Ian Rankin - Resurrection Men

Gray was on his feet too. “Fucking hell!” He held a handkerchief to his face, rubbing it dry. His white shirt was stained. He glanced in Fenella’s direction. “We could have her for that, couldn’t we?”

Rebus was thinking back to his own tea incident . . . “If you want to,” he said.

“Jesus, it’s not like I . . .” Gray realized his pager was sounding. He checked it. “Patient’s awake,” he said.

The lifts were at the far end of the building. Both men left the table and started walking, Rebus glad to see the back of his muffin and banana.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t beat us to it,” he said.

Gray was nodding, shaking drips from his shoes.

In fact, there was no sign of Fenella Lomax on the ward. Someone had put some pillows behind Chib Kelly’s head, and he was accepting sips of water from a nurse. Nolan stood up when Rebus and Gray approached.

“Thanks for letting us know,” Gray said. “That’s a favor I owe you.”

Nolan just nodded. He’d noticed the stained shirt, but didn’t ask. Chib Kelly had finished drinking and was resting his head against the pillows, eyes closed.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Kelly?” Rebus asked.

“You’re CID,” the voice croaked. “I can practically smell it off you.”

“That’s because they make us all wear the same deodorant.” Rebus sat down, watching the nurse. She was saying something to Gray about letting the doctor know Kelly was awake. Gray just nodded, but as she moved away he touched Nolan’s arm.

“Go keep her talking, Kenny. Give us a few extra minutes.” He winked. “You might even get a date.”

Nolan seemed happy with the challenge. Kelly had opened one eye. Gray sat down in the guard’s vacated seat.

“We need to get those cuffs off you, Chib. I’ll have a word when he comes back.”

“What do you want?”

“We want to talk about a pub you used to own: the Claymore.”

“I sold it three years ago.”

“Wasn’t it making you any money?” Rebus asked.

“It didn’t fit my portfolio,” Kelly said, closing the eye again. Rebus had thought his voice hoarse from sleep, but it wasn’t. Something had affected it, so that only one side of the mouth was operating a hundred percent.

“They keep telling me a portfolio’s a good thing to have,” Gray said, eyes on Rebus. “Money we make, we may never get the chance to find out.” He winked. Rebus wondered if he was trying to tell him something . . .

“My heart’s bleeding,” Kelly slurred.

“Well, you’re in the right place.”

“Rico Lomax used to drink in the Claymore, didn’t he?” Rebus asked the patient.

Kelly opened both eyes. He didn’t look surprised, just curious. “Rico?”

“We’re doing some housework on his case,” Rebus explained. “Just a few loose ends to tidy up . . .”

Kelly was quiet for a moment. Rebus could see Nolan at the far end of the ward, engaging the nurse in conversation.

“Rico drank in the Claymore,” Kelly acknowledged.

“And as the owner, you’d drink there too sometimes?”

“Sometimes.”

Rebus nodded, even though the patient’s eyes were closing again.

“So you’d have met him?” Gray chipped in.

“I knew him.”

“And Fenella, too?” Rebus added.

Kelly opened his eyes again. “Look, I don’t know what it is you think you’re trying to pull . . .”

“Like we said, it’s housekeeping.”

“And what if I told you to take your feather dusters elsewhere?”

“Well, obviously we’d find that highly amusing,” Rebus said.

“About as amusing as a stroke,” Gray added. Kelly looked at him, eyes narrowing.

“I know you, don’t I?”

“We’ve met once or twice.”

“You’re based out at Govan.” Gray nodded. “With all the other bent cops.” Kelly tried his best to smile with both sides of his face.

“I hope you’re not suggesting that my colleague is less than honest,” Rebus said, angling for details.

“They all are,” Kelly said. Then he looked at Rebus and corrected himself. “ You all are.”

“Were Fenella and you an item before Rico got whacked?” Gray hissed, suddenly tired of the game playing. “That’s all we want to know.”

Kelly considered his answer. “It wasn’t till after. Not that Fenella didn’t spread herself a bit thin back then, but that was because she was with the wrong man.”

“Something she didn’t realize till after Rico was dead?” Rebus asked.

“Doesn’t mean I killed him,” Kelly said confidently.

“Then who did?”

“What do you care? Rico’s just another blip on your clear-up rate.”

Rebus ignored this. “You say Fenella had other men: care to give us some names?”

A doctor was approaching — different one from before. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he was saying.

“Give us something to work with, Chib,” Rebus demanded.

Kelly had his eyes closed. The doctor was bedside now. “If you’ll just leave us for a few minutes,” he was saying.

“You’re welcome to him,” Gray said. “But take my advice, Doc: don’t strain yourself . . .”

They took the lift back down, stepped outside. Rebus lit a cigarette. Gray stared at it greedily.

“Thanks for putting temptation my way.”

“Funny thing about hospitals,” Rebus said. “I always need to smoke afterwards.”

“Give me one.” Gray held out a hand.

“You’ve stopped.”

“Don’t be a bastard all your life.” Gray flicked his hand towards himself, and Rebus relented, offering both a cigarette and the lighter. Gray inhaled, held the smoke in his lungs, then exhaled noisily. His eyes were screwed shut in ecstasy.

“Christ, that’s good,” he said. Then he examined the tip of the cigarette, let it fall from his fingers and crushed it underfoot.

“You might have nipped it and given it back,” Rebus complained.

Gray was studying his watch. “Suppose we could head back,” he said, meaning back to Edinburgh.

“Or. . . ?”

“Or we could take that tour I was promising you. Bugger is, I can’t drink if I’m driving.”

“Then we’ll stick to Irn-Bru,” Rebus said.

“I suppose we could visit the Claymore, see if anyone remembers any names for us.”

Rebus nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Waste of time?” Gray asked.

“Could be.”

Gray smiled. “Why is it I get the feeling you know more about this case than you’re letting on?” Rebus concentrated on finishing his cigarette. “That’s why you were so keen at Tulliallan, wasn’t it? Getting to the files before anyone else?”

Rebus nodded slowly. “You were right about that. I didn’t want my name coming up.”

“Yet you still let it happen? In fact, you made it happen. You could have kept that page of the report hidden . . . destroyed it even.”

“I didn’t want to be in your debt,” Rebus confided.

“So what is it you know about Rico Lomax?”

“That’s between me and my conscience.”

Gray snorted. “Don’t tell me you’ve still got one of those?”

“Dwindling to the size of my pension.” Rebus flipped his cigarette stub down a grating.

“Dickie Diamond’s old girlfriend really did recognize you, didn’t she?”

“I knew Dickie a bit back then.”

“I know what Jazz is thinking.”

“What?”

“He’s wondering if there could be any connection with that attack at the manse.”

Rebus shrugged. “Jazz has an active imagination.” Don’t give too much away, John, his brain was telling him. He had to convince Gray he was dirty without giving the man too much ammo. If he incriminated himself at any turn, it was something they — the trio and the High Hiedyins both — could use against him. But Gray’s mind was working away: Rebus could see it in the very way he was standing, head angled, hands in pockets.