open.
‘Detective Sergeant, eh? DS Rebus? Okay, I’ve got your name now,
As the wallet was pushed back into Rebus’s pocket, he found enough strength to take a swing at his assailant. The man blocked it without too much effort, using his elbow, while his grip on Rebus’s other arm tightened still further. Then he let go and took a step back.
‘Any time you like, Grandad,’ he said.
‘I could have a squad car here in two minutes.’
‘I believe you — but remember what
Rebus flashed back to interview rooms down the years, the softening-up of suspects, the ‘accidental’ trips and falls. And now here he was, on the receiving end. He considered his options and found them wanting. Yes, he could call it in, and the scrapper in front of him would be arrested, questioned, cautioned — but to what end? He had learned something, and that was almost worth the short-lived pain and the residual embarrassment. Time was he would have gone blow-for-blow with the man.
Time was.
‘I’ll be back,’ was what he ended up saying.
‘Best bring a Terminator with you,’ his attacker said with a lopsided grin, watching as Rebus trudged back to the Saab. ‘Got your licence plate now too,’ the man added. ‘Means I can have your address any time I like.’
Rebus held one hand to his stomach as he drove, removing it only when he needed to change gear, which was often — all those bloody roundabouts again. He stopped at a fast-food place and got some fizzy orange. His mouth was dry, heart pounding. When his phone rang, he thought about ignoring it, but saw James Page’s name on the screen.
‘I’m on my way,’ Rebus answered.
‘Where from?’
‘Another errand.’
‘For Siobhan Clarke? Maybe I should ask her to confirm that.’
‘Up to you.’ Rebus slurped the ice-cold juice through a straw.
‘I’ve just spoken to Professor Quant about our floater. Bringing in Professor Thomas seems to have been useful. I think we’ve got a suspicious death here, and maybe even a murder.’
‘Murder? Not from what I saw at the second autopsy.’
‘Nevertheless.’
‘Look, I can see what you’re doing — everyone around you seems to be heading a big case, so you want one too. But the Procurator Fiscal’s office will laugh you back to Gayfield Square if you go to them with this. There’s no evidence to back you up.’
‘There are bruises.’
‘I’ve got a few of those myself. Doubt very much I’ll die from them.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Tickety-boo.’
‘And you’re really on your way here?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So what do you think we do about the floater?’
‘For starters, maybe stop using that word. Then you set up a trawl of missing persons, going back as many years as necessary. He was white-skinned, fair-haired. We know his height and build. An appeal is a good idea — get his description out there.’
‘Right.’
‘Christine Esson’s the expert — she’ll know where to start.’
‘Thanks, John.’
‘Any time, boss.’
‘How long till you get here? Twenty minutes? Half an hour?’
‘Soon as I can — scout’s honour.’
‘But we both know you were never a scout.’
‘You’ve rumbled me,’ Rebus confessed. Then: ‘Forgive me for saying, but you sound a bit cheerier.’
‘News from on high: no plans to scrap Gayfield Square.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Aye, me too. But doubtless you’ll do
‘I dare say.’ Rebus ended the call and gave his stomach another rub. He had one slight detour to make before Gayfield Square. And some big questions that needed answering.
Great King Street was lined with cars, except for a stretch of single yellow line at the end. Rebus parked and placed the POLICE sign on the dashboard. He was close by Drummond Place, with its central splodge of green space, protected by high railings and available only to keyholders. He walked back along the street until he was outside the door he wanted, pressing the buzzer for the flat marked TRAYNOR/BELL.
‘Yes?’
The crackly voice belonged to Forbes McCuskey.
‘It’s DS Rebus. I need a word.’
‘There’s nothing for you here.’
‘Let me in or I swear I’ll kick down the door.’
There was silence. Then a buzzing as the door was unlocked. Rebus pushed it open and managed the stairs fine. The blood was rushing in his ears by the time he reached the top, but he hadn’t had to pause for breath. The door was closed, so he thumped on it. His hand came away stained pink. Looking again, he saw that paint had been thrown at the door, then wiped off. Whoever had cleaned it had tried to be thorough, but the stone floor beneath Rebus’s feet was stained too. The door was eventually opened, Forbes McCuskey standing there.
‘I’m collecting for the UVF,’ Rebus said, holding up his palm.
‘Jessica says this is intimidation. She says I should phone a lawyer.’
‘Want to borrow my mobile?’ Rebus held it out towards the young man. ‘I don’t care what the hell you do, Forbes. And I can appreciate you’re scared.’ He indicated the paint marks on the floor. ‘You’ve had a visitor. I think maybe they went to your home too. Expected to find you rather than your dad.’ He paused. ‘Can I come in?’
‘We don’t want you here.’
‘Maybe not, but I think you need me. How else are you going to be rid of Alice’s Uncle Rory?’
‘Christ. .’
The utterance came from a doorway beyond.
‘Hello there, Alice,’ Rebus said, though he couldn’t see her. ‘You’ve managed to make it up with Forbes and Jessica, then? I suppose you had to — the three of you have to stick together, too much to lose otherwise.’ Then, to Forbes McCuskey: ‘I’ve just been visiting the multi-storey in Livingston. You took Jessica there for a look. I’m guessing it must have been Alice who let it slip, maybe one night after a party — a couple of drinks or a toke too many. Alice’s scary uncle and some car he’d told her about. Something in its boot? A crowbar would be needed if someone wanted to know what it was.’ Rebus paused, his eyes fixed on those of the student. ‘Am I getting warm, son?’
‘Tell him to go away!’ A different voice, louder, almost hysterical: Jessica Traynor.
‘The gang’s all here,’ Rebus said with a smile. ‘Crisis meeting sort of thing? How come Alice can’t just go have a word with Uncle Rory?’
‘It’s too late for that!’ Alice Bell cried out. Rebus tried shuffling into the hall, but McCuskey was determined to block him.
‘Come back when you’ve got a warrant,’ he said, a determined look on his face.
‘Might be too late by then, Forbes. You saw what happened to your dad.’
‘We don’t
‘We can take an educated guess, though,’ Rebus argued. ‘And you three are more educated than me, so
