Ian Rankin - Standing in another's man grave

‘Come up to mine, then. You can have a wash and a clean-up. .’

Rebus led the way, out of breath by the time he reached his landing. His hand was shaking so much it took several attempts to retrieve his door key from his pocket and fit it into the lock. ‘Bathroom’s through there,’ he said. The door closed and he heard the tap being turned. In the kitchen he switched the kettle on before checking the back of his head for a cut that wasn’t there. He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. His ribs were sore when he touched them, and there’d be bruising later. He just hoped he hadn’t cracked one. His shoes had been scraped by contact with the tarmac, but there was no obvious damage to his suit. He placed his hands under the cold tap and felt the immediate sting as he rinsed them clean. He had buttoned his shirt again and tucked it in by the time the kettle boiled. He made two mugs of black coffee and carried them through to the living room. When Hammell arrived, Rebus was seated at the dining table.

‘Sugar?’ he asked. Hammell shook his head and sat down, pretending to study the room so he wouldn’t have to meet Rebus’s eyes. There were nicks and abrasions on his face, but nothing too dramatic.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rebus said. ‘But someone would have asked eventually.’

Hammell nodded slowly. He saw that Rebus had extended a hand across the table. With no great enthusiasm he took it, and the two men shook.

‘My balls are nipping,’ Hammell confessed.

Rebus repeated his apology and the two men started on their drinks. The bottle of Highland Park was over by the armchair, still containing a couple of good measures, but Rebus didn’t offer and Hammell didn’t ask.

‘They can really get DNA from a pube?’ Hammell enquired eventually. Rebus nodded. ‘Well. .’ Hammell cleared his throat. ‘I suppose it could belong to me.’ He waited for Rebus to say something, but Rebus was blowing across the surface of his coffee, no judgement forthcoming. Hammell seemed to relax slightly. ‘Things happen, you know? You’re not always as in control as you think.’

‘Did the two of you manage to keep it under wraps?’

‘Would Gail still be seeing me otherwise?’

Rebus thought fleetingly of Nina and Sally Hazlitt, of families and the secrets they succeeded in keeping from the world. ‘What about Darryl?’

Hammell shook his head. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked. ‘Does this all have to come out?’

‘Not the way you think.’ Rebus considered for a moment. ‘A DNA swab takes seconds. It can be done in private. If there’s a match with the hair, it can be ruled out as evidence and the team can focus their attention elsewhere.’

‘Unless they decide to pin all five on me, of course.’ Hammell’s eyes were on Rebus now. ‘Your pal Cafferty would love that.’

‘Not going to happen,’ Rebus stated.

‘You really think this isn’t going to get out? We both know what cop shops are like.’

‘Was it a long-standing arrangement, you and Annette?’

Hammell glowered at him. ‘Mind your own fucking business.’

‘She wasn’t pregnant, was she?’

‘What?’

‘She felt sick on the bus.’

Hammell shook his head. The landline started ringing, but Rebus ignored it.

‘Could be important,’ Hammell said.

‘It’s a pre-recorded message about a mis-sold payment protection plan that I never had in the first place.’

‘That’s detective work right there,’ Hammell said.

‘They’re the only people who ever bother to call.’

As the ringing stopped, Hammell broke into a grim smile. ‘This is all going to turn to shit,’ he commented, ‘yet somehow I can’t bring myself to loathe your guts.’ He started to get to his feet.

‘I’ll have a word with DI Clarke,’ Rebus told him. ‘Ask her to pass the message to DCS Dempsey direct. The swab can be done somewhere private — doesn’t have to be a police station.’

Hammell studied him. ‘Why would you want to help?’ he asked.

‘I’m a public servant, Mr Hammell, and you — whether I like it or not — are the public.’ Rebus rose from his chair and the two men shook again.

‘I’ll have the beating of you next time, mind,’ Hammell stated.

‘I don’t doubt that,’ Rebus agreed, showing him to the door.

‘You know what police stations are like,’ Siobhan Clarke advised. She was still in Inverness; Rebus was standing next to his car, parked in the police bay outside Gayfield Square, phone pressed to his ear.

‘That’s what Hammell himself said. It’s why you’re the only one I’m telling, and why you should take it straight to Dempsey.’

‘Even so. .’ She sounded sceptical. ‘And it’s not as though we owe Frank Hammell anything.’

‘It’s not just him, though, is it? Haven’t Annette’s family got enough on their plates?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Well then.’ Rebus watched as a traffic warden approached. The man studied the sign on the Saab’s dashboard and kept walking.

‘Thing is, though,’ Clarke was saying, ‘if James finds out I went behind his back. .’

‘No reason why he should.’

‘What’s to stop Dempsey telling him?’

‘You’ll ask her not to. It’s not like she won’t owe you. Think how much of the budget she’d have wasted getting DNA from every bloke up there.’ Rebus listened to her sigh. ‘How’s everything else?’ he asked.

‘Whole community around Edderton’s been questioned. No light-bulb moments to report.’

‘Hints of anyone protecting a nearest and dearest?’

‘Nothing.’

‘And the search?’

‘Hasn’t turned up a damned thing. I get the feeling Dempsey’s going to give James and me our ticket home today.’

‘Best talk to her quick, then — in person rather than on the phone.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing Edinburgh again.’

‘It’s been pining for you, believe me. It’s crying on my shoulder as I speak.’ Rebus arched his face towards the rain. It was only a shower, the sky to the west brightening already.

‘So what are you up to today?’ she asked him.

‘Clearing my desk in your office, quickly followed by the desk in my office.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘Game over, especially if the Complaints have their way.’

‘You’ve done so much on this case, John. Someone needs to tell them that.’

‘I’m sure my fan club’s queuing up with testimonials.’ He paused. ‘So you’ll talk to Dempsey?’

‘She’s bound to ask me how I know.’

‘“Information received”.’

‘She won’t like that.’

‘Not much she can do about it — you’re coming home soon. I’ve ordered balloons and everything.’

‘Come to think of it, I’ve got to brief her anyway — serial killers and their disposal sites.’

‘Did you dig up anything from the trusty internet?’

‘Only that there’s usually a reason — the most basic being that it’s in the vicinity of where they live. Or, to put it another way, their “spatial behaviour” is “empirically modelled”.’

‘I preferred your first answer.’

‘Thought you might.’

When they’d finished speaking, he headed upstairs. The office felt a bit like limbo. With Page and Clarke absent, and the case hijacked by Dempsey and her team, no one really had anything to do. Plenty of hard work; no real sense of achievement.

‘Glad to see you so idle,’ Rebus said, ‘because I need a hand shifting all these boxes. .’

In the end, Esson and Ogilvie helped take everything down to the Saab. Esson asked if the files were heading to Inverness. He told her he didn’t know, and she suggested they be kept at Gayfield Square, just in case.