“James,” his father said, “the police are here.”
“So I see.” James swiveled his feet back onto the carpet.
“Hello again, James,” Hogan said. “I think you know DI Rebus…”
James nodded.
“Mind if we sit down?” Hogan asked, aiming the question at son rather than father. Not that Hogan was about to wait for permission. He made himself comfortable in an armchair, while Rebus was content to stand by the fireplace. Jack Bell sat down next to his son and placed a hand on James’s knee, which the young man swatted away. James leaned down and picked up a glass of water from the floor, lifted it to his lips and sipped.
“I’d still like to know what’s going on,” Jack Bell said impatiently: a busy man, a man who had better things to do with his time. Rebus’s mobile sounded, and he mouthed an apology as he brought it out of his pocket. Looked at the display and saw who was calling. Apologized again as he stood up and left the room.
“Gill?” he said into the mouthpiece. “How’s Bob coming along?”
“Since you ask, he’s a fund of good stories.”
Rebus looked into the dining room. There was no sign of Kate. “He didn’t know the chip pan was meant to catch fire.”
“Agreed.”
“So what else has he said?”
“He seems to have taken against Rab Fisher, without realizing how much he’s implicating his friend Peacock in the process.”
Rebus’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“The reason Fisher was walking up and down nightclub queues, letting people get a glimpse of the gun he was carrying…”
“Yes?”
“He was trying to sell drugs.”
“Drugs?”
“Working for your friend Johnson.”
“Peacock’s sold some hash in the past, but not enough to merit an assistant.”
“Bob’s not spelling it out, but I think we might be talking crack.”
“Jesus… so who was his source?”
“I’d have thought that was obvious.” She gave a short laugh. “Your other friend, the one with the boats.”
“I don’t think so,” Rebus stated.
“Remind me, wasn’t cocaine found on his boat?”
“All the same…”
“Well, someone else, then.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, it’s a good start, wouldn’t you say?”
“Must be the woman’s touch.”
“He just needs someone to mother him, John. Thanks for the tip.”
“Does this mean I’m out of the woods?”
“It means I need to bring Mullen in, let him hear what we’ve got.”
“But you don’t think I killed Martin Fairstone?”
“Let’s just say I’m wavering.”
“Thanks for backing me up, boss. Let me know if you get anything else, will you?”
“I’ll try. What are you up to? Anything new I should be starting to worry about?”
“Maybe… Watch the sky over Barnton for fireworks.” He cut the call, made sure his phone was switched off, and went back into the room.
“I assure you, we’ll be as quick as we can,” Hogan was saying. Then he looked up at Rebus. “Now I’m going to hand things over to my colleague.” Rebus pretended to take his time over forming his first question, then stared hard at James Bell.
“Why did you do it, James?”
“What?”
Jack Bell shifted forwards. “I think I must protest at your tone…”
“Sorry about that, sir. I get a bit agitated sometimes when someone’s been lying to me. Not just to me, but to everyone: the whole inquiry, his parents, the media… everyone.” James was staring back at him. Rebus folded his arms. “See, James, we’re beginning to piece together what really happened in that classroom, and I’ve got news for you. When you fire a gun, there are traces left on your skin. They can last weeks, last through a dozen washings and scrubbings. On your shirt cuffs, too. Remember, we’ve still got the shirt you were wearing.”
“What the hell are you saying?” Jack Bell snarled, face filling with blood. “Do you expect me to let you walk into my house and accuse an eighteen-year-old boy of…? Is that the way you work in the police force these days?”
“Dad…”
“It’s because of me, isn’t it? You’re trying to get at me through my son. Just because you made a horrific mistake that nearly cost me my job, my marriage…”
“Dad…” James’s voice had risen a fraction.
“Now this terrible tragedy occurs and all you can do is -”
“There’s no vendetta here, sir,” Hogan was protesting.
“Even though the arresting officer in Leith swears he had you dead to rights,” Rebus couldn’t help adding.
“John…,” Hogan warned.
“You see?” Jack Bell’s voice was a tremor of anger. “You see the way it is, and always will be? Because you’re too arrogant to -”
James leapt to his feet. “Will you shut the fuck up? For once in your bloody life, will you just shut the fuck up?”
Silence in the room, even though the words seemed to hang in the air, reverberating. James Bell sat back down again slowly.
“Maybe,” Hogan said quietly, “if we could let James have his say.” Directing his words to the MSP, who seemed stunned, eyes on a son he’d never known existed, someone suddenly revealed to him.
“You can’t talk to me like that.” Looking at James, voice barely audible.
“I thought I just did,” James told his father. Then, eyes focused on Rebus, “Let’s get this over with.”
Rebus moistened his lips. “Right now, James, probably the only thing we can prove is that you were shot at point-blank range-contrary to the story you’ve been sticking to thus far-and that the angle of the shot would suggest that you did it yourself. However, you’ve also admitted knowing of at least one of Lee Herdman’s guns, which is why I think maybe you took the Brocock intending to shoot and kill Anthony Jarvies and Derek Renshaw.”
“They were wankers, the pair of them.”
“And that constitutes a good enough reason?”
“James,” Jack Bell warned, “I don’t want you saying anything to these men.”
His son ignored him. “They had to die.”
Jack Bell’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. James concentrated on the water glass, turning it and turning it.
“Why did they have to die?” Rebus asked quietly.
James shrugged. “I’ve already said.”
“You didn’t like them?” Rebus suggested. “And that’s all there is to it?”
“Plenty of my peers have killed for less. Or haven’t you been watching the news? America, Germany, Yemen… Sometimes it’s enough that you don’t like Mondays.”
“Help me understand, James. I know you had different taste in music…”
“Not just in music: in everything!”
“A different outlook on life?” Hogan suggested.
“Maybe,” Rebus said, “a part of you wanted to impress Teri Cotter, too.”
James glared at him. “Leave her out of this.”
“That’s not easy to do, James. After all, Teri’d told you she was obsessed with death, hadn’t she?” James said nothing. “I think you’d become a bit infatuated with her.”
“How would you know?” the teenager sneered.
“Well, for a start, you made that trip to Cockburn Street to take her picture.”
“I took a lot of photos.”
“But you kept hers in that book you loaned to Lee. You didn’t like it that she’d slept with him, did you? Didn’t like it when Jarvies and Renshaw told you they’d found her website, watching her in her bedroom.” Rebus paused. “How am I doing?”
“You know a lot, Inspector.”
Rebus shook his head. “But there’s so much I don’t know, James. And I’m hoping maybe you’ll fill in the gaps.”
“You don’t have to say anything, James,” his father croaked. “You’re a minor… there are laws to protect you. You’ve suffered a trauma. No court in the land would…” He looked across at the detectives. “Surely he should have a solicitor present?”
“I don’t want one,” James snapped.