Ian Rankin - Rather Be the Devil

Two arrived out of nowhere, ignoring Rebus as they flanked the patient, assessing the situation. Words flew between them and Rebus backed away, giving them all the space they might need and more. He felt the presence of someone behind him and turned to find Christine Esson standing there, staring past him with widening eyes.

More staff were approaching the bed. The curtains were being pulled closed around it. The sleeping patients had woken up and were watching. The man with the TV slipped off his headphones and craned his neck.

‘Jesus, John,’ Esson hissed.

‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘You did some thing.’

‘I was talking and he was listening and then...’

A machine on a trolley was being wheeled in. Rebus could see the paddles attached to it. Someone else was bringing a syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid. A nurse was closing the curtains around all the other beds, to put paid to the spectacle. She pointed at Rebus and Esson.

‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave. As in, right now.’

They took a few steps into the corridor just as more staff rushed past. ‘What do I tell Siobhan?’ Esson asked, looking in the direction of the ward.

‘The truth,’ Rebus advised.

‘Mentioning you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘She’ll have my guts for garters, letting you have your five bloody minutes.’

‘Maybe you had to take a toilet break. I saw my chance and crept in.’

Esson stared at him. ‘Is this us concocting a story?’

‘I suppose it is,’ Rebus agreed. ‘How is it sounding so far?’

‘It sounds like you’re saving my guts from becoming garters.’ Esson peered around the corner of the nurses’ station into the ward. ‘Maybe he’ll be all right, eh?’ she said, trying to sound hopeful.

‘I’m sure he will,’ Rebus said, listening as the doctor with the paddles barked the single word ‘ Clear! ’

When news of Kenny Arnott’s death reached the MIT room, there was a numbed silence that lasted fully fifteen seconds until Fox broke it with a question.

‘What now?’

‘We keep going,’ James said.

‘Was the cardiac arrest brought on by the torture?’ Anne Briggs asked.

‘We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.’

‘If it was, we’re talking culpable homicide,’ Siobhan Clarke added. She had been the one who’d broken the news, after stepping out into the hallway to take Christine Esson’s call. She was still standing just inside the doorway, her phone in her hand. One detail she had left out was the presence of John Rebus at the bedside and the absence of anyone from CID.

‘Which makes it imperative,’ James said, ‘that we redouble our efforts. Sean, how are we getting on with those DIY stores and hardware shops?’

‘Biggest ones are all done. Staff are checking their recordings and even till receipts.’

‘That could take a while.’

Glancey nodded. ‘And I’m on to the fourth hardware shop on my list.’

‘Good man,’ James said. ‘Wallace?’

‘Door-to-door is about ready to go.’ The room fell silent so Sharpe could be heard. ‘Took a while to conjure up the bodies. There are a couple left over, and that’ll comprise our search team until I can drum up more help. I’ll be heading out there in about ten minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ James said. ‘How about you, Anne?’

‘Tracking down the victim’s friends and associates just got that bit harder. We could do with a search warrant for home and business premises, see if his computer is any help.’

‘I’ll sort it.’ James turned to Mark Oldfield, who was busy at the kettle. ‘You okay to help out with the doorstepping?’

‘Sure,’ Oldfield said, not quite managing to look enthusiastic.

‘There’ll be a café somewhere on the route,’ Fox teased him.

‘How about you, Malcolm?’ James butted in. ‘Managing to keep busy?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Feel like applying for those search warrants?’ Fox nodded and watched as Alvin James started clapping, his eyes taking in his team. ‘All right then, people, let’s get going. The crime may have changed but the investigation hasn’t.’ He turned towards Clarke. ‘You know the pathologist, don’t you? Find out how soon she can do the autopsy.’

‘Easiest thing is to ask in person. If she’s in the autopsy suite, her phone will be off.’

‘Do that, then.’

Clarke kept her eyes averted from Fox as she made her escape. Striding towards her car, she called Rebus and pressed the phone to her ear.

‘Thought I’d be hearing from you,’ he muttered.

‘What happened?’

‘I was just talking to the man, Siobhan.’

Clarke got into her car and put the phone on speaker while she turned the key in the ignition and fastened her seat belt. ‘Having sneaked past Christine while she was in the loo?’

‘You can’t go blaming her.’

‘I don’t blame her.’ Clarke checked the road was clear and moved off. ‘It’s you I’m furious with.’

‘All I did was tell him we were going after Cafferty big time, with his help or without.’

‘And?’

‘He said he’d kill him if he said anything.’

‘Who’d kill him?’

‘What?’

‘Who’d kill him?’ she repeated. ‘Cafferty?’

‘Well, yes, obviously.’ But Rebus didn’t sound sure. ‘How’s James handling it?’

‘Very competently. He’s got everyone working flat out.’

‘Present company excepted?’

‘I’m on my way to the mortuary.’

‘To chivvy Deb into fast-tracking the autopsy? Reckon there’s a chance we can pin culpable homicide on Big Ger?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. So where are you now?’

‘Five minutes from the Cowgate.’

‘You’re going to see Deborah?’

‘That was the plan — great minds and all that.’

‘John... for us to have even the slimmest hope of nabbing Cafferty, everything has to be done by the book.’

‘No argument here.’

‘You’re not a police officer.’

‘I’m not sure why people think they need to keep reminding me. How long till you arrive?’

‘Ten, twelve minutes.’

‘I’ll be in the car park.’

The phone went dead as Clarke pulled out to overtake a bus.

‘Fourteen minutes,’ Rebus said, making show of checking his watch. Clarke had parked next to his Saab. She could see the regulation black vans but no sign of Deborah Quant’s car.

‘She’s not here,’ Rebus confirmed. ‘I already asked. Teaching a class at the uni. Should be done in an hour or so, though. We could grab a coffee.’

‘Where?’

‘Caffè Nero at Blackwell’s,’ he suggested. Clarke shook her head.

‘I meant what I said — think how you’d feel if we got Cafferty to trial and a technicality scuppered us.’

‘The technicality being me?’ Rebus nodded slowly. ‘You know best, Siobhan. With me, it’s always been about the outcome rather than the process.’

‘Which is why you’ve lost a few along the way.’

‘I can’t just walk away.’

‘Not even for a day?’

Rebus shook his head slowly, trying for a contrite look and failing. Clarke puffed out her cheeks and studied the tarmac, rubbing the sole of one shoe against it.

‘You sure about that coffee?’ he asked.

‘She’s coming here after the lecture?’

‘Almost certainly.’

‘Are we walking to the café?’

‘Have you seen the hill it’s up?’ Rebus responded.

‘My car or yours?’

‘More room in mine.’

She looked towards the Saab. ‘There’s also half a chance it won’t make it to the top.’ Her phone was buzzing. ‘James,’ she told Rebus as she made to answer.