Ian Rankin - Fleshmarket Close

‘I think you do, and the only reason I can think for you to lie is that you had something to hide. You didn’t want me to know about these people, because then I might have gone looking for them and found out about their sponsors’ fake names and addresses.’ It was Rebus’s turn to hold his hands up. ‘Unless you can think of another reason.’

Traynor slammed both hands against the desktop and rose to his feet, face darkening. ‘You’ve got no right to make these accusations!’

‘Convince me.’

‘I don’t think I need to.’

‘I think you do, Mr Traynor,’ Felix Storey said quietly. ‘Because the allegations are serious, and they’ll have to be investigated, which means my men going through your files, checking and cross-checking. They’ll swarm all over this place. And we’ll be looking at your personal life, too — bank deposits, recent purchases... maybe a new car or expensive holiday. Rest assured, we’ll be thorough.’

Traynor had his head bowed down. When the phone started ringing again, he swept it from his desk, sending a framed photo flying at the same time. The glass smashed, dislodging the photograph: a woman smiling, arm around her young daughter. The door opened, Janet Eylot’s head appearing.

‘Get out!’ Traynor roared.

Eylot squeaked as she retreated.

Silence in the room for a moment, broken eventually by Rebus. ‘One more thing,’ he said quietly. ‘Bullen’s going down, no two ways about it. Reckon he’ll be keeping his mouth shut about anyone else involved? He’ll take down whoever he can. Some of them he might be scared of, but he won’t be scared of you, Traynor. Once we start doing deals with him, I’d say your name’s going to be the first one out of his mouth.’

‘I can’t do this... not now.’ Traynor’s voice was close to breaking. ‘I have all these new arrivals to take care of.’ He looked up at Rebus, appeared to be blinking back tears. ‘These people need me.’

Rebus just shrugged. ‘And afterwards, you’ll speak to us?’

‘I’ll have to think about that.’

‘If you do talk,’ Storey confided, ‘there’s less reason for us to come crawling all over your little domain.’

Traynor gave a twisted smile. ‘My “domain”? The minute you make your allegation public, I’ll lose this place.’

‘Maybe you should have thought of that before.’

Traynor said nothing. He came out from behind his desk, picked up the telephone, putting the receiver back in place. Immediately, it started ringing again. Traynor ignored it, bent down to pick up the photo frame.

‘Will you leave now, please? We’ll talk again later.’

‘But not much later,’ Storey warned him.

‘I need to see to the new arrivals.’

‘Tomorrow morning?’ Storey prompted. ‘We’ll be back first thing.’

Traynor nodded. ‘Check with Janet that there’s nothing in my diary.’

Storey seemed content with this. He stood up, buttoning his jacket. ‘Then we’ll leave you to it. But remember, Mr Traynor — this isn’t going to go away. Best that you speak to us before Bullen does.’ He held out his hand, but Traynor ignored it. Storey opened the door and made his exit, Rebus staying behind an extra moment before joining him. Janet Eylot was flicking through a large desk diary. She found the relevant page.

‘He’s got a meeting at ten fifteen.’

‘Cancel it,’ Storey ordered. ‘What time does he start work?’

‘Around eight thirty.’

‘Book us in for then. We’ll need a couple of hours minimum.’

‘His next meeting’s at noon — should I cancel that, too?’

Storey nodded. Rebus was staring at the closed door. ‘John,’ Storey said, ‘you’ll be with me tomorrow, right?’

‘I thought you were keen to get back to London.’

Storey shrugged. ‘This ties everything into one neat bundle.’

‘Then I’ll be here.’

The guard who’d escorted them from the car park was waiting to show them out. Rebus touched Storey’s arm. ‘Can you wait for me at the car?’

Storey stared at him. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Just someone I want to see... it won’t take a minute.’

‘You’re locking me out,’ Storey stated.

‘Maybe I am. But will you do it anyway?’

Storey took his time deciding, then agreed.

Rebus asked the guard to take him over towards the canteen. It was only when Storey was out of earshot that he refined his request.

‘Actually, I want the family wing,’ he said.

When he got there, he saw what he needed to: Stef Yurgii’s kids, playing with the toys Rebus had bought. They didn’t notice him; too wrapped up in their own worlds, same as any other children. There was no immediate sign of Yurgii’s widow, but Rebus decided he didn’t need to see her. Instead, he nodded to the guard, who led him back towards the courtyard.

Rebus was halfway to the car when he heard the scream. It was coming from inside the main building, getting closer. The door burst open and a woman stumbled out, falling to her knees. It was Janet Eylot, and she was still screaming.

Rebus ran towards her, conscious that Storey was heading that way too.

‘What’s the matter, Janet? What is it?’

‘He’s... he’s...’

But instead of answering, she slumped to the ground and started wailing, pulling her knees up, curving her body to meet them. Lying on her side, arms locked around herself.

‘Oh God,’ she cried. ‘God have mercy...’

They ran inside, down the corridor and into the outer office. The door to Traynor’s room was open, staff members filling the doorway. Rebus and Storey pushed past. A uniformed female guard was kneeling by the body on the floor. There was blood everywhere, soaking into the carpet and into Alan Traynor’s shirt. The guard was pressing the palm of her hand against a wound on Traynor’s left wrist. Another guard, male this time, was working on the slashed right wrist. Traynor was conscious, staring wide-eyed, chest rising and falling. There was more blood smeared across his face.

‘Get a doctor...’

‘An ambulance...’

‘Keep pressing...’

‘Towels...’

‘Bandages...’

‘Just keep the pressure on!’ the female guard yelled to her male colleague.

Keep the pressure on indeed, Rebus thought: wasn’t that exactly what he and Storey had done?

There were shards of glass on Traynor’s shirt. Shards from the cracked photo frame. The shards he’d used to cut open his wrists. Rebus realised that Storey was looking at him. He returned the stare.

You knew, didn’t you? Storey’s look seemed to be saying. You knew it would come to this... and yet you did nothing .

Nothing .

Nothing.

And the look Rebus gave him back, it said nothing at all.

When the ambulance arrived, Rebus was just inside the perimeter fence, finishing a cigarette. As the gates were opened, he stepped out on to the road, walking past the guardhouse and down the slope towards where Caro Quinn was standing, watching the ambulance disappear into the compound.

‘Not another suicide?’ she asked, appalled.

‘An attempt anyway,’ Rebus informed her. ‘But not one of the inmates.’

‘Who then?’

‘Alan Traynor.’

‘What?’ Her whole face seemed to crease itself into the question.

‘Tried slashing his wrists.’

‘Is he all right?’

‘I really don’t know. Good news for you, though.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Next few days, Caro, a lot of shit’s going to start flying. Maybe even enough to see this place shut down.’

‘And you call that good news?’

Rebus frowned. ‘It’s what you’ve been wanting.’

‘Not like this! At the cost of another man’s life!’