‘What brings you here?’ he asked.
Only then did it dawn: he had driven to St Leonard’s police station. Hadn’t worked there in a number of years. It was where he’d been introduced to Siobhan Clarke, where they’d forged their working relationship.
‘Meeting,’ he explained to the uniform, making his way towards the entrance. Didn’t want the man to think he’d grown senile. Indoors, he bided his time, pretending to check his phone for texts. When the coast was clear, he headed to the car park again, got back in the Saab and wondered where to go.
Maybe that was the problem right there — Clarke was in Wester Hailes with the Saunders murder; at Torphichen, Nick Ralph was running the Pat McCuskey inquiry. Leaving Rebus with what? The only thing waiting for him at Gayfield Square was an irritable James Page and a workload of desk-tidying. When his phone rang, he hoped to hell the caller might give him some direction.
It was Christine Esson, and she did. ‘The boss wants to know where you are — he’s got a job for you.’
‘Tell him I’m on my way.’
‘But are you?’
‘Oh ye of little faith. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘You’ve not seen the snarl-up at the Conan Doyle roundabout — I’ll tell him fifteen to be on the safe side.’
‘Twenty quid says ten.’
‘Oh aye? Parked outside, are you?’
‘I’m at St Leonard’s.’ Rebus repeated the bet.
‘Starting now,’ Esson said, after a moment’s calculation.
‘You’re on.’
Rebus knew better than to head for North Bridge and Leith Street. Instead, he drove through Holyrood Park and out the other side, taking Abbey Hill and Royal Terrace and missing the worst of the congestion. He took the stairs two at a time and was in front of Esson’s desk in eleven and a half minutes.
‘A good try,’ she conceded.
‘Call it a tenner, then.’ Rebus held out his hand.
‘John!’ Page barked. ‘In here!’
‘I’ll be back,’ Rebus warned Esson, receiving only a smirk for his efforts.
‘What time do you call this?’ Page was asking when Rebus entered the room. He was behind his desk, laptop open in front of him.
‘Had to drop into St Leonard’s,’ Rebus explained.
‘Whatever for?’
‘Running an errand for Siobhan. But now that I’m here, how can I help?’
‘Another errand, I suppose. You heard they pulled a body out of Leith Docks yesterday afternoon?’
‘No.’
‘Adult male. Autopsy is in an hour’s time.’
‘Suspicious death?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping we’ll find out.’
‘By “we”, I assume you mean me?’
Page nodded.
‘Anything I should know? Got a name for the deceased?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘And you picked me over Esson, Ogilvie or any other poor sod because. .?’
‘Look, it’s simple enough — just go oversee the post-mortem exam and then report back. I know it lacks the glamour of a shooting or the death of an MSP, but it’s still part of life’s rich tapestry.’ Busying himself at his computer, he flicked the fingers of one hand in Rebus’s direction, indicating that the meeting was over.
Back in the main office, Esson was trying not to look smug.
‘You might have bloody warned me,’ Rebus complained.
‘You’re the one who was in a hurry,’ she shot back. ‘Besides, I hear there’s a new pathologist — might be fun to be had there.’
‘Oh, the mortuary’s a non-stop riot,’ Rebus drawled. ‘You better have my winnings ready when I get back. .’
‘You’re too late,’ the attendant said. ‘We had to bring it forward an hour.’
Rebus had been to the mortuary many times. There was a large storage area at ground level with a concrete floor that was regularly cleaned with a pressure hose. One whole wall comprised metal roller-drawers where the corpses were stored, with a separate smaller room off for worst-case scenarios. Vans could be backed in through a bay door from the car park, keeping the general public unaware of the building’s primary use. Labs and autopsy suite were one floor up, along with staff offices, the viewing room, and a waiting area for next of kin.
‘She’s probably phoning in her report as we speak.’
‘She?’
‘Professor Quant.’
‘Any chance of a word with her?’
The attendant nodded towards the flight of stairs. ‘She’s got to be elsewhere in twenty minutes,’ he cautioned.
But Rebus was already on his way.
The door was ajar, but he tapped on it anyway. Quant had already changed out of her scrubs and was ending a call at her desk.
‘You’re DS Rebus?’ she asked.
‘That’s right.’
‘I was just telling DCI Page. .’
‘You had to bring the autopsy forward.’
‘I need to be at a lecture.’ She glanced at her wristwatch.
‘I could give you a lift.’
‘Quicker walking — it’s just by the McEwan Hall.’
‘I’ll walk with you, then.’
She fixed him with her blue eyes. Mascara coated her eyelashes and thick red hair fell to her shoulders and just beyond. Rebus placed her in her mid forties, maybe a touch older. No rings on any of her fingers, but that could have been for professional reasons. The backs of her hands were pink, perhaps from the scrubbing they’d just been given.
‘Just so you can update me,’ Rebus explained.
‘Fine then,’ she said, gathering paperwork into a capacious leather bag before lifting her coat from the back of the chair and putting it on, Rebus resisting a sudden urge to help.
‘Always supposing the case is worth updating,’ he felt it necessary to qualify.
‘I’m trying to find time for a second examination later today — if I can locate another pathologist to work with me.’
‘Oh?’
She was looking around the cramped space, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
‘It’s a strange one,’ she said.
‘He didn’t drown, then?’
‘Dead when he entered the water. The question is: for how long?’ She saw the look he was giving her. ‘I’m thinking months,’ she explained. ‘Possibly even years.’
‘
‘Spent seated, judging by the way the bones have fused.’
‘Professor, are we talking about a skeleton here?’
‘There’s skin, but it has all but mummified. Hard to say much more right now. Body probably wasn’t in the water for more than a couple of days — the dock isn’t exactly tidal, so it almost certainly was disposed of there rather than being washed up from elsewhere.’ She grew thoughtful. ‘That’s about as much as I was able to tell DCI Page. Sure you still want that walk?’
