Ian Rankin - The Naming of the Dead

“That kid,” he said, pointing at one, “didn’t we see him?”

She nodded. “But not with blood gushing from his head.”

Rebus turned the paper back toward him. “They love it really, you know. Bit of blood always looks good to the media.”

“And makes us look like the villains of the piece?”

“Speaking of which…” He lifted the CD-ROM from his pocket. “A going-away present from Stacey Webster-or Santal, if you prefer.”

Siobhan took it from him, holding it between her fingers as Rebus explained the circumstances. When he’d finished, he took Stacey’s business card from his wallet and tried her number. There was no answer. As he tucked the phone back into his jacket, he could smell the faintest trace of Molly Clark’s perfume. He’d decided Siobhan didn’t need to know about her, wasn’t sure how she would react. He was still thinking it over when Gareth Tench walked in. Tench shook hands with both of them. Rebus thanked him for coming and gestured for him to sit.

“What can I get you?”

Tench shook his head. Rebus could see a car parked outside, the minders standing next to it.

“Good idea that,” he told the councilman, nodding toward the window. “I don’t know why more Marchmont residents don’t use bodyguards.”

Tench just smiled. “Not at work today?” he commented.

“Bit more informal,” Rebus explained. “Can’t have our elected politicians slumming it in cop-shop interview rooms.”

“I appreciate that.” Tench had made himself comfortable, but showed no sign of removing his three-quarter-length coat. “So what can I do for you, Inspector?”

But it was Siobhan who spoke first. “As you know, Mr. Tench, we’re investigating a series of murders. Certain clues were left at a site in Auchterarder.”

Tench’s eyes narrowed. His focus was still on Rebus, but it was clear he’d expected some other conversation-Cafferty, maybe, or Niddrie.

“I don’t see-” he started.

“All three victims,” Siobhan went on, “were listed on a Web site called BeastWatch.” She paused. “You know it, of course.”

“I do?”

“That’s our information.” She unfolded a sheet of paper and showed it to him. “Ozyman…that’s you, isn’t it?”

He thought for a moment before answering. Siobhan folded the sheet and put it back in her pocket. Rebus winked at Tench, conveying a simple message: She’s good.

So don’t try jerking us around…

“It’s me,” Tench finally conceded. “What of it?”

Siobhan shrugged. “Why are you interested in BeastWatch, Mr. Tench?”

“Are you saying I’m a suspect?”

Rebus gave a cold laugh. “That’s a bit of a leap to make, sir.”

Tench glowered at him. “Never know what Cafferty might try and hatch-with a little help from his friends.”

“I think we’re straying from the point,” Siobhan interrupted. “We need to interview anyone who had access to that site, sir. It’s procedure, that’s all.”

“I still don’t know how you got from my screen name to me.”

“You forget, Mr. Tench,” Rebus said blithely, “we’ve got the world’s best intelligence officers here this week. Not much they can’t do.” Tench looked ready to add some remark, but Rebus didn’t give him the chance. “Interesting choice: Ozymandias. Poem by Shelley, right? Some king gets a bit above himself, has this huge statue built. But over time, it crumbles away, sitting there out in the desert.” He paused. “Like I say, interesting choice.”

“Why so?”

Rebus folded his arms. “Well, this king must have had some ego-that’s the point of the poem. No matter how high and mighty you are, nothing lasts. And if you’re a tyrant, your fall’s all the greater.” He leaned forward a little across the table. “Person who chose that name wasn’t stupid…had to know it wasn’t about power as such-”

“-but power’s corrupting influence?” Tench smiled and nodded slowly.

“DI Rebus is a fast learner,” Siobhan added. “Yesterday, he was wondering if you might be Australian.”

Tench’s smile broadened. His eyes remained fixed on Rebus. “We did that poem at school,” he said. “Had this really enthusiastic English teacher. He made us memorize it.” Tench offered a shrug. “I just like the name, Inspector. Don’t read any more into it.” His gaze shifted to Siobhan and back. “Peril of the profession, I suppose-always looking for motive. Tell me, what’s your killer’s motive? Have you considered that?”

“We think he’s a vigilante,” Siobhan stated.

“Picking them off one by one from that Web site?” Tench didn’t look convinced.

“You’ve still yet to tell us,” Rebus said quietly, “your own motive for being so interested in BeastWatch.” He unfolded his arms and laid his palms on the tabletop, on either side of his coffee mug.

“My district’s a dumping ground, Rebus-don’t say you haven’t noticed. Agencies bring us their hard-to-house, the dealers and flotsam, sex offenders, junkies, losers of all descriptions. Sites like BeastWatch give me a chance of fighting back. They mean I can argue my corner when some fresh problem’s about to land on my doorstep.”

“And has it happened?” Siobhan asked.

“We had a guy released three months back, sex maniac…I made sure he steered clear.”

“Making it someone else’s problem,” Siobhan commented.

“Always been the way I’ve worked. Someone like Cafferty comes along, same thinking prevails.”

“Cafferty’s been here a long time,” Rebus pointed out.

“You mean despite your lot, or because of them?” When Rebus didn’t answer, Tench’s smile became a sneer. “No way he’d have lasted as long as he has without some help.” He leaned back and rolled his shoulders. “Are we finished here?”

“How well do you know the Jensens?” Siobhan asked.

“Who?”

“The couple who run the site.”

“Never met them,” Tench stated.

“Really?” Siobhan sounded amazed. “They live right here in Edinburgh.”

“And so do half a million just like them. I try to get about, DS Clarke, but I’m not made of elastic.”

“What are you made of, Councilman?” Rebus asked.

“Anger,” Tench offered, “determination, a thirst for what’s right and just.” He took a deep breath, but then released it noisily. “We could be here all day,” he apologized with another smile. Then, rising to his feet: “Bobby looked heartbroken when you walked out on him, DS Clarke. You want to be careful: passion’s a snarling beast in some men.” He made a little bow as he headed for the door.

“We’ll talk again,” Siobhan warned him. Rebus was watching through the window as one of the minders opened the back door of the car and Tench crammed his oversize frame inside.

“Councilmen often have a well-fed look,” he commented. “You ever notice that?”

Siobhan was rubbing a hand across her forehead. “We could have handled that better.”

“You ducked out of the Final Push?”

“Wasn’t really getting into it.”

“Anything to do with our esteemed councilman?” She shook her head. “‘Destroyer and preserver,’” Rebus muttered to himself.

“What?”

“It’s another line from Shelley.”

“So which of them is Gareth Tench?”

The car was drawing away from the curb. “Maybe both,” Rebus offered. Then he gave a huge yawn. “Any chance today will give us some respite?”

She looked at him. “You could stop for lunch, come and meet my parents.”

“Pariah status has been lifted?” he guessed, raising an eyebrow.

“John…” she warned.

“You don’t want them to yourself?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’ve been a bit greedy.”