‘Hi, Patience,’ he said to the machine. ‘It’s me. I’m ready to talk when you are…. miss you. Bye.’
So, the girls had gone. Maybe now things could get back to normal. No more smouldering Susan, no more gentle Jenny. They weren’t the cause of the rift between Rebus and Patience, but maybe they hadn’t helped. No, they definitely hadn’t helped.
He made himself a cup of ‘coffee substitute’, all the time thinking of wandering down to the late-opening shop at the corner of Marchmont Road. But their coffee was instant and expensive, and besides, maybe this stuff would taste okay.
It tasted awful, and was absolutely caffeine-free, which was probably why he fell asleep during a dreary mid-evening movie on the television.
And awoke to a ringing telephone. Someone had switched the TV off, and perhaps that same person had thrown the blanket over him. It was getting to be a regular thing. He was stiff as he sat up and reached for the receiver. His watch told him it was one-fifteen a.m.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that Inspector Rebus?’
‘Speaking.’ Rebus rubbed at his hair.
‘Inspector, this is PC Hart. I’m in South Queensferry.’
‘Yes?’
‘There’s someone here claims he’s your brother.’
‘Michael?’
‘That’s the name he gave.’
‘What’s up? Is he guttered?’
‘Nothing like that, sir.’
‘What is it then?’
‘Well, sir, we’ve just found hi…’
Rebus was very awake now. ‘Found him where?’
‘He was hanging from the Forth Rail Bridge.’
‘What?’ Rebus felt his hand squeezing the telephone receiver to death.
‘I don’t mean like that, sir. Sorry i……Rebus’s grip relaxed.
‘No, I mean he was hanging by his feet, sort of suspended, like. Just hanging in mid-air.’
‘We thought it was some sort of joke gone wrong at first. You know, bungee jumper, that kind of thing.’ PC Hart was leading Rebus to a but on the quayside at South Queensferry. The Firth of Forth was dark and quiet in front of them, but Rebus could make out the rail bridge lowering far above them. ‘But that’s not the story he gave us. Besides, it was clear he hadn’t taken the dive on his own.’
‘How clear?’
‘His hands were tied together, sir. And his mouth had been taped shut.’
‘Christ.’
‘Doctor says he’ll be all right. If they’d tipped him over the side, his legs could’ve come out of the sockets, but the doc reckons they must have lowered him over.’
‘How did they get onto the bridge in the first place?’
‘It’s easy enough, if you’ve a head for heights.’
Rebus, who had no head for heights, had already declined the offer of a visit to the spot where Michael had been found, up on the ochre-coloured iron construction.
‘Looks like they waited till they knew there’d be no trains about. But a boat was going under the bridge, and the skipper thought he saw something, so he radioed in. Otherwise, well, he could have been up there all night.’ Hart shook his head. ‘A cold night, I can’t say I’d fancy it.’
They were at the but now. There was only enough room inside for two men. One of these, seated with a blanket over his shoulders, was Michael. The other was’ a local doctor, called from his bed by the look of him. Other men stood around: police, the proprietor of a hotel on the waterfront, and the boat skipper who might just have saved Michael’s life, or at the very least his sanity.
‘John, thank Christ.’ Michael was trembling, and seemed to have no colour in him at all. The doctor was holding a hot cup of something, from which he was coaxing Michael to drink.
‘Drink up, Mickey,’ said Rebus. Michael looked pathetic, like the victim of some terrible tragedy. Rebus felt a tremendous sadness overwhelm him. Michael had spent years in jail, where God knows what had happened to him. Then, released, he’d had no luck at all until he’d come to Edinburgh. The bravado, the nights out with the students — Rebus suddenly saw it for what it really was, a front, an attempt to put behind him all that Michael had feared these past few years. And now this had happened, reducing him to the crouched shivering animal in the hut.
‘I’ll be back in a second, Mickey.’ Rebus pulled Hart around the side of the hut. ‘What has he told you?’ He was trying to control the fury inside him.
‘He said he was in your flat, sir, on his own.’
‘When?’
‘This afternoon, about four. There was a ring at the doorbell, so he answered, and three men pushed their way in. The first thing they did was put a cloth bag over his head. Then they held him down and tied him up, took the bag off and taped shut his mouth, then put the bag back.’
‘He didn’t see them?’
‘They kept his face against the hall carpet. He just got the quick glimpse of them when he opened the door.’
‘Go on.’ Rebus was trying not to look up at the rail bridge. Instead, he focused on the flashing red lights on top of the more distant road bridge.
‘They seem to have wrapped something like a carpet around him and taken him downstairs and into a van. It was pretty cramped in there, according to your brother. Narrow, like. He reckoned there were boxes either side of him.’ Hart paused. He didn’t like the look of concentration on the Inspector’s face.
‘Well?’ Rebus snapped.
‘He says they drove around for hours, not saying anything. Then he was lifted out of the van and taken into something like a cellar or a storeroom. They never took the bag off his head, so he can’t be sure.’ Hart paused. ‘I didn’t want to question him too closely, sir, in his present condition.’
Rebus nodded.
‘Anyway, finally they brought him up here. Tied him to the side of the bridge, and lowered him over it. They still hadn’t said anything. But when they started to lower away, they finally took the bag off his head.’
‘Christ.’ Rebus screwed shut his eyes. It brought back the grimmest memories of his own SAS training, the way they’d tried to get him to hand over information. Taking him up in a helicopter with a bag over his head, then threatening to drop him out, and carrying out their threa…But only eight feet off the ground, not the hundreds of feet he’d visualised. Horrible, all of it. He pushed past Hart, pulled the doctor out of the way, and bent down to hug Michael, keeping him close against his chest as he heard Michael start to bawl. The crying lasted for many minutes, but.Rebus wasn’t about to let go.
And then at last, it was over. Racking dry coughs, the breathing slowing, and a sort of calm. Michael’s face was a mess of tear tracks and mucus. Rebus handed him a handkerchief.
‘The ambulance is waiting,’ the doctor said quietly. Rebus nodded. Michael was obviously in shock; they’d keep him in the Infirmary overnight.
Two patients to visit, thought Rebus. What was more, he suspected similar motives behind the attacks. Very similar motives, if it came down to it. The rage began in him all over again, and his scalp prickled like hell. But he calmed a little as he helped Michael over to the ambulance.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Michael. ‘Just go home, eh?’
Part of the way to the ambulance, Michael’s legs gave way, his knees refusing to lock. They carried him instead, like taking an injured player off the field, closed the door on him, and took him away. Rebus thanked the doctor, the skipper, and Hart.
‘Hellish thing to happen,’ Hart said. ‘Any idea why it did?
‘A few,’ said Rebus.
