Let It Bleed

‘Beth, please …’

‘I’ve prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life.’ Rebus looked around the room. The furniture had been positioned with exact precision on the carpet, and the ornaments looked like the distances between them had been calibrated by a professional. Net curtains covered the two small windows. There were photos of young children, but none of anyone aged twelve or over. Hard to imagine a teenager passing her evenings here.

‘Inspector,’ Cameron Kennedy said, ‘I haven’t asked you if you’d like something to drink.’

Rebus guessed that alcohol would not be on the list. ‘No, thanks.’

‘We’ve ginger cordial left from New Year,’ Mrs Kennedy barked.

‘Thanks, but no. The thing is, sir, I’m not here primarily about your daughter. I’d like to talk to you about Tom Gillespie.’

‘Terrible business,’ the Lord Provost said.

‘May the good Lord take his soul unto Him in heaven,’ his wife added.

‘I wonder,’ Rebus said pointedly, ‘if we might have a word in private.’

Kennedy looked to his wife, who didn’t look like moving. Finally, with a sniff, she turned and left. Rebus heard a radio come on through the wall.

‘A terrible business,’ the Lord Provost repeated, sitting down and gesturing for Rebus to do the same.

‘But it didn’t come altogether as a surprise, did it?’

The Lord Provost looked up. ‘Of course it did!’

‘You knew the councillor was playing with fire.’

‘Did I?’

‘There’d already been that one attempt to scare him off,’ Rebus smiled. ‘I know what Gillespie was on to, and I know he approached you with the information, and made frequent progress reports thereafter.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Your little lunchtime meetings, we’ve records of them. He knew you’d be interested. For one thing, you’re the Lord Provost. For another, his findings related directly to Gyle Park West, which is in your ward. I don’t know what Gillespie’s idea was. If I were being charitable, I’d say he was working in the public interest and would eventually have gone public with his findings. But really, I think he was trying to pressure you into helping further his career. It could be that his findings would never have come to light, but somebody couldn’t be sure of that. Somebody tried scaring him, then decided to murder him instead.’

The Lord Provost sprang to his feet. ‘You surely don’t think I killed him?’

‘I’m pretty sure I could convince my colleagues that you’re a prime suspect. You’d have to explain the secret meetings and everything else.’

The Lord Provost’s eyes narrowed, his eyebrows meeting in the middle. ‘What is it you want?’

‘I want you to tell me all about it.’

‘You say you already know.’

‘But I’ve yet to hear anyone say the words.’

The Lord Provost considered, then shook his head.

‘Does that mean,’ Rebus said, ‘that your ward is more important than your own reputation?’

‘I can’t say anything.’

‘Because PanoTech’s involved?’

Kennedy’s face contracted as if he’d been punched. ‘It’s got nothing to do with PanoTech. That company is one of the largest employers in Lothian. We need it, Inspector.’

‘If it has nothing to do with PanoTech, does it still have to do with Robbie Mathieson?’

‘I can’t say anything.’

‘Who’s Dalgety? Why does he scare you so much? Kirstie told me she heard you talking about him with someone. And when you saw she’d written his name on the LABarum plan, you suddenly didn’t want her found.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m saying nothing!’

‘In that case,’ Rebus said, ‘I won’t trouble you any further.’ He stood up. ‘I’m sure you’ve got plenty to keep you busy, such as writing your speech of resignation.’ He walked to the door.

‘Inspector …’ Rebus turned. ‘About Kirstie … as she all right?’

Rebus walked back into the room. ‘Would you like to see her?’ The Lord Provost seemed in two minds. Weakness was there to be exploited. ‘I could bring her here, but it would have to be a trade.’

‘You don’t “trade” with an innocent life!’

‘Not so innocent, sir. I could think up half a dozen charges against your daughter, and between you and me I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t apprehend her and put her in a cell.’

The Lord Provost turned away and walked to the window. ‘You know, Inspector, I’m no virgin, believe me. You want dirty tricks, underhand tactics, there’s a lot you can learn from politics, even at district level … especially at district level.’ Kennedy paused. ‘You say you can bring her here?’

‘I think so.’

‘Then do it.’

‘And we’ll have a little chat, you and me? You’ll tell me what I want to know?’

The Lord Provost turned to face him. ‘I’ll tell you,’ he said, his face ashen.

They shook hands on it, and the Lord Provost saw him to the door. Somewhere behind them in the bungalow, Mrs Kennedy was singing a hymn.

So all Rebus had to do now was persuade Kirstie Kennedy that east or west, home was still the best.

Rebus went to her flat first, but there was no one home. He tried a couple of the drop-in centres, including the one behind Waverley — no joy — then started on the burger bars on Princes Street before driving back to Leith and visiting three pubs where pushers and users were known to meet. Nothing. He took a breather in a bar where he was less likely to get himself stabbed, then went to have a word with the few chilled prostitutes plying their trade near the Inner Harbour. One of them thought she recognised the description, but she could have been lying: it was warmer in his car than outside.

Then Rebus remembered something Kirstie had said, about how Paul’s mum liked her. So he drove to Paul’s parents’ address. Duggan was embarrassed to see him, but his mother, a tiny, kindly woman, invited Rebus in.

‘No night to be yacking on the doorstep.’

It was a tidy little flat just off Abbeyhill. Duggan gave Rebus a warning look as he led him, at his mother’s insistence, into the living room. Duggan’s dad was there, smoking a pipe and reading the paper. He stood up to shake Rebus’s hand. He was small, like his wife. So here was the arch criminal, Paul Duggan, in his lair.

‘Paul’s not in any trouble, I hope,’ the father asked, teeth grinning around the stem of his pipe.

‘Not at all, Mr Duggan, I’m just looking for a friend of Paul’s.’

‘Well, Paul will help if he can, won’t you, Paul?’

‘Aye, sure,’ Paul Duggan mumbled.

‘It’s Kirstie,’ Rebus said.

‘Kirstie?’ Mr Duggan said. ‘That name’s familiar.’

‘Maybe Paul’s brought her back here once or twice, Mr Duggan.’

‘Well, Inspector, he does sometimes bring a girlfriend back — but not for hanky-panky, mind you.’ He winked. ‘We keep an eye on him.’

The two men shared a laugh. Paul Duggan was shrinking almost visibly, bowed over on the sofa, hands between his legs. The years were peeling off him like paper from a damp wall.

‘I haven’t seen her,’ he told Rebus.

‘Since when?’

‘Since the time we took her home.’

‘Any idea where she could be?’

Mr Duggan removed the pipe from his mouth. ‘I’m sure Paul would tell you if he could, Inspector.’

‘Have you tried the flat?’ Paul asked. Rebus nodded.

‘She’s not in your bedroom, is she, Paul?’

Duggan twitched, and his father sat forward in the chair. ‘Now, Inspector,’ he said, trying for another grin. Trying too hard.