“Who?”
“James Bell.”
“So?” Inspecting her black gloss fingernails.
“So I was wondering… that photo of you… do you remember? You palmed it that day we were in the pub on Cockburn Street.”
“It belonged to me.”
“I’m not saying it didn’t. I also seem to recall that as you lifted it, you were telling me how James used to turn up at Lee’s parties.”
“Does he say he didn’t?”
“On the contrary, the two of them seem to have known each other pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”
The three detectives-Claverhouse, Hogan and Ormiston-were coming back into the room. Ormiston was patting Claverhouse’s back, and with it his ego.
“He liked Lee,” Teri was saying, “no doubt about that.”
“But was it mutual?”
Her eyes narrowed. “James Bell… he could have pointed Renshaw and Jarvies out to Lee, couldn’t he?”
“Wouldn’t explain why Lee then shot him, too. Thing is…” Rebus knew he had seconds before the interview was wrenched away from him again. “That photo of you… you said it was taken on Cockburn Street. What I’m wondering is, who took it?”
She seemed to be looking for the purpose behind the question. Claverhouse was standing in front of them, clicking his fingers to let Rebus know it was time to relinquish the chair. Rebus kept his eyes on Teri as he rose slowly to his feet.
“James Bell?” he asked her. “Was that who it was?”
And she nodded, unable to think of any reason not to tell him.
“He came to see you in Cockburn Street?”
“He was taking shots of all of us-a school project…”
“What’s this?” Claverhouse said, bouncing down on to the chair with a grin.
“He was asking me about James Bell,” Teri told Claverhouse matter-of-factly.
“Oh, aye? What about him?”
“Nothing,” she said, sending a wink towards the retreating Rebus. Claverhouse twitched, turned in his seat, but Rebus offered nothing more than a smile and a shrug. When Claverhouse turned away again, Rebus made a downstroke in the air with his forefinger, letting Teri know he owed her one. He knew what Claverhouse would have done with the information: James Bell lends Lee Herdman a book, not realizing there’s a photo of Teri inside, maybe being used as a bookmark… Herdman finds it and feels jealous… It gave him a reason to wound James: not a gross enough infringement to merit killing him, and besides, James was a friend…
As it was, Claverhouse would be wrapping up the inquiry today. Straight to the assistant chief constable’s office to ask for his gold star. The Portakabin at Port Edgar Academy would be emptied, officers returned to their normal duties.
Rebus back under suspension.
And yet none of it really added up. Rebus knew that now. Knew, too, that something was staring him in the face. Then he looked at Teri Cotter, playing with her chain again, and he knew exactly what it was. Porn and drugs weren’t Rotterdam’s only businesses…
Rebus reached Siobhan in her car.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“The A90, heading for South Queensferry. What about you?”
“Sitting at a red light on Queensferry Road.”
“Driving and using your phone? The hands must be healing.”
“Getting there. What’ve you been up to?”
“Fairstone’s girlfriend.”
“Any joy?”
“Of a sort. What about you?”
“Sitting in on an interview with Teri Cotter. Claverhouse thinks he’s found his motive.”
“Oh yes?”
“Herdman was jealous because the two kids were logging on to Teri’s site.”
“And James Bell just happened to get in the way?”
“I’m sure that’s how Claverhouse will see it.”
“So what now?”
“Everything shuts down.”
“And Whiteread and Simms?”
“You’re right. They won’t like it.” He watched the light in front of him turn green.
“Because they’ll go away empty-handed?”
“Yes.” Rebus thought for a moment, holding the phone between jaw and shoulder as he changed up through the gears. Then: “So what’s waiting for you in Queensferry?”
“The barman at the Boatman’s, he’s Fox’s brother.”
“Fox?”
“Fairstone’s girlfriend.”
“Explaining why she was in the bar…”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve talked to her?”
“We exchanged a few pleasantries.”
“Did she say anything about Peacock Johnson, whether his falling-out with Fairstone had anything to do with her?”
“I forgot to ask.”
“You forgot…?”
“Things got a bit fraught. I thought maybe I’d ask her brother instead.”
“You reckon he’d know if she had a thing going with Peacock?”
“Don’t know till I ask.”
“Why don’t we hook up? I was planning a trip to the marina.”
“You want to go there first?”
“Then we can end the day with a well-earned drink.”
“I’ll see you at the boatyard then.”
She ended the call and came off the highway at the last off-ramp before the Forth Road Bridge. Drove down the hill into South Queensferry and turned left on Shore Road. Her phone trilled again.
“Change of plan?” she asked into the mouthpiece.
“Not until we’ve got a plan to change, which is the very reason I’m calling.”
She recognized the voice: Doug Brimson. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else. What can I do for you?”
“I was just wondering if you’re ready to take to the skies again.”
She smiled to herself. “Maybe I am.”
“Great. How about tomorrow?”
She considered for a moment. “I could probably sneak out for an hour.”
“Late afternoon? Just before the sun goes down?”
“Okay.”
“And you’ll take the controls this time?”
“I think I could be persuaded.”
“Great. How does sixteen hundred hours sound?”
“It sounds like four in the afternoon.”
He laughed. “I’ll see you then, Siobhan.”
“Good-bye, Doug.”
She placed the phone back on the passenger seat, staring at the sky through her windshield. Imagined herself flying a plane… Imagined having a panic attack in the middle of it. But she didn’t think she’d panic. Besides, Doug Brimson would be there with her. No need for her to worry.
She parked outside the marina’s cafeteria, went in and reappeared with a Mars bar. She was throwing out the wrapper when Rebus’s Saab arrived. He passed her and stopped at the far end of the car park, fifty yards closer to Herdman’s shed. By the time he’d got out and locked his door, she’d caught up with him.
“So what are we doing here?” she asked, swallowing the last cloying mouthful.
“Apart from ruining our teeth?” he said. “I want one last look at the shed.”
“Why?”
“Just because.”
The doors to the boathouse were closed but not locked. Rebus slid them open. Simms was crouching on the deck of the parked dinghy. He looked up at the interruption. Rebus nodded towards the crowbar in his hand.
“Taking the place apart?” he guessed.
“Never know what you’ll find,” Simms said. “Our record in that department is rather better than yours, after all.”
Hearing the voices, Whiteread had emerged from the office. She was holding a sheaf of papers.
“All getting a bit frantic, isn’t it?” Rebus said, walking towards her. “Claverhouse is getting ready to call it a day, and that’s not what you’d call music to the ears, is it?”
Whiteread managed a thin, cold smile. Rebus wondered what it would take to faze her, thought he had a pretty good idea.
“I assume it was you who put that journalist on to us,” she said. “He wanted to ask about a helicopter crash on Jura. Which got me wondering…”