Ian Rankin - A Question of Blood

Rebus had a sudden thought: you never really left the SAS. An indelible mark remained, just beyond your everyday feelings and actions. You came to the realization that there were other worlds, other realities. You’d had experiences beyond the usual. You’d been trained to see life as just another mission, filled with potential booby traps and assassins. Rebus wondered how far he himself had been able to travel from his days in the Paras, and training for the SAS.

Had he been in free fall ever since?

And had Lee Herdman, like the airman of the poem, foreseen his own death?

He crouched down, ran a hand over the ground. Twigs and leaves, springy moss, a covering of native flowers and weeds. Saw in his mind’s eye the helicopter hit the rock face. Malfunction, or pilot error.

Malfunction, pilot error, or something more terrible…

Saw the sky explode as the fuel ignited, rotor blades slowing, buckling. It would drop like a stone, bodies flying from it, concertinaing on impact. The dull thud of flesh hitting solid ground… same noise Andy Callis’s body would have made when it hit the railway line. The explosion sending the contents of the chopper bursting outwards, paper crisped at the edges or reduced to confetti. Secret papers, needing the SAS to recover them. And Lee Herdman busier than most as he plunged deeper and deeper into the woods. He recalled Teri Cotter’s words about Herdman: that was the thing about him… like he had secrets . He thought of the missing computer, the one Herdman had bought for his business. Where was it? Who had it? What secrets might it reveal?

“You okay?” Siobhan’s voice. She was holding the cup, newly replenished. Rebus rose to his feet.

“Fine,” he said.

“I called you.”

“I didn’t hear.” He took the cup from her.

“A touch of the Lee Herdmans?” she said.

“Could be.” He took a slurp of tea.

“Are we going to find anything here?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s enough just to see the place.”

“You think he took something, don’t you?” Her eyes were on his. “You think he took something, and the army wants it back.” No longer a question but a statement. Rebus nodded slowly.

“And this concerns us how?” she asked.

“Maybe because we don’t like them,” Rebus answered. “Or because whatever it is, they haven’t found it yet, which means someone else might. Maybe someone found it last week…”

“And when Herdman found out, he went berserk?”

Rebus shrugged again, handed back the empty cup. “You like Brimson, don’t you?”

She didn’t blink but couldn’t hold his gaze.

“It’s okay,” he said with a smile. She misread his tone, managed a glare.

“Oh, so I have your permission, do I?”

His turn to raise his hands in surrender. “I just meant…” But he didn’t think anything he said would help, so he let the words trail off. “Tea’s too strong, by the way,” he told her, making his way back towards the rock face.

“At least I thought to bring some,” Siobhan muttered, tipping out the dregs.

On the flight back, Rebus sat silently in the backseat, though Siobhan had offered to swap. He kept his face to the window, as if transfixed by the passing views, giving Siobhan and Brimson the chance to talk. Brimson showed her the controls and how to use them, and made her promise to take a flying lesson from him. It was as if they’d forgotten about Lee Herdman, and maybe, Rebus was forced to reflect, they had a point. Most people in South Queensferry, even the families of the victims, just wanted to get on with their lives. What was past was past, and there was no changing it or making things right again. You had to let go sometime…

If you could.

Rebus closed his eyes against the sun’s sudden glare. It bathed his face in warmth and light. He realized he was exhausted, in danger of dropping off to sleep; realized, too, that it didn’t matter. Sleep was fine. But he awoke again minutes later with a start, having dreamed that he was alone in a strange city, clad only in an old-fashioned pair of striped pajamas. Barefoot and with no money on him, seeking out anyone who might help, while all the time trying to look as if he fitted in. Peering through a café window, he’d spotted a man sliding a gun beneath a table, hiding it there on his lap. Rebus knowing he couldn’t go in, not without money. So just standing there, watching with his palms pressed to the glass, trying not to make a fuss…

Blinking his eyes back into focus, he saw that they were over the Firth of Forth again, making their final approach. Brimson was talking.

“I often think about the damage a terrorist could do, even with something as small as a Cessna. You’ve got the dockyard, the ferry, road and rail bridges… airport nearby.”

“They’d be spoiled for choice,” Siobhan agreed.

“I can think of bits of the city I’d rather see leveled,” Rebus commented.

“Ah, you’re with us again, Inspector. I can only apologize that our company wasn’t more sparkling.” Brimson and Siobhan shared a smile, letting Rebus know he hadn’t been too sorely missed.

The landing was smooth, Brimson taxiing towards where Siobhan’s car sat waiting. Climbing out, Rebus shook Brimson’s hand.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” Brimson said.

“It’s me who should be thanking you. Send us the bill for your fuel and your time.”

Brimson just shrugged, turned to squeeze Siobhan’s hand, holding on to it a little longer than necessary. Wagged a finger of his free hand at her.

“Remember, I’ll be expecting you.”

She smiled. “A promise is a promise, Doug. But meantime, I wonder if I can be cheeky…?”

“Go ahead.”

“I just wondered if I could take a peek at the corporate jet, to see how the other half lives.”

He stared at her for a moment, then smiled back. “No problem. It’s in the hangar.” Brimson started to lead the way. “Coming, Inspector?”

“I’ll wait here,” Rebus said. After they’d gone, he managed to get a cigarette lit, sheltering by the side of the Cessna. They reappeared five minutes later, Brimson’s good humor evaporating as he saw the stub of Rebus’s cigarette.

“Strictly forbidden,” he said. “Fire hazard, you understand.”

Rebus gave a shrug of apology, nipped the cigarette and crushed it underfoot. As he followed Siobhan to her car, Brimson was getting into the Land Rover, ready to drive to the gate and unlock it.

“Nice guy,” Rebus said.

“Yes,” Siobhan agreed. “Nice guy.”

“You really think so?”

She looked at him. “Don’t you?”

Rebus shrugged. “I get the feeling he’s a collector.”

“Of what?”

Rebus thought for a moment. “Of interesting specimens… people like Herdman and Niles.”

“He knows the Cotters, too, don’t forget.” Siobhan’s hackles weren’t ready to go down just yet.

“Look, I’m not saying…”

“You’re warning me off him, aren’t you?”

Rebus stayed silent.

“Aren’t you?” she repeated.

“I just don’t want all that corporate jet glamour going to your head.” He paused. “What was it like anyway?”

She glared at him, then relented. “Smallish. Leather seats. They do champagne and hot meals on the flights.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas.”

She gave a twitch of the mouth, asked where he wanted to go, and he told her: Craigmillar police station. The detective there was named Blake. He was a DC, less than a year out of uniform. Rebus didn’t mind that: it meant he’d be keen to prove himself. So Rebus told him what he knew about Andy Callis and the Lost Boys. Blake kept a look of concentration on his face throughout, stopping Rebus from time to time and asking a question, noting everything on a lined legal pad. Siobhan sat in the room with them, arms folded, mostly just staring at the wall ahead. Rebus got the feeling she was thinking of airplane rides…