Ian Rankin - Standing in another's man grave

The car had screeched to a halt. Rebus made no effort to open the door.

‘I’m telling you,’ he ploughed on, ‘the longer you leave this, the more stupid you’re going to look.’

‘Alex,’ Dempsey said, her tone alerting her driver to what was needed. He got out and came round to Rebus’s side of the car, hauling open the door.

‘Bring him in,’ Rebus was saying as Dempsey’s man gripped him by his lapels. He shared a final few seconds of eye contact with her before finding himself on the pavement, the driver slamming the door closed. Rebus bent a little so he could peer in, but Dempsey was facing the other way.

‘Cheers, Alex!’ Rebus called out, giving the driver a little wave. ‘Mind how you go!’ The car signalled and moved off again, easing into the stream of traffic, leaving Rebus standing by the side of a busy arterial road.

Somewhere on the outskirts of Inverness, with no idea how to get back to his Saab.

‘Nicely played yet again, John,’ he muttered to himself, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes.

In the end, it was a thirty-five-minute walk, with just the one fellow pedestrian issuing a set of erroneous directions. .

The lock-up was easy to find — he just went to the pub and asked. The pub was on a sharp bend in the road at the northern end of Rosemarkie, at the top of the lane leading down to the beach and the homes of both Magrath brothers. The lock-up was directly across from it, next to a modern bungalow, a low brick wall separating the two. There was a gravel parking area in front, and that was where Rebus’s Saab ended up. The wooden doors to the garage were held fast by a padlock. There was just the one window, protected on the outside by chicken wire and with what looked like a polythene carrier bag pinned to the inside, blocking prying eyes. Rebus returned to his car and switched the CD player back on. Nothing to do but wait. He had purchased supplies at the pub — two packets of cheese and onion crisps and two small bags of salted peanuts. He still had a half-full bottle of water on the passenger seat. There was very little traffic. As far as he knew, the road led only to Cromarty. He checked the map and saw that it was the A832. With his finger he traced the route back to the A9, and from there all the way south to Perth. Then back up again, this time staying on the A9 until the Dornoch Firth, heading inland towards Tongue. His finger rested there as he remembered the view from Samantha’s house, and the interior visible through the living room window, giving him hints and clues to her life. Durness and Laxford and Colaboll and Lairg, then Edderton. Rebus pressed the palm of his hand against the Saab’s steering wheel.

‘A lot of ground we’ve covered, old-timer,’ he told the car.

When the CD ended, he tried the radio, but the signal came and went, leaving the choice of ceilidh music or nothing. So he swapped John Martyn for some early Wishbone Ash and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.

When he woke up, it was to absolute silence. His neck was stiff as he angled his head towards his watch. He couldn’t read the dial, so he switched on his phone instead. Two in the morning. The pub was in darkness. He took a slug of water and got out, walking over to the lock-up and relieving himself against its side wall. Back in the Saab, he checked his phone for messages, but there weren’t any. He rubbed some feeling back into his arms and legs. The temperature was not going to drop as far as zero tonight: too much cloud cover. He stared at the padlock on the door in front of him for a while, then felt his vision blurring and closed his eyes again.

A fist on the near-side window woke him. It was growing light outside and he turned his head to see Kenny Magrath’s face inches from him. Magrath was opening the door of the Saab.

‘What the hell do you think you’re up to?’ the man snarled.

‘Stopping you moving anything.’

‘Moving what?’

‘Evidence.’

‘You’re off your damned head.’

‘Seven in the morning — what else would you be doing here?’

‘Picking up what I need,’ Magrath explained. ‘Got a forty-minute drive ahead of me.’ He stared at Rebus for a moment longer, then shook his head slowly and walked over to the padlock, digging in his pocket for the key. ‘Take a look,’ he called out. ‘I won’t even ask for a search warrant, with you not being a cop and all.’ The door was flung open; Magrath disappeared inside and switched on the light. Rebus got out of the car, stretching his spine while checking to left and right. Nobody else about. Not a single living soul. He walked to the doorway and stopped there. One wall consisted of home-made shelves filled with plastic tubs containing electrical parts: sockets, switches, fuses, junction boxes. A workbench stretched the length of the wall opposite, the one with the window above it. Either side of this window, tools hung from nails and hooks. There were broken appliances spread out on the bench, their components neatly arranged in what Rebus guessed was the order of dismantling. Magrath was stuffing packets of screws, washers and rawl plugs into his jacket.

‘Getting a good butcher’s?’ he asked. ‘Open the drawers if you like. And there are cardboard boxes and biscuit tins under the bench — you won’t want to miss those.’

‘Look at me,’ Rebus said quietly. Magrath turned his head towards him. ‘Have you heard the story of Dennis Nilsen?’

‘Should I have?’

‘They found human remains in the drains on his street. Moment he answered his door to CID, the detective knew.’ Rebus paused. ‘That was in London, but when I saw you yesterday, the same thing happened. I know , Kenny. I saw it in your eyes. Bear that in mind.’ He paused again. ‘So if you’re going to use that screwdriver, this might be your only chance. .’

Magrath looked down at his hand, and the tool clenched in it. He placed it back on the surface of the bench, taking his time.

‘I can see you’re methodical,’ Rebus went on, eyes sweeping the garage. ‘You’re neat and you’re careful. Explains why you’ve stayed off the radar all these years — that and having a brother who’s tried his damnedest to keep an eye on you. But you’re on the radar now, Kenny. Dead centre and with nothing else near you on the screen.’

‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘You’re thinking about them right now — especially Annette McKie. She’s freshest in your mind. You’re feeling your fingers around her throat.’

‘You’re mad.’ Magrath looked around him, as if wondering if he’d forgotten anything. He pressed a hand to each of his bulging pockets, then moved towards Rebus. Rebus stepped back, so that Magrath could switch the light off and lock the door again.

‘Did you tell Gregor, or did he somehow work it out? Maybe back when you were kids he saw the warning signs.’

‘What signs?’

‘Pulling the legs off frogs maybe; tying fireworks to the tails of cats and dogs. .’

Magrath shook his head. ‘That’s not me — go ask him.’

‘Maybe I will. It’s about time he got this off his conscience. Same with your wife.’

‘You leave Maggie out of this!’

‘Bit late for that.’

‘So help me I’ll. .’ Magrath was just about keeping his rage in check. When he took a deep breath and exhaled, it sounded like a growl. Rebus stood his ground, awaiting the man’s next move. Magrath seemed to consider his options, and ended up turning away, striding towards his parked van.

‘Where are you going, Kenny?’

No answer.

‘You were in Pitlochry, weren’t you?’

Magrath was getting into the van, avoiding eye contact. Rebus walked towards him slowly. The key was turned in the ignition; Magrath commenced a three-point turn. A minibus coming around the corner from the direction of Cromarty had to brake hard to avoid crashing into him. There were a handful of schoolkids in the back. The driver sounded his horn, but Magrath ignored him, the van roaring off in the direction of Fortrose. Rebus lit a breakfast cigarette and decided he’d done what he could. Two minutes later he was parking outside Gregor Magrath’s cottage. The wind had dropped and there were the usual dog-walkers on the beach. Rebus caught a glimpse of something out to sea that could have been a dolphin or a seal. He thumped on Magrath’s door and waited. Magrath came out to the porch and studied Rebus through the window.