Ian Rankin - Saints of the Shadow Bible

‘That sounds suspiciously like proper detective work.’ Rebus raised his glass in a silent toast. ‘So let me guess — he was phoning Stefan Gilmour?’

But Fox shook his head. ‘It was an Edinburgh number, a landline. Listed in the phone book, so easy for Saunders to track down.’

‘Eamonn Paterson?’

Another shake of the head. ‘George Blantyre.’

‘Dod?’ Rebus’s eyes narrowed.

‘Saunders spoke to him for six and a half minutes.’

Rebus was recalling Stefan Gilmour’s words: That old pistol. . Dod was the one who lifted it. .

‘You’re telling me a man who can’t get out of his own armchair managed to haul himself to a canal path halfway across town?’

‘Seems improbable,’ Fox agreed. ‘But there is another explanation. .’

He let his words drift off, knowing Rebus would see what he meant.

Rebus gnawed at his bottom lip, then arched his neck to stare at the ceiling. No matter how often they painted it, it seemed to retain a nicotine sheen.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said eventually. Then: ‘So why aren’t you there right now?’

‘Thought you might want to tag along.’

‘Siobhan’s idea?’

Fox shook his head. ‘Mine, actually. She needed a bit of persuading.’

‘Why is she staying away?’

‘She’s in a meeting with the bosses, laying it all out for them.’ Fox finished his drink and gestured towards Rebus’s. ‘You going to drain that, or would you rather take a clear head with you?’

Rebus looked at the drink, pushed it away and got to his feet.

They rang the doorbell of the bungalow in Murrayfield and waited. Maggie Blantyre answered. She was dressed in a white T-shirt and baggy grey joggers, almost no make-up on her face.

‘Can we come in?’ Rebus asked, no warmth in his voice.

‘John. .’ She placed a hand to one cheek. ‘If I’d known. .’

‘We need to talk to you, Maggie. This is Inspector Fox.’ Rebus broke off. ‘ Detective Inspector Fox,’ he corrected himself, earning a faint smile of thanks from his colleague.

‘What’s it about?’

‘I think you know.’ Rebus was already brushing past her into the hallway.

‘Don’t you need a warrant or something?’ She was sounding flustered.

‘Want me to fetch one?’

‘I still don’t really see why you’re here.’

But she had relented, ushering Fox inside and closing the door. ‘Dod’s having a bit of a nap in his chair.’

‘It’s you we need to talk to, Maggie.’ Rebus fixed her with a look, and she seemed to sense that he knew. ‘Maybe if we go into the garden.’ Then, to Fox: ‘Can you go sit with Dod?’ He indicated the living room. Fox looked ready to protest, but eventually relented. Rebus led Maggie Blantyre through the pristine kitchen and out on to the patio. He lit a cigarette for himself and offered her one, which she refused.

‘You spoke to Billy Saunders,’ he stated. ‘He called the house. I’m guessing it’s always you that answers. No need to deny it — we have the phone records. He was scared of what Stefan might do to him, wasn’t he? But that wasn’t going to stop him giving evidence against the Saints — anything to save his own skin from another stretch in jail.’ Rebus sucked on the cigarette. His hand was trembling and he wasn’t sure why.

‘So I spoke to the man — what of it?’

‘But you did more than that, Maggie.’ Rebus let the words lie between them. After a moment, Maggie exploded.

‘You and your bloody Saints! They’re all Dod can ever talk about. He lives more in the past now than ever before — maybe because he’s got no future. And here’s this man ready to tell everyone Dod was a killer, and that he’d covered the whole thing up and got away with it.’

‘It wasn’t Dod who killed Phil Kennedy.’

‘But he was there ! And he helped carry the body from the cell and everything.’ She stared across the garden and seemed to see something. ‘Wait here,’ she told Rebus. But he followed her to the shed, watched her open its door and start rummaging in the darkness, between and behind paint pots and unused tools.

‘This where you kept the gun?’ he asked.

‘Dod thought I’d destroyed it. I told him I had. Same as I was supposed to have thrown this out.’ She was handing him something. It was a well-worn copy of Scots Criminal Law , with the distinctive leather cover, faded gold writing and brass screws. Its pages were damp, curled at the corners.

‘The Shadow Bible,’ Rebus said, turning it over in his hand and rubbing at the spot where they had all added a gobbet of saliva, cementing their loyalty to the cause.

‘It’s just a bloody book,’ Maggie said. ‘But it was more than that to Dod. You all meant so much to him, and he was going to spend his last days seeing it all torn apart in front of him.’

‘Did you mean to shoot him?’ Rebus asked quietly.

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes. ‘I did it for all of you — because Dod couldn’t.’

‘You don’t have to tell them that. You can say the gun went off by accident. Maybe your finger slipped, or he tried grabbing it from you. .’

‘More lies, eh, John?’ She turned her head to look at the house. ‘What will he do without me?’

‘Is there someone you can call?’

‘Now, you mean?’

‘You’ll have to come with us, Maggie.’

She thought for a moment. ‘His nephew’s been very good.’

‘Maybe him, then.’

She nodded. ‘My phone’s in the kitchen.’

‘Let’s go in.’ He tried placing an arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged it off. Snatching the book from him, she spat on its cover, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand afterwards. Gently Rebus took the book from her and led her indoors.

While she made the call, he went into the living room. Fox was standing in the middle of the floor. Dod Blantyre was awake, and wanted to know what was going on.

‘Where’s Maggie?’ he demanded of Rebus.

‘She’s on the phone. We need to take her to the station.’

‘No.’ The man was attempting to rise from his chair, head bobbing, legs twitching.

‘Nothing you can do, Dod. Your nephew’s coming to look after you.’

But Blantyre had fallen to his knees. With Fox’s help, Rebus got him back into the chair, just as his wife appeared in the doorway, carrying her coat.

‘Oh God,’ she said, her hand going to her mouth.

‘Don’t leave me, Maggie,’ Blantyre implored. Then, to Rebus: ‘She didn’t do anything.’

‘We still need to talk to her,’ Rebus said gently.

‘You don’t! You don’t!’

‘Give me five minutes with him,’ Maggie said, gripping Rebus’s forearm. ‘Wait in the car and I’ll come out.’ Her eyes were pleading. ‘Just a few minutes.’

Rebus looked towards Fox and nodded, the two men filing out of the room and making for the door. Outside, as they walked down the path, Fox asked if she’d confessed.

‘Pretty much,’ Rebus said. He was carrying the Shadow Bible in one hand. Fox asked if it was what he thought it was. Rebus nodded. Fox unlocked the car and they got in.

‘I’ll text Siobhan,’ he said, taking out his phone. Then, after a pause: ‘This must be hard for you, John. Made me think about what I’d do if a close colleague went too far.’

‘You’d turn them in, wouldn’t you?’

‘Maybe.’ Fox concentrated on the text he was composing. ‘Probably,’ he eventually conceded. ‘But twenty or thirty years ago. .’ He offered a shrug. ‘Different game, as all you old people keep saying.’

‘Bloody hell, Malcolm, you’re not exactly a spring chicken.’

Fox gave a twitch of his mouth and finished the text. ‘So what about you and Mrs Blantyre?’