Ian Rankin - Resurrection Men

Five minutes later, the three men walked in. Gray had made some attempt to flatten his hair against his skull. Jazz looked wide awake and had dressed with his usual care. Allan Ward, wearing only a baggy T-shirt and gym shorts, was yawning and rubbing his face. He’d slipped sneakers on his feet, but no socks.

“Has Francis filled you in?” Rebus asked as they sat in a row across the table from him.

“Dickie Diamond’s been found dead,” Jazz answered. “And you seem to think Francis had a hand in it.”

“Maybe more of a forearm than a hand. Dickie’s windpipe was crushed. Same sort of maneuver Francis pulled in IR1.”

“When did all this happen?” Jazz asked.

“Pathologist thinks around midnight.”

Jazz looked to Gray. “We were back here by then, weren’t we?”

Gray shrugged.

“You left me around eight,” Rebus said. “Doesn’t take four hours to drive from Haymarket to here.”

“We didn’t come straight back,” Ward explained, still rubbing his face with both hands. “We stopped for something to eat and a few drinks.”

“Where?” Rebus asked coldly.

“John,” Jazz said quietly, “none of us went near Dickie Diamond.”

“Where?” Rebus repeated.

Jazz sighed. “That road out of town . . . the one we were on after we left you. We stopped for a curry. After all, we had things to talk about, didn’t we?” Now all three men looked at Rebus.

“We did,” Gray agreed.

“What was the restaurant called?” Rebus asked.

Jazz tried to laugh. “Give me a break, John . . .”

“And afterwards? Where did you drink?”

“Couple of pubs on that same road,” Ward stated. “Too good an opportunity, with Jazz driving . . .”

“Names?” Rebus said.

“Get stuffed,” Gray said. He leaned back and folded his arms. “We don’t need this paranoia of yours. Is it because you’re in the huff? We’d given you the hump, left you standing there? So now you try pulling this . . . ?”

“Francis has a point, John,” Jazz said.

“If you went trawling Leith for Dickie Diamond, someone will have spotted you,” Rebus pressed on.

Jazz shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “But no one’s going to come forward, because we were never there.”

“We’ll see.”

“Yes,” Jazz said, nodding his head without his eyes ever leaving Rebus’s, “we will. But meantime, any chance we can go get some sleep now? Something tells me tomorrow’s going to be a day and a half . . .”

Ward was already on his feet. “Paranoia,” he said, echoing Gray. Rebus doubted he knew what the word meant.

Gray stood up without saying anything. His eyes burned into Rebus. Jazz was the last to leave.

“I know you did it,” Rebus told him.

Jazz seemed about to say something, but shook his head instead, as if to acknowledge that no words were going to change Rebus’s mind.

“You need to admit it while there’s still time,” Rebus went on.

“Time for what?” Jazz asked, genuinely curious.

“For resurrection,” Rebus answered quietly. But Jazz just winked at him before turning to go.

Rebus sat for a few more minutes before returning to his room, making sure the door was locked behind him. He was aware of the proximity of the three men, three men he’d just accused of murder and accessory to murder. He thought of placing his chair against the door. He thought of heading out to the car park and driving home. In truth, he wasn’t sure they’d killed Dickie; he was only sure that they were capable of it. It all depended how much they knew and how much they suspected — about Rebus’s involvement with Dickie, how it had led to Rico Lomax’s murder and a burning caravan. But he’d wanted the trio shaken, and reckoned he’d succeeded — in spades. He considered who else might have have wanted Dickie dead. There was one name, but thinking of it took him right back to the Rico Lomax case.

The name of Morris Gerald Cafferty . . .

Late down to breakfast, Rebus found the other five members of the Wild Bunch seated at one of the tables. He squeezed in between Stu Sutherland and Tam Barclay.

“What’s this about Dickie Diamond?” Barclay said.

“Got himself throttled last night,” Rebus answered, concentrating on the plate in front of him.

Barclay whistled. “Got to be our shout, hasn’t it?”

“It’s a Leith call,” Rebus told him. “Body was fished out of the docks.”

“But it could tie in to the Lomax case,” Barclay argued. “Which belongs to us. ”

Sutherland was nodding. “Bloody hell, we talked to him only yesterday.”

“Yes, funny coincidence,” Rebus said.

“John thinks one of us did it,” Allan Ward blurted out. Sutherland’s jaw dropped, revealing chewed-up bacon and egg yolk. He turned to Rebus.

“He’s right,” Rebus conceded. “Diamond had the same neck hold put on him that Francis used in the interview room.”

“I’d say you’re leaping to conclusions,” Jazz said.

“Aye,” Barclay added, “the kind of leap Superman used to make in the cartoons.”

“Just think for a minute, John,” Jazz pleaded. “Try to rationalize it . . .”

Rebus sneaked a glance at Gray, who was working away at a crust of toast. “What do you say, Francis?” he asked. Gray stared back at him as he answered.

“I say the pressure’s got to you . . .you’ve stopped thinking straight. Maybe a few extra sessions with wee Andrea are in order.” He reached for his coffee, preparing to wash down the mouthful of toast.

“Man’s got a point, John,” Barclay argued. “Why the hell would any of us want to do away with Dickie Diamond?”

“Because he was holding something back.”

“Such as?” Stu Sutherland asked.

Rebus shook his head slowly.

“If there’s something you know,” Gray intoned, “maybe now’s the time to spit it out.”

Rebus thought of the little confession he’d made to Gray, the hint that he’d not only known Dickie better than he’d admitted but also knew something about Rico Lomax’s demise. Gray’s threat was implicit: keep accusing me, I start talking. But Rebus had considered this, and didn’t think anything Gray could say would do him much harm.

Unless he’d wrenched some confession out of the Diamond Dog . . .

“Morning, sir,” Jazz said suddenly, looking over Rebus’s shoulder. Tennant was standing there. He tapped two fingers against Rebus’s upper arm.

“I hear the situation has changed somewhat, gentlemen. DI Rebus, as you were present at the postmortem examination, perhaps you could fill us in. From what I’ve been told, DI Hogan has yet to apprehend any suspects, and he’s keen for whatever input we can provide.”

“With respect, sir,” Barclay spoke up, “we should be in charge of this one, seeing how it might connect to Lomax.”

“But we’re not an active unit, Barclay.”

“We’ve been doing a pretty good impersonation,” Jazz stated.

“That’s as may be . . .”

“And you’re not saying Leith wouldn’t welcome a few extra pairs of hands?”

“Always supposing they were there to help,” Rebus muttered.

“What’s that?” Tennant asked.

“No point in us being there if an ulterior motive’s involved, sir. Hindering rather than helping.”

“I’m not sure I see what you’re getting at.”

Rebus was aware of three pairs of eyes glowering at him. “I mean, sir, that Dickie Diamond was strangled, and when we brought him in for questioning, DI Gray got a bit carried away and started throttling him.”

“Is this true, DI Gray?”

“DI Rebus is exaggerating, sir.”

“Did you touch the witness?”