Let It Bleed

Rebus’s appointment with the governor of Saughton was in the late afternoon.

The guard-house phoned ahead, then let him through. He was met at the other side of the gate and taken to the governor’s office. There was an ante-room where the secretary sat behind a computer. She was taking a phone call, but nodded for him to take a seat.

‘You see,’ she said into the receiver, ‘control shift asterisk is supposed to clear that, but it’s not doing it.’ She listened, and tucked the receiver between cheek and shoulder so she could work on her keyboard with both hands. ‘No, that’s not working either. Hang on, that’s got it. Thanks, bye.’ She put the phone down and shook her head in exasperation. ‘Sometimes they’re more trouble than they’re worth,’ she confided to Rebus. ‘The governor will be back in a couple of minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ Rebus said. ‘Typewriters are about as high-tech as I can manage.’

‘They keep sending me on courses, but after half an hour I’m completely bamboozled.’

The door Rebus had come through opened suddenly, and the governor came in. Rebus stood up, they shook hands, and the governor led him into the inner sanctum.

‘Sit down, Inspector.’

‘I appreciate you seeing me, sir.’

The governor dismissed this with a wave of his hand. ‘It’s not often a suicide on the outside brings me into the equation, but I’ve had reporters hounding me on this one. McAnally’s death seems to have stirred up a bit of debate. They must be hard up for news.’ He sat back, resting his hands on his stomach. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I’ve got you.’

The governor was a handsome man in his late fifties. He peered at Rebus over metal-framed glasses. He was bulky rather than fat, and his silvering hair was thick and healthy. His suit looked expensive, his shirt laundered, and his unfussy blue tie had a sheen that Rebus took for silk. He saw himself as a ‘man-manager’, and was a public voice in the drive to reform Scotland’s penal system: an end to slopping-out and cell-sharing; brighter, better equipped halls; a strong emphasis on vocational training, education and counselling. Not every sight-impaired Open University student knew that their braille text was probably transcribed by Saughton’s Braille Unit.

It wasn’t all sunny though: Saughton had its drug problems, its share of HIV-positive inmates. But at least it had a full-time medical staff to cope, or to begin to try to cope.

Rebus had never met the governor before, though he’d seen him at functions, and come across him in the media. His name was Jim Flett or, more often, just ‘Big Jim’.

‘Well, you’re right, sir,’ Rebus said, ‘I am here to talk to you about Hugh McAnally.’

‘So I gather.’ Flett tapped a manila file on his desk, the record of Prisoner 1117, C-Hall, HMP Edinburgh, McAnally, Hugh. Jim Flett opened the file. ‘I’ve had a read of this, and I’ve been to talk to some of the warders and McAnally’s fellow inmates.’ He gave Rebus a grin. ‘I think I’m prepared. By the way, something to drink?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. This won’t take long. Why was McAnally released so early?’

‘Not so early. His good behaviour was taken into account, as was his illness.’

‘You knew he was ill?’

‘Inoperable cancer. Normally, the stage of sentence he was at, we’d be readying to transfer him to the TFF hostel.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Training for Freedom. He’d have gone out unsupervised to a work placement. But Mr McAnally was a category C prisoner, and only category D’s qualify for TFF. In any event, he was due parole.’

‘What made him category C?’

Flett shrugged. ‘A bust-up with a warder.’

‘I thought you mentioned good behaviour?’

‘The bust-up was a while back. The man was dying, inspector. We knew we weren’t going to see him in here again.’

‘Did he seem suicidal?’

‘Not as far as I’m aware. I’m just glad he did away with himself on the outside: it makes him your problem rather than mine.’

‘What about aggro? Was he subject to threats or violence?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He was a convicted rapist, his victim legally a child at the time of the offence. I hear the stories, same as everyone else: if you’re a sex offender and you’re not put in a separate wing, you get beaten up, people pish in your tea, you’re an outcast. Can’t exactly be good for the spirit.’

‘Spirit?’ Flett gave a wry smile. ‘Let’s just say I’m not aware of any incidents of that nature. If any occurred, they’d be dealt with.’

‘I don’t suppose the victims lodge complaints that often.’

‘You think you know so much about us, Inspector, maybe you should be sitting this side of the desk?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Look, there’s nothing in his time here that made anyone think he was about to stick a shotgun in his gub.’

Rebus thought for a moment. ‘Did you know him?’

‘No, I didn’t. He’d only been here eleven months.’

‘Where was he before?’

‘Glenochil.’

‘Any problems while he was there?’

‘Not according to the files. Look, Inspector, I know what you’re thinking, what you’re trying to put together. But he didn’t commit harry-carry because of anything that happened to him in here. His cellmate was as shocked as anyone when he heard what happened. McAnally had served two previous sentences; it’s not as if incarceration was new or strange to him.’

Rebus thought again of Willie and Dixie, of what would have happened to them in prison.

‘Surely,’ Flett was saying, ‘it’s much more realistic to say that the illness wore him down and led him to kill himself.’

‘With respect, sir, his previouses weren’t for rape of a minor.’

Flett stared at Rebus, then glanced at his watch, letting him know the score.

‘Just a couple of final questions, sir. How much money did he leave prison with?’

Flett had to check that in the file. ‘There was eight pounds sixty among his effects when he came in.’

‘And other than that?’

‘Other than that, he was entitled to the same benefits as any other ex-prisoner. It seems an odd question to ask.’

‘His flat shows signs of a recent overhaul; I’m wondering where the money came from.’

‘Best ask his wife. Anything else?’

‘Who was his contact on the outside?’

‘You mean his supervising officer?’ Flett looked this up too. ‘Jennifer Benn at Social Services.’ Rebus entered the name in his notebook. ‘Well, if that’s all, inspector …?’ The governor was on his feet. He walked around the desk and smiled towards Rebus, and Rebus suddenly knew the man was hiding something. He’d been edgy during the conversation, as though expecting some awkward question to arise. It hadn’t, and his relief was evident in that smile, in his complete change of attitude.

Rebus tried to think what the question could be. Out in the secretary’s office, while Big Jim was shaking his hand a final time, he was still thinking about it. I’ve let him off the hook, he thought. He reran the meeting in his head as he walked back to his car.

‘Buggered if I know,’ he announced to himself. But as he sat in the idling car, he knew he was going to have to find out.

That evening, he visited one of only two drop-in centres available to ex-cons in Edinburgh. It reminded him most of Fraser Leitch’s establishment, except that here there was a colour TV rather than black and white.