Saints of the Shadow Bible

was Alice Bell. She was seated by the reception desk, looking furious with the world. Recognising him, she leapt to her feet.

‘I know,’ he said, trying for a pacifying gesture with the palms of both hands. ‘And I’m really sorry. But our job is to find out why Pat McCuskey died, and that means piecing together a jigsaw of his personal life. Like it or not, you’re one of the pieces.’

‘She attacked me,’ Bell complained.

‘I know she did — are you all right?’

He could tell that she’d lost a clump of hair from her scalp, and there were grazes and scratches to her face and neck.

‘I’ve been getting dogs’ abuse — your lot want to know if I’ll press charges.’

‘And will you?’

He watched her shake her head. Then he realised something. ‘What are you doing here, though?’

‘Waiting for DCI Ralph. He’s in some meeting or other.’

‘You’ll be all right, Alice. Just tell them the truth — how often you met with McCuskey, that sort of thing. Whether he seemed worried about anything.’

‘Pillow talk, you mean?’

‘Is there anyone I can call? Your mum or dad?’

‘They’re both dead.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Anyone else who could come sit with you?’

‘Jessica and Forbes are hardly likely to oblige, are they?’ she complained.

Rebus made show of wincing. ‘Have you talked to them?’

She shook her head. ‘What’s to say?’

‘Any family at all I could phone for you?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ She paused, her voice hardening. ‘You’ve already done more than enough damage, don’t you think?’

DCI Nick Ralph appeared through a doorway. He nodded a greeting in Rebus’s direction, then apologised to Alice Bell for the wait, leading her towards a corridor.

‘There’s a way out to the car park,’ he was explaining. ‘Means we don’t end up feeding the jackals.’

‘What’s left of me for them to pick at?’ the young woman asked, giving a final bitter glance over her shoulder towards Rebus.

He watched the pair of them leave, then headed for the Major Incident suite. Fox was behind one of the desks.

‘You just missed your pal,’ he informed Rebus.

‘Not quite — I bumped into her downstairs.’

But Fox was shaking his head. ‘I mean Eamonn Paterson. We’ve just had him in the interview room. He left not twenty minutes ago.’

‘Then I’m thankful for small mercies.’ Rebus slumped on to the spare chair.

‘You saw Alice Bell, then?’

Rebus nodded. ‘She was thrilled I’d grassed her up.’

‘She should have come forward,’ Fox stated. ‘Might have saved all this grief.’

‘What was Ralph playing at, telling the widow?’

Fox offered a shrug. ‘Your chum Paterson wasn’t very helpful, by the way.’

‘And I hear you’ve already been to see Dod Blantyre.’

‘Again, with very little to show for it. But then we expected that — it’s up to Stefan Gilmour now, if you’ve read him right.’

‘What was Ralph doing here, by the way?’

Fox leaned back in his chair. ‘Think about it for a moment.’

‘I’m struggling,’ Rebus said after a pause.

‘He was asking Siobhan about the night Jessica Traynor crashed her car. Close by the McCuskey house. Not long after, the house is attacked and McCuskey is dead. Turns out he was having an affair with Jessica’s flatmate. . Seems like quite a tight little circle, don’t you think? Especially if you remove Forbes McCuskey from the scenario and replace him with Alice Bell.’

Rebus shook his head. ‘I don’t see that.’

Fox shrugged again. ‘Well, DCI Ralph thought the question worth asking.’

‘And how did Siobhan answer?’

‘I told him I didn’t see it either.’ Clarke was standing in the doorway, arms folded. She looked tired and dispirited. ‘Good of you to drop in, John. Means we can get you out of the way.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Your formal questioning, of course. Otherwise it looks like you’re getting special treatment.’

‘Well we can’t have that,’ Rebus said.

‘Indeed we can’t,’ Clarke agreed.

21

‘Do I need a lawyer here?’ Rebus asked.

The three of them were seated around a table in the interview room. Fox had produced another of his lined notepads — pristine as yet — while Clarke seemed content to stare at Rebus, her arms folded.

‘Think you need one?’ she asked.

‘I’m sure Stefan Gilmour would lend you his,’ Fox added.

‘Just to clarify,’ Clarke asked, ‘could you state your relationship to Philip Kennedy?’

‘The guy looked like a cartoon character, but he was no joke — liked to put the frighteners on little old ladies and steal whatever they had.’

‘That doesn’t quite answer my question.’

‘He was a bad guy and my job was to put him away — that was our relationship.’

‘And as the nickname “Slippery Phil” suggests, you never did put him away.’

‘Not for want of trying.’

‘Frustrating for you,’ Fox added.

‘Very,’ Rebus admitted.

‘Ever think of framing him?’

‘Personally? No.’

‘But other colleagues. .?’

‘You’d have to ask them.’

‘They’d have told you, wouldn’t they? You were a “Saint”, after all.’

‘A new recruit.’

‘All the same. .’ Clarke paused. ‘How about William Saunders and Douglas Merchant — any history with them?’

‘Give me a break, Siobhan.’

‘What makes you think you’ve earned one?’

‘You stole that line from me,’ Rebus said with a tired smile. ‘Maybe I should sue.’

‘Soon as we finish with our questions,’ she retorted. ‘Now, why don’t you tell me what you can about the gun. .’

After forty minutes, he was free to leave. He went outside and smoked a cigarette. He was in the car park to the side of the building, the fence and locked gate separating him from what remained of the press pack. At one point he noticed Fox watching from one of the upper windows. One sarcastic wave from Rebus later, Fox was gone.

Could the crash really connect to the Justice Minister’s death, and could Alice Bell be the glue? He was