Saints of the Shadow Bible

‘It’s now a murder inquiry. A team’s being assembled at Torphichen.’ Meaning the C Division HQ on Torphichen Place. Made sense: nearest manned station to the crime scene. Come reorganisation, there’d be something called the Specialist Crime Division to investigate serious cases, but not yet.

‘I can be there in five minutes,’ Rebus said.

‘Your name’s not been mentioned, John. I don’t mean to say you won’t be needed in future. .’

‘But you’re in?’

‘At the moment, yes.’

‘And Page?’

‘No, not Page — and not Esson or Ogilvie either. Seems they only need an extra DI right now.’

Rebus had taken the opportunity to get a cigarette lit. Through the window he could see his toastie being delivered. He indicated for it to be left there.

‘How sure can we be that it’s murder?’

‘I agree — he could have fallen, smashed his head. Might have a better idea after the autopsy.’

‘On the other hand, calling it murder might stir things up a bit — put a bit of pressure on whoever did it. Small-timers, maybe not expecting to find anyone home. .’

‘Have you managed to get the word out around town?’

‘As best I can.’ Rebus paused. ‘Media’s going to be all over this.’

‘Not to mention McCuskey’s colleagues. Speaking of which, his private secretary did switch off the TV — you were right about that.’

‘Anything sensitive on the laptop?’

‘It’s password-protected.’

‘Not exactly Fort Knox, then.’

‘Thing is, the Yes campaign isn’t quite the same thing as the current government.’

‘So there could be stuff his office doesn’t know about?’

‘We’re checking.’ Clarke paused. ‘I’m guessing it makes the son untouchable.’

‘Maybe, maybe not. I still think it’s odd this should happen so soon after the crash.’

‘Lifting just enough in the way of valuables to make it look like a robbery?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You think I should take it to DCI Ralph?’

‘Nick Ralph’s in charge at Torphichen?’

‘His is the name I’m hearing.’

‘Good rep. And if he’s asked for you, that consolidates it.’

‘Shucks.’

‘On the other hand, giving me a body-swerve has to count against him.’

Inside the café, Maggie Blantyre seemed to be fretting that his lunch was getting cold. Rebus nodded for her benefit, took a final drag on the cigarette and flicked its remains into the gutter. ‘Got to go,’ he told Clarke.

‘If you do hear anything about the stuff that got lifted. .’

‘I’ll give it to you so you can get your gold star from teacher.’

‘You better had, or it’ll be a Chinese burn next time I see you in the playground.’

Rebus ended the call and went back indoors.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said. But Maggie was on her feet, shrugging her arms back into the sleeves of her coat.

‘I need to be getting back,’ she explained. ‘I’ve left money for my tea.’

Rebus spotted the neat pile of coins next to her saucer.

‘But we’d hardly got talking,’ he complained.

‘Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea.’ She smiled at him and touched his tie with the tips of her fingers. ‘But I’m sure Dod would like to see you, if you ever felt like visiting.’

‘Maggie. .’

‘Sit down and eat.’ She patted him on the chest and was gone.

Rebus stood there for a moment, wondering whether he was expected to follow, maybe be that bit more demonstrative. But his stomach was growling and he had to be at the Sheriff Court by three. The waitress was asking if everything was all right.

‘Hunky-dory,’ Rebus told her, settling himself back down at the table. There was lipstick on Maggie’s cup, and she had left enough money to pay the bill in full.

‘Terrible news,’ Eamonn Paterson said.

‘Terrible,’ Malcolm Fox agreed.

The three men were in the office at the Sheriff Court. Fox had set up a tape recorder but no video. Rebus noticed that no effort had been made to tidy away all the paperwork — quite the reverse, in fact. Fox had ensured the place looked good and messy, as if industry happened here, as if paperwork had been pored over time and again, evidence amassed. He had his A4 pad out — or maybe it was a different one. Reams of writing within, some sections capitalised or underlined. No doodles, not a thought wasted. Precision and diligence.

All of it to impress a man who knew tricks when he saw them. Paterson had even offered a wink towards Rebus as Fox fiddled with the cassette deck. If games were to be played, Paterson would prove a worthy competitor.

‘Good to see the old technology still in use.’ Paterson gestured towards the tape recorder.

‘Only when it’s fit for purpose.’ Fox looked up. ‘I forgot to ask about tea or coffee — DS Rebus can nip out and get us something. .?’

‘I’m fine,’ Paterson said, giving Rebus another surreptitious wink. Fox had been letting them know where they stood. Rebus was the hired help here, Fox the master of the house.

‘Shall we get started, then?’

‘Ready when you are.’ Paterson clasped his hands across his chest, Fox started the machine, and the interview began with a few moments of staring before Fox lobbed his first question.

‘Was the crossbow your idea?’

‘Crossbow?’

‘Didn’t Summerhall have its own crossbow? Used for games of darts until the dartboard shattered?’

Paterson smiled at the memory. ‘I don’t remember whose idea that was.’

‘You confiscated it after an arrest. Instead of forwarding it as evidence, you hung on to it for a while. It was only when it couldn’t be located pre-trial that anyone thought to come asking. .’

‘Okay, so you’ve done your homework, son — can we skip to the important stuff?’

‘But this is the important stuff, Mr Paterson. The lot of you seemed to run CID like it was your own little fiefdom — your rules and nobody else’s. The red light in Interview Room B? If you had anyone gullible enough in there, you’d say it was a lie detector and switch it on. I wonder how many confessions you got that way. .’

Paterson was still smiling benignly.

‘The row of optics in DI Gilmour’s office, hidden behind a bookcase — you even put the bookcase on castors so you could get at the booze quicker.’

‘You’d have to ask him about that.’

‘But I’m asking you.’ Fox glanced down at his notes again. ‘Or let’s try this one — the practice of signing statements rather than writing them? Something you were supposed to have witnessed, but you weren’t there at all. Or if you were there, Gilmour would have made sure everyone had the same story to tell — because he’d have written the version himself. All you lot had to do was go along with it.’

Paterson’s gaze shifted to Rebus. ‘John, tell the man. .’

But Fox slapped his hand against the tabletop. ‘DS Rebus is here as an observer. I’m the one you need to convince.’

‘Convince of what?’ Paterson’s eyes were drilling into Fox’s. ‘Sounds to me like you’ve already made your mind up — typical fucking Complaints. You should be thanking us and giving us medals — we were good at what we did. We got bad men off the streets. End of.’