“Get you anything, Bob?” Rebus asked.
“I’m thinking maybe you should get me my lawyer, Mr. Rebus.”
Rebus stared at him. “That’ll be Peacock’s lawyer, too, will it?”
Bob considered this. “Maybe not just yet,” he said.
“Not just yet,” Rebus agreed, leaving the interview room. He told the officer he could find reception without her help, and entered the comms room, crossing the floor and through an open doorway. Picked up the handset that was lying on the desk.
“Hello?”
“Christ, John, have you gone into purdah or something?” Bobby Hogan sounded not altogether pleased. Rebus was watching the bank of screens in front of him. They showed half a dozen views of St. Leonard’s, exterior and interior, the viewpoints flickering every thirty seconds or so, shifting from one camera to another.
“What can I do for you, Bobby?”
“Forensics has finally come back to us on the shootings.”
“Oh, aye?” Rebus winced. He’d meant to try phoning them again.
“I’m headed down there. Suddenly remembered that I’d have to drive straight past St. Leonard’s.”
“They’ve found something, haven’t they, Bobby?”
“They say they’ve got a bit of a puzzle,” Hogan agreed. Then he broke off. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“Not in so many words. It’s to do with the locus, am I right?” Rebus stared at one of the screens. It showed Detective Chief Superintendent Gill Templer entering the building. She carried a briefcase, with a heavy-looking satchel slung over one shoulder.
“That’s right. A few… anomalies.”
“Good word that: anomalies. Covers a multitude of sins.”
“I just wondered if you fancied coming with me.”
“What does Claverhouse say?”
There was a pause on the line. “Claverhouse doesn’t know,” Hogan said quietly. “The call came direct to me.”
“Why haven’t you told him, Bobby?”
Another pause. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe a certain fellow officer’s pernicious influence?”
“Maybe.”
Rebus smiled. “Pick me up when you’re ready, Bobby. Depending on what Forensics has got to tell us, I might have a few questions for them myself.”
He opened the interview room door, beckoned for Hynds to step into the corridor. “We’ll just be a minute, Bob,” he explained. Closed the door and faced Hynds, arms folded.
“I need to go to Howdenhall. Orders from above.”
“Want him put in the cells till you…?”
But Rebus was already shaking his head. “I want you to keep going. I shouldn’t be too long. If it gets sticky, call me on my mobile.”
“But…”
“Davie”-Rebus laid a hand on Hynds’s shoulder-“you’re doing fine in there. You’ll manage without me.”
“But there needs to be another officer present,” Hynds objected.
Rebus looked at him. “Has Siobhan been coaching you, Davie?” He pursed his lips, thought for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Ask DCS Templer if she’ll sit in with you.”
Both eyebrows shot up, connecting with Hynds’s fringe. “The boss won’t…”
“Yes, she will. Tell her it’s about Fairstone. Believe me, she’ll be only too happy to oblige.”
“She’ll need to be briefed first.”
The hand that had been resting on Hynds’s shoulder now patted it. “You do it.”
“But, sir…”
Rebus shook his head slowly. “This is your chance to show what you can do, Davie. Everything you’ve learned from watching Siobhan.” Rebus removed his hand and bunched it into a fist. “Time to start using it.”
Hynds pulled himself a little more upright as he nodded his agreement.
“Good lad,” Rebus said. He turned to leave but stopped in his tracks. “Oh, and Davie?”
“Yes?”
“Tell DCS Templer she needs to act mumsy.”
“Mumsy?”
Rebus nodded. “Just tell her,” he said, making for the exit.
“Forget the XJK. Anything from Porsche can leave the Jags standing.”
“I think the Jaguar’s a better-looking car, though,” Hogan argued, causing Ray Duff to look up from his work. “More classic.”
