‘Any idea what was in it?’
‘I got the feeling it was just clothes.’
‘Okay.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Let’s talk about the pentagram. Someone has been back to the house and added to it since these photographs were taken.’
Charlie said nothing, but did not look surprised.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’
Charlie nodded.
‘How did you get in?’
‘Through the downstairs window. Those wooden slats couldn’t keep out an elephant. It’s like an extra door. Lots of people used to come into the house that way.’
‘Why did you go back?’
‘It wasn’t finished, was it? I wanted to add the symbols.’
‘And the message.’
Charlie smiled to himself. ‘Yes, the message.’
“‘Hello Ronnie”,’ Rebus quoted. ‘What’s that all about?’
‘Just what it says. His spirit’s still in the house, his soul’s still there. I was just saying hello. I had some paint left. Besides, I thought it might give somebody a fright.’
Rebus remembered his own shock at seeing the scrawl. He felt his cheeks redden slightly, but covered the fact with a question.
‘Do you remember the candles?’
Charlie nodded, but was becoming restless. Helping police with their inquiries was not as much fun as he had hoped.
‘What about your project?’ said Rebus, changing tack.
‘What about it?’
‘It’s on demonism, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.’
‘What aspect of demonism?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe the popular mythology. How old fears become new fears, that sort of thing.’
‘Do you know any of the covens in Edinburgh?’
‘I know people who claim to be in some of them.’
‘But you’ve never been along to one?’
‘No, worse luck.’ Charlie seemed suddenly to come to life. ‘Look, what is all this? Ronnie OD’d. He’s history. Why all the questions?’
‘What can you tell me about the candles?’
Charlie exploded. ‘What
Rebus was all calmness. He exhaled smoke before responding. ‘There were candles in the living room.’ He was getting close to telling Charlie something Charlie didn’t seem to know. All during the interview, he had been spiralling inwards towards this moment.
‘That’s right. Big candles. Ronnie got them from some shop that specialises in candles. He
‘Tracy found Ronnie in his bedroom. She thinks he was already dead.’ Rebus’s voice became lower still, and as flat as the desktop. ‘But by the time she’d phoned us, and an officer had turned up at the house, Ronnie’s body had been moved downstairs. It was laid out between two candles, which had been burnt down to nothing.’
‘There wasn’t much left of those candles anyway, not when I left.’
‘You left when?’
‘Just before midnight. There was supposed to be a party somewhere on the estate. I thought I might get invited in.’
‘How long would the candles have burned for?’
‘An hour, two hours. God knows.’
‘How much smack did Ronnie have?’
‘Christ, I don’t know.’
‘Well, how much would he normally use at any one time?’
‘I really don’t know. I’m not a user, you know. I hate all that stuff. I’ve got two friends who were in my sixth form. They’re both in private clinics.’
‘That’s nice for them.’
‘Like I said, Ronnie hadn’t been able to find any stuff for days. He was a bit whacked out, just about to fall right over the edge. Then he came back with some. End of story.’
‘Isn’t there much about then?’
‘So far as I know, there’s plenty, but don’t bother asking for names.’
‘So if there’s plenty, how come Ronnie was finding it so hard?’
‘God knows. He didn’t know himself. It was like he’d suddenly become bad news. Then he was good news again, and he got that packet.’
It was time. Rebus picked an invisible thread from his shirt.
‘He was murdered,’ he said. ‘Or as good as.’
Charlie’s mouth opened. The blood drained from his face, as though a tap had been opened somewhere. ‘What?’
‘He was murdered. His body was full of rat poison. Self-inflicted, but supplied by someone who probably knew it was lethal. A lot of work was then done to manoeuvre his body into some kind of ritualistic position in the living room. Where your pentagram is.’
‘Now wait — ’
‘How many covens are there in Edinburgh, Charlie?’
‘What? Six, seven, I don’t know. Look — ’
‘Do you know them? Any of them? I mean know them personally?’
‘Christ, man, you’re not going to pin this on me!’
‘Why not?’ Rebus stubbed out his cigarette.
‘Because it’s crazy.’
‘Seems to me it all fits, Charlie.’ String him out, Rebus was thinking. He’s already stretched to snapping point. ‘Unless you can convince me otherwise.’
Charlie walked to the door purposefully, then paused.
‘Go on,’ Rebus called, ‘it’s not locked. Walk out of here if you like. Then I’ll know you had something to do with it.’
Charlie turned. His eyes seemed moist in the hazy light. A sunbeam from the barred window, penetrating the frosted glass, caught motes of dust and turned them into slow-motion dancers. Charlie moved through them as he returned to the desk.
‘I didn’t have anything to do with it, honest.’
‘Sit down,’ said Rebus, a kindly uncle now. ‘Let’s talk some more.’
But Charlie didn’t like uncles. Never had. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned down, looming over Rebus. Something had hardened somewhere within him. His teeth when he spoke glistened with venom.
‘Go to hell, Rebus. I see what you’re up to, and I’m damned if I’m going to play along. Arrest me if you like, but don’t insult me with cheap tricks. I did those in my first term.’
Then he walked, and this time opened the door, and left it open behind him. Rebus got up from the desk, switched off the recorder, took out the tape and, pushing it into his pocket, followed. By the time he reached the entrance hall, Charlie had gone. He approached the desk. The duty sergeant looked up from his paperwork.
‘You just missed him,’ he said.
Rebus nodded. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘He didn’t look too happy.’
‘Would I be doing my job if they all left here laughing and holding their sides?’
