Ian Rankin - A Question of Blood

Rebus had to smile at the image. Claverhouse as ref, Ormiston and Whiteread his linesmen… “Any other news?” he asked.

“Herdman’s boat, the one with the dope on it, seems that when he purchased it he paid the bulk in cash-dollars, to be precise. The international currency of illegal substances. More than a few trips to Rotterdam this past year, most he tried to keep hidden.”

“Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Claverhouse is wondering if there might be a porn angle, too.”

“The man’s mind is a sewer.”

“He may have a point: plenty of hard core to be found in places like Rotterdam. Thing is, our friend Herdman seems to have been a bit of a lad.”

Rebus’s eyes narrowed. “Defined as…?”

“We took his computer from home, remember?” Rebus remembered: it had already gone by the time he’d made his first visit to Herdman’s flat. “The lab guys at Howdenhall were able to pinpoint sites he’d been using. A lot of them were aimed at peepers.”

“You mean voyeurs?”

“That’s what I mean. Mr. Herdman liked to watch . And how about this: some of the sites are registered in the Netherlands. Herdman paid his dues every month by credit card.”

Rebus was staring out of the window. It had started to rain, a softly angled drizzle. People were lowering their heads, walking faster. “Ever heard of a porn baron paying to watch the stuff, Bobby?”

“First time for everything.”

“It’s a non-starter, trust me…” Rebus paused, eyes narrowing. “You’ve looked at these sites?”

“Duty-bound to study the evidence, John.”

“Describe them.”

“You after a cheap thrill?”

“For those I go to Frank Zappa. Humor me, Bobby.”

“A girl sits on a bed, she’s wearing stockings, suspenders… all that sort of stuff. Then you type in whatever it is you want her to do.”

“Do we know what Herdman liked them to do?”

“Afraid not. Apparently there’s only so much the lab guys can extract.”

“You got a list of the sites, Bobby?” Rebus was forced to listen to a low chuckle on the line. “I’m just hazarding a guess here, but was there one called Miss Teri’s or Dark Entry?”

Silence at the other end, and then: “How did you know?”

“I was a mind-reader in a previous life.”

“I mean it, John: how did you know?”

“See? I knew you were going to ask that.” Rebus decided to put Hogan out of his misery. “Miss Teri is Teri Cotter. She’s a pupil at Port Edgar.”

“And doing porn on the side?”

“Her site’s not porn, Bobby…” Rebus broke off, but too late.

“You’ve seen it?”

“A webcam in her room,” Rebus admitted. “Seems to run twenty-four hours a day.” He winced, realizing again that he’d said too much.

“And how long have you spent watching it, just so you could be sure?”

“I’m not certain it’s got anything to do with -”

Hogan ignored him. “I need to go to Claverhouse with this.”

“No, you don’t.”

“John, if Herdman was obsessed with this girl…”

“If you’re going to interview her, I want to be there.”

“I don’t think you -”

“I gave you this, Bobby!” Rebus looked around, realizing his voice had risen. He was seated at a communal counter beside the window. He caught two young women, office workers on a break, just as they averted their eyes. How long had they been eavesdropping? Rebus lowered his voice. “I need to be there. Promise me that, Bobby.”

Hogan’s voice softened a little. “For what it’s worth, I promise. Doesn’t mean Claverhouse will be so accommodating.”

“Sure you have to go to him with this?”

“What do you mean?”

“The two of us, Bobby, we could talk to her…”

“That’s not how I work, John.” The tone stiffening again.

“I suppose not, Bobby.” Rebus had a thought. “Is Siobhan there?”

“I thought she’d be with you.”

“No matter. You’ll let me know about that interview?”

“Yes.” The word dissolving into a sigh.

“Cheers, Bobby. I owe you.” Rebus ended the call and walked away from what was left of his coffee. Outside, he lit another cigarette. The office girls were in a huddle, cupping hands to their mouths, maybe in case he could lip-read. They tried not to make eye contact with him. He blew smoke at the window and headed back to the library.

Siobhan had got to St. Leonard’s early, done some work in the gym, and then headed to the CID suite. There was a large walk-in closet where old case notes were stored, but when she examined the spines of the brown cardboard document boxes, she realized one was missing. In its place was a slip of paper.

Martin Fairstone. Removed by order. Gill Templer’s signature.

Stood to reason. Fairstone’s death was no accident. A murder investigation was being instigated, linked to an internal inquiry. Templer would have removed the file so it could be passed on to whoever needed it. Siobhan closed the door again and locked it, then went into the corridor and listened at Gill Templer’s door. Nothing but the distant trill of a telephone. She looked up and down the hall. There were bodies in the CID suite: DC Davie Hynds, and “Hi-Ho” Silvers. Hynds was still too new to query anything she might do, but if Silvers spotted her…

She took a deep breath, knocked and waited, then turned the handle and pushed.

The door wasn’t locked. She closed it behind her and tiptoed across her boss’s office. There was nothing on the desk itself, and the drawers weren’t big enough. She stared at the green four-drawer filing cabinet.

“In for a penny,” she told herself, sliding open the top compartment. There was nothing inside. Plenty of paperwork in the other three, but not what she was looking for. She exhaled noisily and took another look around. Who was she kidding? There were no hiding places here. It was as utilitarian a space as was feasible. Once upon a time, Templer had nurtured a couple of plants on the windowsill, but even those had gone, either killed by neglect or thrown away during a sort-out. Templer’s predecessor had lined his desk with framed photos of his extended family, but there was nothing here even to identify the occupant as a woman. Confident that she hadn’t missed anything, Siobhan opened the door, only to find a frowning man standing there.

“The very person I wanted to see,” he said.

“I was just…” Siobhan glanced back into the room as if seeking a believable end to the sentence she’d started.

“DCS Templer’s in a meeting,” the man explained.

“I’d gathered as much,” Siobhan said, regaining control of her voice. She clicked the door shut.

“By the way,” the man was saying, “my name’s -”

“Mullen.” Siobhan straightened her back, bringing her to within a few inches of his height.

“Of course,” Mullen said, displaying the thinnest of smiles. “You were DI Rebus’s driver the day I managed to run him to ground.”

“And now you want to ask me about Martin Fairstone?” Siobhan guessed.

“That’s right.” He paused. “Always supposing you can spare me a few minutes.”

Siobhan shrugged and smiled, as if to say that she could think of nothing more pleasant.

“If you’ll follow me, then,” Mullen said.

As they passed the open door of the CID suite, Siobhan glanced in and saw that Silvers and Hynds were standing side by side. Both were holding their neckties above their heads, necks twisted, as though they were swinging from a noose.

The last they saw of their victim was her raised middle finger as it disappeared from view.

She followed the Complaints officer as he descended the staircase and, just before reaching the reception area, unlocked the door to Interview Room 1.