“Old-fashioned, you mean?” Duff was sorting out a large number of crime scene photos, spreading them across every available wall surface. The room they were in looked like a disused school laboratory, with four free-standing workbenches at its center. The photos showed the Port Edgar classroom from every conceivable angle, concentrating on the bloodied walls and floor and the positioning of the bodies.
“Call me a traditionalist,” Hogan said, folding his arms in the hope this would put an end to yet another of Ray Duff’s discussions.
“Go on, then: top five British cars.”
“I’m not that much of a buff, Ray.”
“I like my Saab,” Rebus added, responding to Hogan’s scowl with a wink.
Duff made a noise at the back of his throat. “Don’t get me started on the Swedes…”
“Okay, how about we concentrate on Port Edgar instead?” Rebus was thinking of Doug Brimson, another Jag fancier.
Duff was looking around, locating his laptop. He plugged it into an outlet on one of the benches and gestured for the two detectives to join him as he switched it on.
“Just while we’re waiting,” he said, “how’s Siobhan doing?”
“Fine,” Rebus assured him. “That little difficulty of hers…”
“Yes?”
“Resolved.”
“What difficulty?” Hogan asked. Rebus ignored the question.
“She’s having a flying lesson this afternoon.”
“Really?” Duff raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t come cheap.”
“I think it’s a freebie, courtesy of a guy who owns an airfield and a Jag.”
“Brimson?” Hogan guessed. Rebus nodded.
“My offer to her of a ride in my MG pales by comparison,” Duff grumbled.
“You can’t compete with this guy. He’s got one of those corporate jets.”
Duff whistled. “Must be loaded, then. Those can set you back a few mil.”
“Aye, right,” Rebus said dismissively.
“I’m serious,” Duff said. “And that’s secondhand.”
“You mean millions of pounds?” This from Bobby Hogan. Duff nodded. “Business must be good, eh?”
Yes, Rebus was thinking, so good Brimson could afford a day off for a trip to Jura…
“Here we go,” Duff was saying, drawing their attention back to the laptop. “Basically, this has everything I need.” He ran an admiring finger along the edge of the screen. “There’s a simulation we can run… shows the pattern you’d expect to get when a gun is fired from whatever distance, whatever angle to the head or body.” He clicked a few more buttons and Rebus heard the whirr of the laptop’s CD drive. The graphics appeared, a skeletal figure standing sideways to a wall. “See here?” Duff was saying. “Subject is twenty centimeters from the wall, bullet is fired from a distance of two meters… entry and exit and… boom!” They watched as a line seemed to enter the skull, reappearing as a fine speckling. Duff’s finger moved across the touch pad, highlighting the marked area of wall, which then was magnified on-screen.
“Gives us a pretty good picture,” he said with a smile.
“Ray,” Hogan said quietly, “just so you know, DI Rebus here lost a family member in that room.”
Duff’s smile melted away. “I didn’t mean to make light of…”
“Maybe if we could just cut to the chase,” Rebus replied coolly. He didn’t blame Duff: how could he? The man hadn’t known. But anything to speed things up.
Duff plunged his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat and turned towards the photographs.
“We need to look at these now,” he said, eyes on Rebus.
“That’s fine,” Rebus agreed with a nod. “Let’s just get it done, eh?”
The early animation had left Duff’s voice when he spoke now. “First victim was the one nearest the door. That was Anthony Jarvies. Herdman walks in and aims at the person nearest him-stands to reason. From the evidence, the two were just under two meters apart. No real sense of an angle… Herdman was about the same height as his victim, so the bullet takes a lateral path through the skull. Blood spatter pattern is pretty much what we’d expect to find. Then Herdman turns. Second victim is a little farther away, maybe three meters. Herdman may have closed that gap before firing, but probably not by much. This time the bullet angles down through the skull, indicating that Derek Renshaw was maybe trying to duck out of the way.” He looked at his audience. “With me so far?” Rebus and Hogan nodded, and the three men moved along the wall. “Blood stains on the floor are explicable, nothing out of place.” Duff paused.