Saints of the Shadow Bible

story interesting all over again.’

‘It could,’ Laura Smith agreed, getting to her feet and readying to leave.

‘You won’t forget,’ Rebus told her. ‘Rory Bell’s background?’ He nodded towards the card she was still holding. ‘My e-mail’s on there.’

She nodded distractedly and thanked him for the coffee.

‘It was DI Clarke’s treat,’ Rebus reminded her, but she was already on her way back to the office, acolyte following in her wake. Rebus sat down again and tapped Clarke’s number into his phone.

‘I’ve heard,’ she said, picking up. ‘I spoke to Nick Ralph last night and told him about Alice Bell.’

‘And he took it straight to the widow?’ Rebus stared at the ceiling and sighed.

‘I know what you’re thinking, John — you would have kept it to yourself. But we can’t know what’s pertinent to an inquiry. .’

‘Sometimes we can guess, though. This was Malcolm, wasn’t it? He persuaded you?’

‘He didn’t need to — it was the right thing to do. Look, I’ve got to go.’

She hung up on him and Rebus tossed the phone on to the table. Alice Bell would know — only he had deduced the affair, and he was the only one she’d admitted it to. The chain began with him and ended with the widow’s assault. He would get nothing else from Alice now. On the other hand, if it drove a wedge between her and Forbes — and Jessica — maybe she would open up. Maybe. .

But open up to Rebus? The man responsible for all of this? Not a chance in hell.

‘Walked into that one, John,’ he said to himself.

And all because he’d trusted Clarke and Fox, confiding in them. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed his phone and made his exit.

Rebus found DC Christine Esson behind her desk at Gayfield Square. James Page was in his broom- cupboard office, busy on the telephone. He flicked his free hand towards Rebus in greeting, then busied himself writing something down.

‘How are things?’ Rebus asked. Esson looked up from her computer.

‘Dead slow,’ she answered. ‘You?’

‘The devil seems to find work.’

‘Have you seen the video?’

‘Of Widow McCuskey?’ Rebus nodded.

‘It had seventy-five thousand hits in its first hour.’ She opened YouTube and found the page she needed. ‘Almost double that now, and the comments are pouring in.’ She showed him where on the screen to look, then began scrolling down.

‘They’ve got Alice Bell’s name,’ Rebus commented.

‘And plenty of speculation to go with it. Popular opinion seems to be on the side of the wronged wife.’

‘But nobody knows for sure she was wronged.’

Esson gave him a look. ‘None of that matters online. If they were handing out flaming torches, Alice Bell would be done to a crisp by now. This’ll be the tip of it, too — if she’s on Facebook or Twitter, there’ll be plenty more bile flying her way. I really feel sorry for her. On the other hand. .’

‘What?’

‘Well, doesn’t it flag up to you that Pat McCuskey had secrets? Might re-energise the inquiry. I’m not saying poor Alice had anything to do with it, but a spurned lover maybe. .?’

‘Spurned? You been at the Barbara Cartlands again? Anyway, I’m glad you’ve got your keyboard warmed up. .’

‘Oh?’

‘I want you to check a name for me — Rory Bell.’

Esson puckered her lips. ‘Any relation?’

‘Probably not. He’s a player in West Lothian. I did have a reporter taking a look, but I might have slid down her list of priorities.’

Esson had already typed the name into the search box. ‘Date of birth? Anything that would help narrow things down?’

‘He’s in his early thirties, spent some time in Glasgow as an enforcer.’

‘So he’ll have a police record?’

‘Reporter says no prosecutions — worth checking, though.’

‘I’ll see what I can find.’

‘You’re a star.’

It was a couple more minutes before Page ended his phone call and emerged from his office. He looked around.

‘Where’s John?’ he asked Esson.

‘He had to be elsewhere,’ she apologised.

‘I was under the impression he’d come out of retirement — wouldn’t know it from his current work rate.’ He paused. ‘What’s keeping you busy today?’

‘Diagnostics and analytics,’ Esson replied blithely, knowing the effect the words would have.

Sure enough, Page struggled for a moment, then told her to carry on and returned to his room, closing the door after him.

Christine Esson allowed herself a little smile.

Rebus’s lunch comprised a steak bake from Greggs, eaten in the Saab with the engine running so the heater would continue to work. Afterwards he brushed flakes of pastry from his clothes before answering his ringing phone.

‘This is your fault, isn’t it?’ Maggie Blantyre’s voice asked.

‘Usually is,’ he said.

‘They came to question Dod. Right bloody grilling they gave him. Said next time it might have to be at the station. Wouldn’t let me stay in the room. You should see the state of him. Last night you left in such a hurry and Dod wouldn’t say why. But I could tell he was upset. And now this — it’s your doing.’

‘I’m sorry you think that.’

‘Then tell me I’m wrong.’

‘Who was it came? DIs Clarke and Fox?’

‘I think so. Woman seemed to be the boss.’

‘That’s Clarke. She’s running a murder case, Maggie. Gun used may be the same one we kept in a desk at Summerhall — they’ll be questioning everybody about it.’

‘You included?’

‘Me included. And not all of us will merit a home visit.’

There was silence on the line, followed by a sigh of defeat. ‘It just seems so unfair.’

‘Has it really upset him?’

‘He’s up to high doh.’

‘Did he ask you to call me?’

‘No.’

‘What about the others — Porkbelly and Stefan? I’m assuming he couldn’t make a call without your help. .’

‘Christ, John, is this you fishing for information? I phone you in a state, and you do nothing but act the bloody detective?’ Her voice was rising. ‘Well thanks for nothing — I’m sure Dod will be touched by your complete lack of concern.’

‘Maggie, you know I didn’t mean-’

But there was no one on the other end. His phone’s screen told him the call had ended and wondered if he wanted to reconnect.

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ he told it, before indicating to the approaching traffic warden that he was about to move off.

There were fewer reporters outside Wester Hailes police station. They were huddled in their cars, cupping hot drinks to their faces. No vans, no TV cameras. When Rebus walked into the building, the first person he saw