Black Book

He went home to brood in his darkened living room. His whole life seemed shot to hell. Someone had been sending him a message tonight. They’d either decided to send it via Michael, or else they’d simply mistaken Michael for him. After all, people said they looked alike. Since the men had come to Arden Street, they were either working on very old information, or else they knew all about his separation from Patience, which meant they were very well-informed indeed. But Rebus suspected the former. The name on the doorbell still said Rebus, though it also listed on a scrap of paper four other names. That must have confused them for a minute. Yet they’d decided to attack anyway. Why? Did it mean they were desperate? Or was it just that any hostage would do to get the message across?

Message received.

And almost understood. Almost. This was serious, deadly serious. First Brian, now Michael. He had so few doubts that the two were connected. It felt like it was time to do something, not just wait for their next move. He knew what he wanted to do, too. That one phrase had brought it to mind: shot to hell. A part of him wanted to be holding a gun. A gun would even the odds very nicely indeed. He even knew where he could get one, didn’t he? Anything from a shag to a shooter. He found that he’d been pacing the floor in front of the window. He felt caged, unwilling to sleep and unable to act against his invisible foe. But he had to do somethin…so he went for a drive.

He drove to Perth. It didn’t take long on the motorway in the middle of the night. In the city itself, he got lost once or twice (with no one about to ask directions of, not even a policeman) before finding the street he wanted. It was sited on a ridge of land, with houses on the one side only. This was where Patience’s sister lived. Rebus spotted Patience’s car and found a parking space two cars away from it. He turned off his lights and engine and reached into the back seat for the blanket he’d brought, pulling the blanket over as much of him as it would cover. He sat for a while, feeling more relaxed than in ages. He’d thought of bringing some whisky with him, but knew the kind of head it would give him in the morning. And tomorrow he wanted to be clear-headed if nothing else. He thought of Patience asleep in the spare room, just through the wall from Susan. She slept soundly, the moon lighting her forehead and her cheeks. It seemed a long way from Edinburgh, a long way from the shadow of the Forth Rail Bridge. John Rebus drifted into sleep, and slept well for once.

When he awoke, it was six-thirty on Sunday morning. He threw aside the blanket and started the car, turning the heating all the way up. He felt chilled but rested. The street was quiet, except for a man walking his ugly white poodle. The man seemed to find Rebus’s presence there curious. Rebus smiled steadily at him as he shifted the gearstick into first and drove away.

10

He went straight to the Infirmary where, despite the early hour, pre-breakfast tea was being served. Michael was sitting up in bed with the cup on the tray in front of him. He seemed like a statue, staring at the surface of the dark brown liquid, his face blank. He didn’t move as Rebus approached, pulled a chair noisily from a pile beside one wall, and sat down.

‘Hiya, Mickey.’

‘Hello, John.’ Michael continued to stare. Rebus hadn’t seen him blink yet.

‘Going through it again and again, eh?’ Michael didn’t answer. ‘I’ve been there myself, Mickey. Something terrible happens, you play it over in your mind. Eventually it fades. You might not believe that just now.’

‘I’m trying to understand who did it, why they did it.’

‘They wanted you scared, Mickey. I think it was a message for me.’

‘Couldn’t they have written instead? They got me scared all right. I could have shit through a Polo mint.’

Rebus laughed loudly at this. If Michael was getting back a sense of humour, the rest couldn’t be far behind. ‘I brought you this,’ he said.

It was the photograph from Aberdeen. Rebus placed it on the tray beside the untouched tea.

‘Who are they?’

‘Dad and Uncle Jimmy.’

‘Uncle Jimmy? I don’t remember an Uncle Jimmy.’

‘They fell out a long time ago, never spoke again.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Uncle Jimmy died a few weeks ago. His widow-Auntie Ena-wanted us to have this photo.’

‘Why?’

‘Maybe because we’re blood,’ Rebus said.

Michael smiled. ‘You wouldn’t always know it.’ He looked up at Rebus with wet shining eyes.

‘We’ll know it from now on,’ said Rebus. He nodded towards the cup. ‘Can I have that tea if you’re not drinking it? My tongue feels like a happy hour’s welcome-mat.’

‘Help yourself.’

Rebus drank the tea in two swallows. ‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘I was doing you a favour, believe me.’

‘I know all about the tea they serve in institutions.’

‘You’re not as daft as you look then.’ Rebus paused. ‘You didn’t see much of them, eh?’

‘Who?’

‘The men who grabbed you.’

‘I saw bodies coming through the door. The first one was about my height, but a lot broader. The others, who knows. I never saw any faces. Sorry.’

problem. Can you tell me anything?’

‘No more than I told the constable last night. What was his name again?’

‘Hart.’

‘That’s it. He thought I’d been bungee-jumping.’ Michael gave a low laugh. ‘I told him, no, I was just hanging around.’

Rebus smiled. ‘But thankfully not at a loose end, eh?’

But Michael had stopped laughing. ‘I had a nightmare about it. They had to give me something to make me sleep. I don’t know what it was,’ but I still feel doped.’

‘Get them to give you a prescription, you can sell tabs to the students.’

‘They’re good kids, John.’

‘I know.’

‘It’d be a shame if they moved out.’

‘I know that, too.’

‘You remember Gail?’

‘The girl you’ve been seeing?’

‘I’ve seen every inch of her. Strictly past tense now. But she has a boyfriend in Auchterarder. You don’t suppose he’s the jealous type?’

‘I don’t think he’s behind last night.’

‘No? Only, I’ve not been around Edinburgh long enough to make any enemies.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Rebus. ‘I’ve got enemies enough for both of us.’

‘That’s very reassuring. Meanwhil…’

‘Yes?’

‘What about getting a spyhole for your door? Just think if one of the lassies had answered.’

Oh, Rebus had thought about it. ‘And a chain,’ he said. ‘I’m getting them this afternoon.’ He paused. ‘Hart said something about the van.’

‘When they pushed me in, it was like I was fitting into a narrow space. Yet I got the feeling the van itself was a decent size.’

‘So it had stuff in the back then?’

‘Maybe. Bloody solid, whatever it was. I bruised both knees.’ Michael shrugged. ‘That’s about it.’ Then he thought of something. ‘Oh yes, and it had a bad smell. Either that or something had died in the carpet they wrapped me i…’