Ian Rankin - A Question of Blood

“I never said I didn’t know him.”

“‘We’d met socially’-your exact words, James. I heard them on the tape. You make it sound like you’d bump into him in the pub or the newsagent’s.” Rebus paused. “Except that he’d told you he was ex-SAS, and that’s more than just a casual comment, isn’t it? Maybe you were talking about it at one of his parties.” Another pause. “You used to go to his parties, didn’t you?”

“Some. He was an interesting guy.” James glared at Rebus. “I probably said that on the tape, too. Besides, I told the police all this already, told them how well I knew Lee, and that I went to his parties… even about that time he showed me the gun…”

Rebus’s eyes narrowed. “He showed you?”

“Christ, haven’t you listened to the tapes?”

Rebus couldn’t help but glance towards Siobhan. Tape s, plural… they’d only bothered listening to the one. “Which gun was this?”

“The one he kept in his boathouse.”

“Did you think it was real?” Siobhan asked.

“It looked real.”

“Anyone else there at the time?”

James shook his head.

“You never saw the other one, the pistol?”

“Not until he shot me with it.” The teenager looked down at his injured shoulder.

“You and two others,” Rebus reminded him. “Am I right to say that he didn’t know Anthony Jarvies and Derek Renshaw?”

“Not that I know of.”

“But he left you alive. Are you just lucky, James?”

James’s fingers hovered just above his wound. “I’ve been wondering about that,” he said quietly. “Maybe he recognized me at the last moment…”

Siobhan cleared her throat. “And have you been wondering why he did it in the first place?”

James nodded slowly but didn’t say anything.

“Maybe,” Siobhan continued, “he saw something in you he didn’t see in the others.”

“They were both pretty active in the CCF, could be it had something to do with that,” James offered.

“How do you mean?”

“Well… Lee was in the army half his life… and then they kicked him out.”

“He told you that?” Rebus asked.

James nodded again. “Maybe he had this grudge. I’ve said he didn’t know Renshaw and Jarvies, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t seen them around… maybe in their uniforms. Some kind of… trigger?” He looked up, smiled. “I know-I should leave the hack psychology to the hack psychologists.”

“You’re being very helpful,” Siobhan said, not because she believed it necessarily but because she thought he was looking for some sliver of praise.

“The thing is, James,” Rebus said, “if we could understand why he’d left you alive, we’d maybe know why the others had to die. Do you see?”

James was thoughtful. “Does it really matter, in the end?”

“We think it does.” Rebus straightened up. “Who else did you see at these parties, James?”

“You’re asking for names?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“It wasn’t always the same people.”

“Teri Cotter?” Rebus hinted.

“Yes, she was there sometimes. Always brought a few Goths with her.”

“You’re not a Goth yourself, James?” Siobhan asked.

He gave a short laugh. “Do I look like one?”

She shrugged. “The music you listen to…”

“It’s just rock music, that’s all.”

She lifted the small machine attached to his headphones. “MP3 player,” she commented, sounding impressed. “What about Douglas Brimson, ever see him at the parties?”

“Is he the guy who flies planes?” Siobhan nodded. “I spoke to him one time, yes.” He paused. “Look, these weren’t really ‘parties,’ not like the organized sort. It was just people dropping in, having a drink…”

“Doing drugs?” Rebus asked casually.

“Sometimes, yes,” James admitted.

“Speed? Coke? A bit of E?”

The teenager snorted. “A couple of joints passed round if you were lucky.”

“Nothing harder?”

“No.”

There was a knock at the door. It was Mrs. Bell. She looked at the two visitors as though she’d forgotten all about them. “Oh,” she said, confused for a moment. Then: “I’ve made some sandwiches, James. What would you like to drink?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But it’s lunchtime.”

“Do you want me puking up, Mum?”

“No… of course not.”

“I’ll tell you when I’m hungry.” His voice had hardened: not because he was angry, Rebus thought, but because he was embarrassed. “But I’ll have a mug of coffee, not too much milk in it.”

“Right,” his mother said. Then, to Rebus: “Would you like a…?”

“We’re just on our way, thanks all the same, Mrs. Bell.” She nodded, stood for a moment as though forgetting what she’d been about to do, then turned and left, her feet making no sound on the carpet.

“Your mother’s all right, is she?” Rebus asked.

“Are you blind?” James shifted position. “A lifetime with my dad… it’s no wonder.”

“You don’t get on with your father?”

“Not particularly.”

“You know he’s started a petition?”

James screwed up his face. “Fat lot of good it’ll do.” He was silent for a moment. “Was it Teri Cotter?”

“What?”

“Was she the one who told you I went to Lee’s flat?” The detectives stayed silent. “Wouldn’t put it past her.” He shifted again, as if trying to get comfortable.

“Want me to help you?” Siobhan offered.

James shook his head. “I think I need some more painkillers.” Siobhan found them by the other side of the bed, sitting in their silver strip of foil on a readied chess board. She gave him two tablets, which he washed down with water.

“One more question, James,” Rebus said, “then we’ll leave you to it.”

“What?”

Rebus nodded towards the foil. “Mind if I nick a couple of tabs? I’ve run out…”

Siobhan had half a bottle of flat Irn-Bru in her car. Rebus took a mouthful after each tablet.

“Careful they don’t turn into a habit,” Siobhan said.

“What did you reckon to back there?” Rebus asked, changing the subject.

“He could be on to something. Combined Cadet Force… kids running around in uniforms.”

“He also said Herdman was kicked out of the army. Not true, according to his file.”

“So?”

“So either Herdman lied to him or young James made it up.”

“Active fantasy life?”

“You’d need one in a room like that.”

“It was certainly… tidy.” Siobhan started the engine. “You know what he was saying about Miss Teri?”

“He was right: it was her who told us.”

“Yes, but more than that…”

“What?”

She put the car in gear and started off. “Just the way he spoke… You know that old thing about someone protesting too much?”

“Making out he doesn’t like her because he really likes her?” Siobhan nodded. “Reckon he knows about her little website?”

“I don’t know.” Siobhan finished her three-point turn.

“Should have asked him.”

“What’s this?” Siobhan asked, peering through the windshield. A patrol car, its blue light flashing, was blocking the entrance to the driveway. As Siobhan put the brakes on, the back door of the patrol car opened and a man in a gray suit got out. He was tall, with a shiny bald dome of a head and large, heavy-lidded eyes. He held his hands together in front of him, feet apart.

“Don’t worry,” Rebus told Siobhan. “It’s just my twelve o’clock appointment.”

“What appointment?”

“The one I never got round to making,” Rebus told her, opening his door and stepping out. Then he leaned back in. “With my own personal executioner…”