Ian Rankin - Saints of the Shadow Bible

‘Look, I can see what you’re doing — everyone around you seems to be heading a big case, so you want one too. But the Procurator Fiscal’s office will laugh you back to Gayfield Square if you go to them with this. There’s no evidence to back you up.’

‘There are bruises.’

‘I’ve got a few of those myself. Doubt very much I’ll die from them.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Tickety-boo.’

‘And you’re really on your way here?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘So what do you think we do about the floater?’

‘For starters, maybe stop using that word. Then you set up a trawl of missing persons, going back as many years as necessary. He was white-skinned, fair-haired. We know his height and build. An appeal is a good idea — get his description out there.’

‘Right.’

‘Christine Esson’s the expert — she’ll know where to start.’

‘Thanks, John.’

‘Any time, boss.’

‘How long till you get here? Twenty minutes? Half an hour?’

‘Soon as I can — scout’s honour.’

‘But we both know you were never a scout.’

‘You’ve rumbled me,’ Rebus confessed. Then: ‘Forgive me for saying, but you sound a bit cheerier.’

‘News from on high: no plans to scrap Gayfield Square.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘Aye, me too. But doubtless you’ll do something to sour my mood before long.’

‘I dare say.’ Rebus ended the call and gave his stomach another rub. He had one slight detour to make before Gayfield Square. And some big questions that needed answering.

Great King Street was lined with cars, except for a stretch of single yellow line at the end. Rebus parked and placed the POLICE sign on the dashboard. He was close by Drummond Place, with its central splodge of green space, protected by high railings and available only to keyholders. He walked back along the street until he was outside the door he wanted, pressing the buzzer for the flat marked TRAYNOR/BELL.

‘Yes?’

The crackly voice belonged to Forbes McCuskey.

‘It’s DS Rebus. I need a word.’

‘There’s nothing for you here.’

‘Let me in or I swear I’ll kick down the door.’

There was silence. Then a buzzing as the door was unlocked. Rebus pushed it open and managed the stairs fine. The blood was rushing in his ears by the time he reached the top, but he hadn’t had to pause for breath. The door was closed, so he thumped on it. His hand came away stained pink. Looking again, he saw that paint had been thrown at the door, then wiped off. Whoever had cleaned it had tried to be thorough, but the stone floor beneath Rebus’s feet was stained too. The door was eventually opened, Forbes McCuskey standing there.

‘I’m collecting for the UVF,’ Rebus said, holding up his palm.

‘Jessica says this is intimidation. She says I should phone a lawyer.’

‘Want to borrow my mobile?’ Rebus held it out towards the young man. ‘I don’t care what the hell you do, Forbes. And I can appreciate you’re scared.’ He indicated the paint marks on the floor. ‘You’ve had a visitor. I think maybe they went to your home too. Expected to find you rather than your dad.’ He paused. ‘Can I come in?’

‘We don’t want you here.’

‘Maybe not, but I think you need me. How else are you going to be rid of Alice’s Uncle Rory?’

‘Christ. .’

The utterance came from a doorway beyond.

‘Hello there, Alice,’ Rebus said, though he couldn’t see her. ‘You’ve managed to make it up with Forbes and Jessica, then? I suppose you had to — the three of you have to stick together, too much to lose otherwise.’ Then, to Forbes McCuskey: ‘I’ve just been visiting the multi-storey in Livingston. You took Jessica there for a look. I’m guessing it must have been Alice who let it slip, maybe one night after a party — a couple of drinks or a toke too many. Alice’s scary uncle and some car he’d told her about. Something in its boot? A crowbar would be needed if someone wanted to know what it was.’ Rebus paused, his eyes fixed on those of the student. ‘Am I getting warm, son?’

‘Tell him to go away!’ A different voice, louder, almost hysterical: Jessica Traynor.

‘The gang’s all here,’ Rebus said with a smile. ‘Crisis meeting sort of thing? How come Alice can’t just go have a word with Uncle Rory?’

‘It’s too late for that!’ Alice Bell cried out. Rebus tried shuffling into the hall, but McCuskey was determined to block him.

‘Come back when you’ve got a warrant,’ he said, a determined look on his face.

‘Might be too late by then, Forbes. You saw what happened to your dad.’

‘We don’t know what happened!’

‘We can take an educated guess, though,’ Rebus argued. ‘And you three are more educated than me, so I’m guessing you’ve come to a few conclusions.’ He paused again. ‘And they’re scaring the shit out of you even as I stand here. Oh, and by the way, Alice? Nice touch, putting me on the trail of Forbes’s dealer. I’m guessing that was to stop me focusing on the crash, and for a while it actually worked.’

Forbes turned away from Rebus towards Bell. ‘You told him?’

‘I had to!’

Rebus heard the main door downstairs open and close — a neighbour, returning home, their feet sounding like sandpaper against the stone steps.

‘You need me,’ he persisted. The young man’s resolve was crumbling, his whole world in imminent danger of collapse. ‘You need to tell me what happened.’

‘Just go,’ McCuskey said, with something like resignation.

‘Who else is going to be there for you, Forbes?’ Rebus stretched out his arms to reinforce the point.

‘Well there’s always me.’

This time the voice came from behind Rebus. He turned just as Owen Traynor reached the landing. Jessica emerged limping from the flat, brushing Rebus aside and throwing herself into her father’s embrace. He ran his hand down her hair, eyes on Rebus.

‘You can bugger off now,’ he said. ‘I need a quiet word with my daughter and her friends.’

‘You can’t get involved in this,’ Rebus warned him.

‘Involved in what?’ Traynor made show of widening his eyes.

‘This isn’t your fight.’

Traynor, draping an arm around Jessica’s shoulders, began to steer her past Rebus into the flat.

‘We’ll be fine now, thank you, Officer,’ Traynor said. ‘Shut the door, Forbes, there’s a good lad.’

McCuskey had the good grace to look apologetic as he obeyed the Englishman’s command. Rebus shook his head slowly, steadily, until Forbes McCuskey disappeared from view. The click of the Yale lock echoed around the stairwell. He cursed under his breath, then took out a handkerchief and began rubbing the paint from his hand.

Christine Esson was busy at her desk when Rebus reached Gayfield Square.

‘MisPers,’ she informed him when he took a look over her shoulder at her computer screen. ‘Lots and lots of them — so thanks for that.’

‘Don’t blame me if you’re the IT wizard around here.’

‘Judging by the autopsy photos, it’s an archaeologist we need.’

‘Maybe put out a call for tombs that have been raided lately.’ Rebus patted her shoulder before settling himself at his own desk. He had checked the damage to his stomach, studying it with the help of the mirror in the toilets. The bruise was already forming, but he doubted any real harm had been done, other than to his pride. From what he’d seen of the cars in the multi-storey, none had been attacked by a crowbar. Just the one then — the one since removed from the scene. Drugs, he was thinking. They were the obvious answer. Could Forbes McCuskey have lifted them? Spotted on CCTV, the guard waking up and bellowing a warning over one of the loudspeakers. McCuskey and Jessica Traynor getting the hell out of there. But the barrier would have stopped them. And the machine only accepted credit cards. Meaning Rory Bell would have their faces and the licence plate from the CCTV, plus the card details. Easy enough to trace them. Especially if Forbes McCuskey’s card was registered to his parents’ home address. .