“What?”
“How many times you’ve been here.”
James shrugged with his right shoulder. “Not that many.” Rebus was leading the way to the living room.
“You still haven’t said why you’re here.”
“I thought I had.”
“Not in so many words.”
“I suppose South Queensferry seemed as good a place as any for a walk.”
“You didn’t walk here from Barnton though.”
James shook his head. “I was hopping buses, just for the hell of it. One of them ended up bringing me here. When I saw the lights…”
“You wondered who was here? Who were you expecting to find?”
“Police, I suppose. Who else would be here?” He was studying the room. “Actually, there was one thing…”
“Yes?”
“A book of mine. Lee borrowed it, and I thought I might retrieve it before everything gets… well, before the place is emptied.”
“Good thinking.”
James’s hand went to his injured shoulder. “Bloody thing itches, if you can believe that.”
“I can believe it.”
James smiled suddenly. “I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here… I don’t think I ever caught your name.”
“It’s Rebus. Detective Inspector.”
The young man nodded. “My dad’s mentioned you.”
“Casting me in a flattering light, no doubt.” It was hard to meet the son’s eyes without being tricked into seeing the father peering from behind them.
“I’m afraid he sees incompetence wherever he looks… kith and kin not excluded.”
Rebus had perched on the arm of the sofa, nodding towards the chair, but James Bell seemed happier on his feet. “Did you ever find the gun?” Rebus asked. James seemed puzzled by the question. “The time I visited,” Rebus explained. “You had a gun magazine, looking for the Brocock.”
“Oh, right.” James nodded to himself. “There were photos of it in the papers. My dad’s been keeping all the stories, thinks he can spearhead a campaign.”
“You don’t sound altogether approving.”
James’s eyes hardened. “Maybe that’s because…” He broke off.
“Because what?”
“Because I’ve become useful to him, not for what I am but because of what happened.” His hand went to his shoulder again.
“You can never trust a politician,” Rebus commiserated.
“Lee told me something once. He said, ‘If you outlaw guns, the only people who have access to them are the outlaws.’” James smiled at the memory.
“Seems he was an outlaw all right. Two unlicensed guns at the very least. Did he ever tell you why he felt the need to keep a gun?”
“I just thought he was interested in them… his background and everything.”
“You never got the sense that he was expecting trouble?”
“What sort of trouble?”
“I don’t know,” Rebus conceded.
“You’re saying he had enemies?”
“Ever wonder why he had so many locks on his door?”
James walked to the doorway and looked down the hall. “I put that down to his background, too. Like when he went to the pub, he always sat in the corner, facing the door.”
Rebus had to smile, knowing he did the selfsame thing. “So he could check whoever came in?”
“That’s what he told me.”
“The two of you sound as if you were pretty close.”
“Close enough for him to end up shooting me.” James’s eyes went to his shoulder.
“Ever steal anything from him, James?”
The young man’s brow furrowed. “Why would I do that?”
Rebus just shrugged. “Did you, though?”
“Never.”
“Did Lee ever mention anything going missing? Ever seem agitated to you?”
The young man shook his head. “I don’t really see what you’re getting at.”
“That paranoia of his, I just wondered how far it extended.”
“I didn’t say he was paranoid.”
“The locks, the corner seat in the pub…”
“That just comes of being careful, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maybe.” Rebus paused. “You liked him, didn’t you?”
“Probably more than he liked me.”
Rebus was remembering his last meeting with James Bell, and what Siobhan had said afterwards. “What about Teri Cotter?” he asked.
“What about her?” James had taken a couple of steps back into the room, but seemed still restless.
“We think Herdman and Teri may have been an item.”
“So?”
“Did you know?”
James made to shrug with both shoulders, ended up flinching in pain.
“Forgot your wound for a moment there, eh?” Rebus commented. “I remember you had a computer in your room. Ever visited Teri’s website?”
“Didn’t know she had one.”
Rebus nodded slowly. “Derek Renshaw never mentioned it, then?”
“Derek?”
