Let It Bleed

‘Of course.’ Dave led Rebus to a computer terminal and punched a couple of keys. ‘There are over seventy thousand shotgun certificates on issue.’

Rebus blinked. ‘Seventy thousand?’

‘Compared to thirty-odd thousand for all other firearms combined. Nobody’s really concerned about the amount of shotguns around.’ He tapped another key. ‘See? Ownership’s highest in rural areas — Northern, Grampian, Dumfries and Galloway. It’s not some brewhead from Gorgie that’s buying these things, it’s the establishment: farmers, landowners.’

‘What about thefts?’

‘They’re on the computer, but I’ve checked. Nobody around Edinburgh has lost a shotgun recently.’

‘Can I take a look anyway?’

‘Sure.’ Rebus sat down and Dave punched the keyboard again. The list of recently reported thefts was not large; nearly all of them were south of the border. ‘Want a print-out?’

‘Yes.’ Not that a print-out would help him.

‘What’s the big deal anyway?’ Dave asked. ‘It’s a simple suicide, isn’t it?’

‘Suicide’s still an offence.’

‘The only one we don’t prosecute after the fact. Is there something you’re not telling me?’

‘No,’ Rebus said quietly. ‘But there may be things some people aren’t telling me.’ He took the print-out and folded it into his pocket. ‘One other thing.’

‘What?’

‘The prints on the gun, were they the deceased’s?’

Dave seemed amused by the question. ‘His and his alone. What are you up to, Inspector?’

But John Rebus wasn’t about to answer that.

‘Thank you for coming in, Councillor.’

Rebus had just come into the interview room. He’d been biding his time outside the door, letting Tom Gillespie get a bit nervous. An interview room could do that; it could destroy all your pre-planning. You walked in knowing what you were going to say, the line you were going to take with the police, but then the room started to work on you.

The thing was, it was just a room — crime prevention posters on the walls, a table, three chairs, four electrical sockets. There was a tin ashtray, commandeered from a local pub. The walls were creamy matt custard, institution yellow, and there was strip lighting on the ceiling. The lights burred continuously, an almost subliminal electric hum. Rebus wondered if it was that noise that got to people. He guessed there was a simpler truth: the interview room was in a police station, and if you were there, you were going to be interviewed by the police.

And when it came down to it, everyone had something to hide.

‘Not at all,’ Gillespie said, crossing one leg over the other to let Rebus know how relaxed he was. ‘I hear the poor devil was an ex-prisoner.’

‘He’d served just under four years for the rape of a minor.’

‘Four years doesn’t seem very long.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ They sat in silence for a moment, until Gillespie broke it.

‘I had a friend once who committed suicide. He was still at university — this is going back a while. He was worried about exams, and his girlfriend had left him.’ He paused. ‘Left him for me. I should add.’

‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ Rebus asked.

‘I thought smoking was forbidden in police stations.’

‘If it bothers you, I won’t light it.’ He stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and offered one to Gillespie. The councillor shook his head.

‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t light up.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Rebus, putting away cigarettes and lighter both. Well, he thought, this is interesting. The guy’s been studying for this exam. Tells a personal story, one that doesn’t paint him in the rosiest glow, and then asserts his authority. And all it was supposed to be was a few follow-up questions.

‘How did he do it?’ Rebus asked.

‘Who?’

‘Your friend.’

‘Flung himself out of the halls of residence. Fifth floor. He was still alive, so they took him to hospital, checking for broken bones and internal bleeding. They were so busy, they didn’t notice he’d taken an overdose before the jump.’

‘Well,’ Rebus said, ‘both are fairly common roads out, aren’t they? You leap or you sleep. Mr McAnally, on the other hand …’

‘You were at the Forth Road Bridge, weren’t you? When those two kids jumped? I saw your name in the paper.’

‘We’re here to talk about McAnally, Councillor.’

‘Well, guns are a popular mode of suicide too, aren’t they?’

‘Maybe among gun owners, but McAnally didn’t own a gun and probably had never used one before.’

Gillespie uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. ‘But given his background, he’d find it easy enough to take possession of a gun.’

‘I agree,’ said Rebus. ‘All the same …’

‘What?’

‘Why go to all the bother? I mean, even if you’re determined to blow your head off, why walk from Tollcross to Warrender in the middle of a blizzard with this big heavy gun clutched beneath your jacket? And why walk into a school which would have been locked tight on every night of the month except one?’ Rebus had risen to his feet. He rested his buttocks against the edge of the table and folded his arms. ‘Why walk into a classroom and make sure Councillor Tom Gillespie is present? Why do that? Why did he specifically want to top himself in front of you? No other witnesses, no one else invited. It doesn’t make sense to me.’

‘Well, the man was obviously unhinged … maybe on drugs.’

‘I’ve just seen the toxicology results. The police lab has all these smart machines — ’

‘At Howdenhall?’ Rebus nodded. ‘Yes, I know. I was there for the official opening.’

‘Well, the results show that the deceased had had a couple of drinks, but no drugs, not one single painkiller.’

‘What’s your point, Inspector?’

Rebus turned around so that his hands were resting on the table. He was leaning over Gillespie, and Gillespie wasn’t enjoying it.

‘See, Councillor, Wee Shug McAnally was dying. He didn’t have long to live at all. His insides were rotten, and he should have been doped to the eyeballs to stand the pain. Those drugs, though, they make your brain mushy, and Wee Shug didn’t want that. He wanted to be compos mentis when he pulled the trigger.’ Rebus stood up straight. ‘Makes even less sense now, eh?’ He popped the cigarette back into his mouth.

‘Look, I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.’

‘Frankly neither do I. All I know is, it has something to do with you. Now what could that be?’

‘There was a line of perspiration on Gillespie’s top lip. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Rebus walked to the far wall and lit his cigarette. He didn’t think the councillor would object.

‘Look,’ Gillespie said quietly, ‘I really don’t see any connection between this man McAnally and me, none at all. I’ve never met him, never heard of him, and he didn’t live in my ward.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe he held some sort of mad grudge, something linked to his time in prison.’

Rebus walked slowly back to the table and sat down opposite Gillespie. ‘That’s it?’ he said. ‘That’s your explanation?’

‘I don’t have an explanation! I just … give me a cigarette, please.’

Rebus lit the cigarette for him.

Gillespie studied the burning tip, then looked at Rebus. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘I’ve already told you, Councillor, I’ve to prepare a report on a sudden, violent death, and there are