over her husband, shoving tablets into his mouth and her own. Painkillers of some kind, empty blister packs lying on Dod Blantyre’s lap, tears streaming down both faces. Rebus pulled her away and hooked a finger into her mouth. Without the aid of liquid, the tablets were proving hard to swallow. Fox got busy with Dod, flicking tablets on to the floor.
‘Can’t let you do it,’ Rebus told Maggie as she crumpled, wailing. ‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t.’
Fox was already on his phone, requesting an ambulance. Rebus was on his knees in front of Maggie, stroking her hair as she wept, her face buried in the carpet. He turned and saw that Dod Blantyre was watching him through his own tears. Fox was asking for the address, so he could give it to the switchboard. Rebus told him, and began to clamber back to his feet.
Rebus was slumped in the public waiting area of the Royal Infirmary’s Accident and Emergency department. The row of hard plastic seats was fixed to the floor and not intended for long-term comfort. Fox was feeding coins into the drinks machine. Somewhere behind the reception desk, in adjacent curtained cubicles, husband and wife were being examined. As Fox returned with two small plastic cups of coffee, Siobhan Clarke arrived. She sat down next to Rebus.
‘Hell of a thing,’ she said.
‘Isn’t it, though?’
‘Lucky you were there.’
He fixed her with a look. ‘If we
‘I know it can’t be easy, John. .’
Fox handed Rebus a coffee and asked Clarke if she wanted one.
‘Maybe a tea,’ she said, watching as Fox retreated to the machine, digging into his pocket for more loose change.
‘You sent Malcolm,’ Rebus said. ‘Is that because he needed it or I did? I should probably warn you, I make a poor patient but a worse therapist.’
‘It’s not therapy Malcolm needs. He’d done all the work tracing that number. I thought he deserved to be there at the end.’
‘So it wasn’t just a case of you steering clear?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Maybe you’ve been on hand at too many of my fuck-ups. And here you are outranking me, running your own major incident.’ He paused. ‘Maybe letting me know I’m history. .’
‘That wasn’t my thinking.’
‘No?’
‘No,’ she stated.
‘I wish I could believe you.’ Rebus stopped as Fox returned with her drink. She took it from him with a muttered ‘Thanks’, then asked if there was any news.
‘Neither one of them’s in any danger,’ Fox obliged. ‘And John’s already heard Mrs Blantyre admit to shooting Saunders.’
‘Accidentally,’ Rebus added. ‘I told you how it is with Brownings.’ His eyes met Clarke’s, willing her to challenge him.
‘She took it with her to the canal, though — and ended up pointing it at her victim.’
‘To scare him off, so the last few months of her husband’s life wouldn’t be spent in an interview room or police custody.’
‘You sound like her lawyer.’ Clarke shifted her attention to Fox. ‘Solicitor General’s going to be happy, wouldn’t you say?’
Fox just shrugged, and Clarke stared at her drink, her shoulders slumping. ‘Look at the three of us,’ she said. ‘A result in the bag and feeling no better for it.’
Fox made to sit down, lifting the big black book which Rebus had left there. He rested it on his knees, and Clarke could just make out the lettering on its cover.
Day Fourteen
26
‘You okay?’ Fox asked.
‘Sure. And thanks for coming.’
‘You really think I’m required?’
Rebus threw him a glance. ‘You’ve got heft. That’s what I need.’
‘Not my brains or beauty, then?’
Rebus concentrated on the road. They were in the Saab, heading for Livingston. ‘Anything to report?’
‘They were kept in overnight. Neither one of them had managed to ingest many of the tablets. Maggie Blantyre will be interviewed formally this afternoon.’
‘And her husband?’
‘At a date to be decided, once we’ve had a medical report.’ Fox looked at Rebus. ‘For what it’s worth, she’s sticking to her story. Saunders tried taking the gun from her and it went off.’
‘You believe that?’
‘I’m not sure. Do you?’
‘Any evidence to disprove it?’
Fox studied him. ‘You know there isn’t. But she’ll still go to prison. Best lawyer in the land couldn’t prevent that.’
‘She’ll have the best, too.’
‘Oh?’
‘I spoke to Stefan Gilmour last night when I got home — he’ll make sure of it.’
‘How much did you know?’
‘I knew Phil Kennedy died in custody and it was covered up.’
‘From what little George Blantyre has been saying, he’s keen to shoulder the blame.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Says he pushed Kennedy off his chair. Thought he was unconscious but then noticed he wasn’t breathing, so he took the body back to Kennedy’s place and made it look like he’d fallen over while drunk.’
‘He acted alone?’
‘That’s his story. The man’s not long for this world, so what has he got to lose?’ Fox paused. ‘Looks like Stefan Gilmour and Eamonn Paterson can breathe easy, even though
‘Will anyone bother charging Dod?’
‘I get the feeling the inquiry will drag its heels, let nature take its course.’
‘What a mess. Have you taken the news to the Solicitor General yet?’
‘I’m trying to decide what to tell her.’
‘That’s easy, isn’t it? You tell her what you know.’
‘Which isn’t half as much as I suspect.’
‘She won’t thank you for anything that can’t be proven.’
Fox nodded as if in agreement, then studied their surroundings. ‘Lot of roundabouts. I’m impressed you’re not resorting to satnav.’
‘We’re nearly there.’
They arrived at the barrier of the multi-storey. Rebus reached out and plucked the ticket from the machine. Passing the security cabin, he saw that his attacker wasn’t on duty. Another uniform had taken his place — skinnier and older.
