Let It Bleed

main door was opened by the councillor himself.

‘Good morning, Mr Gillespie, mind if I have a word?’

‘I’m up to my eyes in it, Inspector.’

From within, Rebus heard a motorised whine, then the sound of a woman sneezing. Gillespie’s arm was across the doorway, blocking any attempt by Rebus to enter. It wasn’t exactly Costa del Sol weather on the doorstep, but the councillor was sweating.

‘I appreciate that, sir,’ Rebus said, ‘but this will only take a minute.’

‘Did you speak to Helena Profitt?’

‘I did, yes. And, by the way, thanks for setting the Joint Police Board on me.’

Gillespie wasn’t about to apologise. ‘I told you I had friends.’

There was a yip from within, like a Pekinese getting a deserved kick up the arse, and then a furious female voice.

‘Tom! Tom!’

Gillespie pretended not to hear.

‘I think you’re wanted indoors,’ Rebus remarked.

‘Look, this really isn’t the time for — ’

‘Tom, for Christ’s sake!’

Gillespie snarled, turned on his heel and sprinted indoors. The front door was closing on Rebus with infinite slowness. He pushed it open and walked into the hall.

‘Bloody thing’s jammed again,’ the woman was saying. ‘Why the hell can’t you do this?’

Then Gillespie, trying to keep his voice low. ‘Just don’t let him in! Go on then!’

A woman stumbled out of the front room like she’d been pushed from behind. She bumped into Rebus and some empty files clattered to the tile floor.

‘Damnation,’ she said. As the door closed behind her, Rebus could see that the bay-windowed room was some kind of office. He glimpsed a desk with a computer, chests of drawers with heaped documents slewed across their tops. He couldn’t see whatever was making the noise, and he couldn’t see Gillespie, but he heard a slap as the councillor either punched or kicked a piece of machinery.

He helped the woman retrieve the files. ‘Nice colours,’ he said.

‘What?’ She tucked some stray hairs back into place behind her ear. She was a tall, heavy-boned woman with a face full of strong features. Her thick dark hair was shoulder-length and parted to one side, a little lacking in life. Her eyes were full of life though; her eyes were blazing. She looked harassed, but was dressed with thoughtful elegance in a pearl-coloured silk blouse and a long skirt of Black Watch tartan.

‘The files,’ Rebus explained. ‘The ones I always seem to buy are blue or grey or green. These are … well, they’re more colourful.’

She looked at him like he was mad: they were only files.

‘A stationer’s on George Street,’ she said.

Rebus nodded, trying not to look like he was memorising the letters on the front of the file he’d been studying. Not that the letters SDA/SE were difficult to remember.

‘Something jammed?’ Rebus asked.

She had been brought up a polite girl, taught manners at home and in school. She couldn’t not answer a question so casually put, a harmless inquiry.

‘The shredder,’ she said.

Rebus nodded, confirming that he too had problems with his paper-shredder. ‘You must be Mrs Gillespie?’

‘That’s right.’

‘He’s got you helping him, eh?’

She tried to laugh. ‘Press-ganged.’

‘I thought Councillor Gillespie had a secretary.’

Her smile vanished. She was thinking up some lie to tell him when the door opened and Gillespie emerged. This time, peering into the room, Rebus saw several cardboard boxes full of long thin strips of paper. Shredded documents.

Gillespie propelled his wife gently but firmly back into the office, closing the door after her. ‘I don’t recall inviting you in, Inspector.’

‘Maybe you’ll want to talk to your friend Councillor Mantoni again.’

Gillespie pulled out a handkerchief. ‘Well, now you’re here, come into the kitchen.’ He wiped the handkerchief across his forehead. ‘I’m parched.’

He led Rebus down the long hall, past a sitting room and dining room. They took a left past the blocked-in staircase and passed through a shorter, darker passage into the kitchen. There was pine everywhere: pine units, pine tongue-and-groove covering every surface except the floor, which boasted boards freshly sanded and varnished. A conservatory had been added to the back, giving views on to the wide rear garden, mature rose bushes and laurel hedge; a small brick patio.

Gillespie busied himself with the kettle.

‘I won’t offer you a cup, Inspector. I know you’ll be keen to be on your way.’

‘I’m not that busy today actually, Mr Gillespie, but I won’t stay for coffee.’ Rebus paused. ‘Thanks for the offer.’

Gillespie opened a cupboard and glowered at the mugs and glasses within. Reflected glare, thought Rebus.

‘So what is it you want?’ Gillespie reached for a mug.

‘Dog shit,’ said Rebus.

Gillespie fumbled the mug but retrieved it. ‘What did you say?’

‘Dog shit, Councillor: on the pavements, the grass … everywhere. It’s a disgrace.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you’re not here in your official capacity?’

‘Did I say I was? No, I’m here as a private individual, a constituent voicing a complaint to his elected representative.’

Gillespie opened a cafetiere and poured ground coffee into it from a packet. By the time he finished he’d regained his composure.

‘Well, Mr Rebus,’ he said, ‘people only usually complain in the summer. That’s when the offending article is at its softest and smelliest. I’ve never received a complaint in the winter.’

‘Then I’m speaking for the silent majority.’

Gillespie managed a smile. ‘What do you really want? If I had a mind, I could construe this visit as harassment.’

After what Rebus had seen, he didn’t really want anything else, but he was enjoying himself, and what were holidays for if you didn’t enjoy yourself?

‘Just what I say,’ he replied.

Gillespie poured boiling water over the coffee grounds. ‘Well, I’m surprised at you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’d have expected you of all people to know that dogs fouling the byways are a matter for the police. It’s down to the police to trace the owners and bring a prosecution.’

‘And the council doesn’t do anything?’

‘On the contrary, we’ve a Dog Warden Section whose job is to educate owners to act responsibly. The wardens also help the police in cases of prosecution. The Warden Section is part of the EHD.’

‘Environmental Health Department?’

‘Precisely. I can give you their number if you like. It’s the least I can do … for a constituent.’

Rebus smiled and shook his head. He put his hands in his pockets and made as if to leave. But he stopped beside the councillor and lowered his voice.

‘How scared are you?’

‘What?’

‘You look to me like you’re shitting snowballs.’