankle strapped. She still wore the neck brace and was lying propped up on the bed, three huge pillows behind her. The TV was on — a channel playing music videos. She muted the volume, then noticed Rebus.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Hello again, Ms Traynor.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Something that apparently has to be said in front of both of us,’ her father explained, folding his arms in readiness. Rebus wasn’t going to be invited to sit down, but that suited him fine. He made sure he had both father and daughter in his eyeline before commencing.
‘Earlier today,’ he said, ‘Patrick McCuskey was attacked in his home.’ He left it at that for the moment, content to gauge the reaction of the room. Jessica put a hand to her open mouth as if to stifle a gasp.
‘Forbes McCuskey’s father?’ Owen Traynor asked. ‘The government guy?’
‘The government guy,’ Rebus confirmed, his eyes on Jessica.
‘Is he. . all right?’ she asked.
Rebus nodded towards the TV. ‘News channels probably know more than me.’
She found one; the footage was a report from the Middle East, but a few words on the break-in ran along the bottom of the screen:
‘Except we don’t call it burglary up here,’ Rebus said by way of correction.
‘Is Forbes okay?’ Jessica Traynor asked. ‘Was he there when it. .?’
‘Father seems to have been on his own. Do you know the house, Ms Traynor?’
‘I’ve been there a few times.’ She paused. ‘How awful for Bethany.’
‘I’ve just come from the house — not too far from where your car went off the road. You weren’t maybe headed there, or away from there. .?’
‘What are you saying?’ Traynor had taken a step towards Rebus, fists clenching. Rebus held up both hands in a show of surrender.
‘Dad, it’s all right,’ Jessica Traynor intervened. ‘The officer’s only doing his job. .’
But Rebus was holding Owen Traynor’s stare. ‘I don’t suppose
‘No.’
‘Never been there?’
‘No.’
‘Not tempted to have a word with young Forbes about the crash? Maybe you couldn’t find him so decided to give his father a piece of your mind instead?’
‘No.’
‘Only, you’ve not got a car, so I’m guessing it would have been a taxi or a rental, meaning a paper trail. .’
Traynor was shaking his head, slowly and at length.
‘Dad? What’s he saying?’
‘Nothing, Jessica.’ Then, to Rebus: ‘I don’t even know where they live.’
Rebus looked doubtful. ‘When you looked up your daughter’s boyfriend online, a click or two would have taken you to Pat McCuskey. Such a public figure, I’m guessing his home address is out there somewhere.’
A smile flitted across Traynor’s face. He turned towards the bed. ‘He thinks maybe my blood was up and I went to give the McCuskey family a piece of my mind.’
‘But you didn’t, did you, Dad?’
‘I did not,’ Traynor confirmed, turning back to face Rebus. ‘I did not,’ he repeated.
‘Then it’s just a terrible coincidence, isn’t it, Jessica?’ Rebus had his eyes on Traynor’s daughter. She was twisting the TV remote in her hand, staring at it.
‘Coincidence,’ she echoed.
But Rebus could tell, all of a sudden, that she didn’t believe it.
‘He’s in a coma,’ Fox said as Rebus walked back into their shared office. ‘Got him stabilised, though, and not as near to popping his clogs as he was.’
Rebus blinked. ‘How do you know?’
Fox held up his phone, giving it a little wave. ‘The wonder of wi-fi,’ he explained.
‘I barely get a signal on mine,’ Rebus muttered. He looked at the paperwork piled up on every available surface. ‘Someone’s been busy.’
‘Did DCI Page decide you were surplus to requirements on the McCuskey case?’
‘That hurts.’ Rebus studied the paperwork again. The two original boxes had been joined by about ten more. ‘So what have we got here?’
‘Summerhall CID in its entirety, late seventies to mid eighties.’
‘You sure this is everything?’
