Ian Rankin: Saints of the Shadow Bible

‘Mr Traynor,’ Clarke said, ‘we’re police officers. How is Jessica doing?’

His large eyes were dark-ringed from lack of sleep and there was vending-machine coffee on his breath when he exhaled.

‘She’s all right,’ he eventually said. ‘Thank you.’

Rebus wondered if Traynor’s tan had come from a sunbed or a winter holiday. Probably the latter.

‘Are we any clearer on what happened?’ Clarke was being asked.

‘We don’t think another vehicle was involved, if that’s what you mean. Maybe just a case of too much acceleration. .’

‘Jessica never drives fast. She’s always been super-cautious.’

‘It’s a powerful car, sir,’ Rebus qualified.

But Traynor was shaking his head. ‘She wouldn’t have been speeding, so let’s rule that out right now.’

Rebus glanced down at the man’s shoes. Black brogues. Every inch the successful businessman. The accent was English, but not cut-glass. Rebus remembered Jessica’s age from the notes in Clarke’s folder: twenty-one.

‘Your daughter’s a student?’ he surmised. Traynor nodded. ‘At the University of Edinburgh?’ Another nod.

‘What’s her course?’ Clarke added.

‘Art history.’

‘Which year is she?’

‘Second.’ Traynor seemed to be growing impatient. He was watching his daughter through the glass. Her chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. ‘I have to go back in. .’

‘There are a couple of things we need to ask Jessica,’ Clarke told him.

He looked at her. ‘Such as?’

‘Just to make sure we have all the facts.’

‘She’s sleeping.’

‘Maybe you could try waking her up.’

‘She’s sore all over.’

‘What did she tell you about the accident?’

‘She said she was sorry about the Golf.’ Traynor’s attention had shifted to the window again. ‘It was a birthday present. Insurance cost almost as much as the car. .’

‘Did she say anything about the accident itself, sir?’ Traynor shook his head. ‘I really do need to go back in.’

‘Mind if I ask where you’re from, Mr Traynor?’ The question came from Rebus.

‘Wimbledon.’

‘South-west London?’

‘Yes.’

‘And by the time you heard about Jessica, flights to Scotland would have finished for the day — did you take the train?’

‘I have access to a private plane.’

‘So you’ve been awake all night and half of today? Might be you could use some shut-eye yourself.’

‘I managed an hour or two on the chair.’

‘Even so. . Your wife wasn’t able to join you?’

‘We’re divorced. She lives in Florida with someone half her age who calls himself a “personal trainer”.’

‘But you’ve told her about Jessica?’ Clarke checked.

‘Not yet.’

‘Don’t you think she should know?’

‘She walked out on us eight years ago — Jessica doesn’t get so much as a phone call at Christmas.’ The words were tinged with bile. Traynor was exhausted, yes, but in no mood to forgive. He turned towards the two detectives. ‘Is this because I called in a favour?’

‘Sir?’ Clarke’s eyes had narrowed at the question.

‘I happen to know a couple of people in the Met — phoned from the plane to make sure everything up here was kosher. Thing is, as you said yourself, it was the kind of accident that could happen to anyone.’ His tone hardened. ‘So I don’t see what’s to be gained from you talking to her.’

‘We didn’t quite say it could happen to anyone,’ Rebus broke in. ‘Straight stretch of deserted road — has to be a reason why the car decided not to stick to it. The locals out that way like to do a bit of racing once the sun’s gone down. .’

‘I’ve already told you, Jessica was the safest driver imaginable.’

‘Then you’ve got to wonder what was causing her to do the speed she was doing. Was it maybe road rage? Was she trying to get away from someone tailgating her? Questions only she can answer, Mr Traynor.’ Rebus paused. ‘Questions I’d have thought you’d want to have answered too.’

He waited for this to sink in. Traynor ran his hand through his hair again, then gave a long sigh.

‘Give me your number,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll call you when she’s awake.’

‘We were just going to grab something from the café,’ Rebus told him. ‘So if it’s in the next twenty minutes or so, we’ll still be here.’

‘We can bring you a sandwich, if you like,’ Clarke added, her face softening a little.

Traynor shook his head, but took her card when she offered it.

‘Mobile’s on the back,’ she said. ‘Oh, and one more thing — could we take a look at Jessica’s phone?’

‘What?’

‘I’m assuming it’ll be by her bedside somewhere. .’

Traynor was starting to look annoyed again, but turned and went into the room, emerging moments later with the device.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Clarke said, taking it from him and turning to lead Rebus back down the corridor.

Rebus headed outside for a cigarette while Clarke bought the drinks. When he returned, he brought a hacking cough with him.

‘Should I see if they’ve a spare bed in the emphysema ward?’ she asked.

‘I wasn’t lonely out there — hard to know if staff outnumbered patients or vice versa.’ He took a sip from the cardboard cup. ‘I’m going to guess tea.’

She nodded, and they drank in silence for a moment. The café opened on to the hospital’s central concourse. There was a shop across the way, people queuing for sweets and crisps. Further along, another concession specialising in health foods was doing no trade at all.

‘What do you make of him?’ Clarke asked.

‘Who? The David Dickinson lookalike?’

Clarke smiled. ‘Bit more George Clooney than that.’

Rebus shrugged. ‘He wears expensive suits and travels by private jet — I want to marry him, naturally.’

‘Join the queue.’ Her smile widened. ‘You have to say, though — he does love his daughter. Probably head of some big corporation, but drops everything to come north.’

Rebus nodded his agreement and managed another mouthful of tea before pushing the cup away.

‘What you said to him about road rage,’ Clarke went on, ‘was that off the top of your head?’

‘Just trying to think of reasons why a careful driver would be putting the foot down.’

‘It’s an idea. Reckon she lives in the city?’

‘Bound to — maybe even in a flat bought by Mr Pinstripe.’

‘So what was she doing out there in the first place? It’s more or less a road to nowhere.’

‘Something else for us to ask her,’ Rebus agreed. ‘What did her phone offer up?’

‘Unanswered calls and texts.’

‘No sign she was using it while driving?’

Clarke shook her head. ‘On the other hand, if her dad is as sharp as he dresses. .’

‘He might have decided to delete any evidence of her stupidity.’ Rebus nodded slowly.

Clarke’s own phone pinged, alerting her to a message. ‘It’s Page,’ she said, checking the screen. ‘Wants an update.’

‘That won’t take long.’

Another ping.

‘And with perfect timing, Jessica’s awake.’ Clarke started to rise from the table.

‘Taking your tea with you?’ Rebus asked.

‘What do you think?’ came the reply.

The same nurse was just leaving Jessica Traynor’s room as they arrived.

‘Go easy on her,’ she said in an undertone.

‘We’re famous for it,’ Rebus assured her.

The bed was still flat, the patient staring towards the ceiling. She moved her eyes, blinking a few times as she focused on the new arrivals. Her lips were moist, as though she’d just accepted some liquid from the beaker on the nearby tray. Her father was seated again, holding her hand as before.