Ian Rankin - Standing in another's man grave

‘Feel free to mock me, John — don’t imagine for a second that you’re the first.’

‘I’m not mocking you.’

‘You think I’m seeing things that aren’t there.’ She paused. ‘I don’t have time for this. The agency are taping an interview with me in an hour. Everyone needs to be aware, John. Someone out there knows what happened.’

‘I’m on your side, Nina.’

‘I don’t need anyone on my fucking side! I’ve managed this far with a minimum of effort from the likes of you. .’ Her voice had grown shrill. It cracked on the last few words.

‘Nina?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’ She took a deep breath, composing herself. ‘You know I didn’t.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘If you don’t want me to talk to them, just tell me.’

‘DCI Page is about to give a statement. See what he has to say, then make up your own mind, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘You’re still staying in town tonight?’

‘Changed my mind — I’m on the six o’clock train.’ She hesitated. ‘I should have thought before I spoke to that journalist. I hope you’ll still feel able to trust me.’

‘Let’s see.’

‘You promised I’d be first to know, John. I’m assuming you always keep your word.’

‘Say hello to your brother for me.’

‘I hope I’ll see you again sometime, John. Remember to keep in touch.’

He ended the call.

Back in the CID suite, there was no sign of Page or Clarke. Rebus went over to Christine Esson’s desk and asked if she wanted a coffee.

‘Don’t drink the stuff.’

‘Tea?’

She shook her head. ‘Hot water, that’s what I like. You should see the looks I get in cafes.’

So he made himself a coffee and brought her her chosen drink.

‘You’re a cheap date,’ he commented. She seemed to have Twitter up on her screen again.

‘How does it work?’ he asked, drawing over a chair.

So she showed him, and he told her to get the photo from Sally Hazlitt’s phone up there.

‘Twitter, Facebook, YouTube — and anywhere else you can think of.’

‘No problem,’ she said. ‘And the message to go with it. .?’

‘We need to know where it was taken, that’s all.’

‘Anything else?’

Rebus thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Any way I can watch Custard Pie while he does his thing for the great unwashed?’ She looked uncomprehending. ‘Page’s meet-the-press,’ Rebus elucidated.

‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ Esson said.

‘With sound, if at all possible.’

‘Of course.’ She paused, her eyes narrowing. ‘Custard Pie?’

‘Page and Plant,’ Rebus said. Then, seeing the look on her face: ‘Never mind. Just get me that feed, eh?’

Rebus spent the early evening reading more of the book Nina Hazlitt had given him, concentrating on the Scottish chapters, filling his head with stories of cannibals, shape-shifters, witches and monsters. When the buzzer sounded, telling him someone was outside the main door of the tenement, he went to the window. He couldn’t quite make out the figure, but it wasn’t Cafferty. His phone pinged with a text. It was from Clarke.

Going to let me in?

Rebus went into the hall and pressed the button next to the intercom. As he opened his own door, he could hear her pushing at the main door. He went out on to the landing and leaned over the rail.

‘What happened to you after the press conference?’ he called out.

‘Summoned to the Chief Constable’s office. He wanted a briefing of his own.’ She took the two flights of stairs at a canter. He knew she used a gym sometimes, or had done in the past.

‘Still go jogging?’ he asked.

‘Some weekends — nothing too strenuous.’ She looked over his shoulder towards the flat’s interior. ‘Do I wait for an invite, or. .?’

Rebus hesitated for a second, then led her inside. As they reached the living room, he asked her if she wanted a drink.

‘I’m okay,’ she said.

‘Just a social visit, is it?’

She shrugged, seeming distracted. ‘The photo from Annette McKie’s phone is out there now.’

‘Yes,’ Rebus said. ‘Now we wait for someone to pinpoint where it is.’ He paused. ‘There’s something you want to tell me.’

‘While we were at Fettes,’ she eventually explained, ‘Malcolm Fox happened by.’

‘Oh?’

‘As you guessed, he wasn’t exactly thrilled I’d been talking to you.’

‘I’d say he’s the type who’s seldom “thrilled” by anything.’

‘He had a word with James, too, asked why you’d been brought in to the McKie case.’

‘Is he trying to get me thrown off it?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘But at the very least, Page now sees me as a bigger liability than ever?’

‘I did have to fight your corner.’ She had settled on the arm of the sofa, as if planning only a short stay. Rebus’s book was on the floor by his chair and she angled her head to read the cover.

‘ Myth and Magic ?’

‘And old wives’ tales,’ Rebus added. ‘So did you manage to convince your boss?’

‘I think so.’

‘And did that involve using your feminine charms?’

She gave him a cold look.

‘Sorry,’ Rebus apologised. ‘It’s just that he’s a showroom dummy — I know it and you know it.’

‘But he’s not. You’re seeing what you want to see. Has there ever been anyone of a higher rank that you’ve not dismissed out of hand?’

‘Plenty.’ Rebus paused. ‘In the old days.’

‘These aren’t the old days, John. And James is good at what he does. You’ve seen the team he’s put together — do they seem unmotivated?’

‘No,’ Rebus was forced to admit.

‘Is there anything they’re not doing that they should be?’

‘No,’ he repeated.

‘Well then.’

‘Page is one of the good guys, that’s what you’re saying. .’

But her attention had been diverted to the wall above the dining table and the large map of Scotland pinned there, the route of the A9 marked in red highlighter.

‘Meant to take that down,’ Rebus said. Clarke was walking towards the map, looking not at it but at the three large shopping bags sitting on the table.

‘Stuff needs putting away,’ Rebus said casually, but he wasn’t fooling her. She pulled a few sheets of paper from the first bag.

‘You made copies,’ she stated. ‘All those files you brought to the office. .’

‘Not all of them,’ Rebus countered. ‘Just the official reports and statements. I skipped the newspaper cuttings.’

‘Jesus, John.’

‘You’ve seen what the office is like, Siobhan. I lugged all those boxes in there, and they’ve not been opened yet.’

‘You might not have noticed, but we’ve been a bit busy.’

‘You were going to find another room we could use.’

‘And I will , given a bit of time.’ She paused. ‘But that’s not what this is about. You made the copies before you handed the boxes over. You never intended to let them go, not completely.’

‘I get bored, Siobhan. A bit of reading whiles away the hours. .’

She gave him another look. ‘This sort of thing, it’s meat and drink to the Complaints.’

‘Only if they find out about it.’

‘What makes you think they won’t?’

Rebus shrugged. ‘This is the way I’ve always worked, Siobhan — you know that.’

‘It’s also why people you work with tend not to last long. Remember Brian Holmes and Jack Morton?’ She watched as his face darkened. ‘Okay, sorry, that’s a low blow.’

‘Did Fox just happen to drop those names into your wee chat?’

‘He’s out to get you, John. He even came to my flat.’