Ian Rankin - Standing in another's man grave

‘It’s a glorious location.’ Rebus had risen to his feet and crossed to the window.

‘It is that.’

‘Are you from here originally?’

‘No. Just always had a soft spot for the place. And how’s Edinburgh these days? Any sign of those trams getting nearer?’

‘They’re still laying the tracks.’

‘Waste of bloody money. Council never seems to have had its wits about it.’

‘I work at SCRU,’ Rebus announced, turning away from the window again.

‘Maybe that’s why I know the name. Peter probably mentioned you.’

‘He probably did,’ Rebus said. ‘I’ve just got off the phone with him. He told me to let you know SCRU’s days are numbered.’

‘That Crown Office unit’s taking over?’ Magrath’s mouth twitched. ‘Doesn’t really surprise me.’

‘Shame to lose it, though.’

Magrath nodded slowly. ‘I always saw it as my legacy. It meant I’d made a difference.’

Clarke had found a tray and was bringing everything through from the kitchen. ‘Didn’t see any biscuits,’ she said.

‘If I get them in, I just eat the lot,’ Magrath explained.

When she glanced in Rebus’s direction, Magrath knew why. ‘Your colleague has broken the news,’ he told her.

They drank the tea in silence for a moment, then Magrath asked how Bliss was keeping.

‘Still breathing,’ Rebus answered.

‘And every one of them sounding like his last, eh?’

Rebus acknowledged the truth of this. ‘Tell me something,’ he said. ‘During your time in charge, how many cases did you manage to close?’

Magrath thought for a moment. ‘Just the two. Made progress on six more, but it never got as far as a prosecution.’ He leaned forward a little. ‘Actually, of those two, one fell into our lap — guy came forward to confess as soon as he heard we’d reopened the inquiry. I think it was a weight off his conscience.’

‘We could do with a few more consciences in the world,’ Clarke stated.

‘That we could, lass.’

‘Is that an old wooden truncheon?’ Rebus asked, gesturing towards the bookshelves.

‘From before your time, I’m sure.’

Rebus had walked over to the shelf in question. ‘Mind if I. .?’ He picked it up and felt its heft. It was nicely weighted, with a leather wrist strap and grooves wide enough for his fingers. ‘We’re barely allowed handcuffs these days,’ he commented.

‘And pepper spray and extendable batons,’ Clarke reminded him.

Rebus waved the truncheon in Magrath’s direction. ‘Ever use it?’

‘Came in handy a few times, I have to admit.’ Magrath leaned back in his chair. ‘You came all this way just to tell me about SCRU?’

‘Actually,’ Clarke said, ‘we were watching the dolphins at Chanonry Point. .’

‘Bliss called me,’ Rebus went on, ‘and explained we were near your place.’

Magrath smiled and nodded to himself. ‘He didn’t want to be the one to break the news.’

Rebus replaced the truncheon on its shelf. There were family photos there, posed groupings in gilt-edged frames. ‘You know Nina Hazlitt, don’t you?’

Magrath seemed to take a second to place the name.

‘Mother of Sally Hazlitt,’ Rebus prompted him. ‘She went missing from Aviemore at the Millennium.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Magrath nodded again. ‘Memory’s not what it was,’ he apologised.

‘She’s been all over the media this past week or so,’ Rebus added. ‘She’s full of praise for you.’

Magrath’s eyes widened. ‘Why would that be?’

‘Because you gave her the benefit of the doubt when no one else would.’

‘I listened to the woman’s story.’

‘And looked into it.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. She heard about a woman vanishing from somewhere near Strathpeffer — convinced herself it might tie into her own daughter’s disappearance.’

‘Others weren’t nearly as helpful, and she hasn’t forgotten it.’

‘I really don’t think I did very much. .’

‘All I’m saying is, don’t be surprised if you’re mentioned in dispatches.’

‘I’d much rather she didn’t say anything.’

‘Mind if I ask why?’

‘Because it’s just one more case that went nowhere.’ Magrath had risen from his armchair, seeming to need the reassurance of the unchanging view from his window. ‘Another in a long line of failures,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else in the room.

‘She may have been right, though,’ Rebus said. ‘About the abductions, I mean.’

‘You have to wonder about the human race sometimes, don’t you?’ Magrath said with a sigh.

They stayed a few more minutes, Rebus listening as Magrath told Clarke about sightings of whales and explaining the difference between dolphins and porpoises. The man seemed at peace in his retirement, with its cottage, sea views and village life — it was just a pity none of it appealed to Rebus.

When they left, Magrath returned to his chair on the porch, giving them a wave before settling with his newspaper once again.

‘Reckon the Land Rover’s his?’ Clarke asked.

‘It’s the right vintage.’

She looked at Rebus. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Not really.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I just think his memory’s fine, that’s all. And judging from the pile of papers by his chair, he keeps up with the news.’

‘So?’

‘So why pretend Nina Hazlitt’s name meant nothing to him?’

On the way back to Inverness, Page sent Clarke a text suggesting dinner.

‘You should take him up on it,’ Rebus suggested. ‘The two of you need to talk.’

‘Can I take you along for moral support?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘I need an early night.’

When they arrived at Northern Constabulary HQ, however, the first person he bumped into was Gavin Arnold.

‘Can’t keep you away, can we?’ Arnold said, shaking Rebus’s hand. Rebus introduced him to Clarke, giving her all the information she needed by explaining that ‘Sergeant Arnold is one of the good guys.’

Arnold responded by asking if they fancied a drink later. Clarke told him she couldn’t, while Rebus said he’d consider it.

‘Well, you know where to find me, eh?’

‘By the dartboard?’ Rebus guessed.

Arnold nodded and explained that, like every other uniform in a fifty-mile radius, he had been drafted in to work on the inquiry, as a result of which the building was bursting at the seams.

‘This should all be happening at Burnett Road,’ he complained. ‘That’s where CID is.’ He waved a hand around him. ‘This is suits and bean-counters.’

‘So why base the inquiry here?’

‘ Because of the suits and bean-counters — means they get to feel important as they walk past the cameras.’

The inquiry room was certainly filled with bodies. Those who had been elsewhere were now gathered to listen to another of Dempsey’s briefings. DNA matches were coming in, and she could now name two of the victims as Amy Mearns and Jemima Salton.

‘The families are on their way here,’ she said, ‘to be told the findings.’ Her voice was hoarse and she paused to take some water from a plastic bottle, clearing her throat afterwards. Her face was pale and exhausted; and somehow, Rebus knew, she had to find strength for these two meetings and the emotions they would bring. ‘Any questions?’ she asked.

‘How long till we have positive IDs on the other victims?’

‘Not long — hopefully tomorrow or the day after.’

‘Cause of death?’

‘That’s still going to be hard to determine. I’ve requested a couple more pathologists from Aberdeen to speed things up.’

‘What steps do we take next?’