Rebus was still nodding. “Seems Derek was a bit of a fan. You were often in the common room, same time as him and Tony Jarvies… thought they might’ve talked about it.”
James was shaking his head, looking thoughtful. “Not that I remember,” he said.
“Not to worry, then.” Rebus made to stand up. “This book of yours, can I help you look for it?”
“Book?”
“The one you’re looking for.”
James smiled at his own stupidity. “Yes, sure. That’d be great.” He looked around the cluttered room, walked over to the desk. “Hang on a sec,” he said, “this is it.” He held up the paperback for Rebus to see.
“What’s it about?”
“A soldier who went off the rails.”
“Tried killing his wife, then leapt from an airplane?”
“You know the story?”
Rebus nodded. James flicked through the book, then tapped it against his thigh. “Reckon I’ve got what I came for,” he said.
“Anything else you want to take?” Rebus lifted a CD. “It’ll probably go into a Dumpster, to be honest.”
“Will it?”
“His wife doesn’t seem interested.”
“What a waste…” Rebus held out the CD, but James shook his head. “I couldn’t. It wouldn’t seem right.”
Rebus nodded, remembering his own reticence in front of the fridge.
“I’ll leave you to it, Inspector.” James tucked the book beneath his arm, stretched out his right hand for Rebus to shake. The coat slipped from his shoulder, crumpling to the floor. Rebus stepped around him and picked it up, replacing it.
“Thank you,” James Bell said. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Cheers, James. Good luck to you.”
Rebus waited in the living room, chin resting on one gloved hand as he listened to the front door open and then close. James was a long way from home… drawn by a light shining in a dead man’s house. Rebus still wondered who the young man had expected to find… Muffled footsteps descending the stone stairs. Rebus crossed to the desk and shuffled through the remaining books. They all had a military theme, but Rebus was confident he knew which one the young man had taken.
The same one Siobhan had held up on their first visit to the flat.
The one from which Teri Cotter’s photo had fallen…
DAY SIX. Tuesday
19
Tuesday morning, Rebus left his flat, walked to the foot of Marchmont Road, and proceeded across the Meadows, an area of parkland leading to the university. Students passed him, some of them on creaky bicycles. Others shuffled sleepily towards classes. The day was overcast, the sky’s color mirroring the slate-gray roofs. Rebus was headed for George IV Bridge. By now, he knew the drill at the National Library. The guard would allow you through, but you then had to climb the stairs and persuade the librarian on duty that your need was desperate and no other library would do. Rebus showed his warrant card, explained what he wanted, and was directed towards the microfiche room. That was the way they kept the old papers nowadays: as rolls of microfilm. Years back, working one particular case, Rebus had taken a seat in the reading room, a janitor dutifully unloading a cart of bound broadsheets onto the desk. Now, it was a case of switching on a screen and threading a spool of tape through the machine.
Rebus had no specific dates in mind. He’d decided to go back a full month before the crash on Jura and just let the days roll across his vision, see what was happening back then. By the time he got to the day of the crash, he had a pretty good idea. The story had made the front page of the Scotsman, accompanied by photos of two of the victims: Brigadier General Stuart Phillips and Major Kevin Spark. A day later, Phillips being Scots-born, the paper ran a lengthy obituary, giving Rebus more than he needed to know about the man’s upbringing and professional accomplishments. He checked the notes he’d been scribbling and wound the film to its end, replacing it with a roll from the previous two weeks, eventually spooling back to the date in his notes, the story about the IRA cease-fire in Northern Ireland, and the part being played in ongoing negotiations by Brigadier General Stuart Phillips. Preconditions being discussed, distrustful paramilitaries on both sides, splinter groups to be appeased… Rebus tapped his pen against his teeth until he noticed another user nearby frowning. Rebus mouthed the word “sorry” and cast his eyes over some of the other stories in the paper: earth summits, foreign wars, football reports… The face of Christ found in a pomegranate; a cat that got lost but found its way back to its owners, even though they’d moved in the interim…