‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you’ve been taking a great interest in the Johnny Bible case, haven’t you?’
‘I’ve been involved tangentially, sir.’
‘Oh, tangentially?’ Grogan came back into view, showing yellow teeth that looked like they’d been filed short. ‘Well, that’s one way of putting it. DS Lumsden says you seemed very interested in the Aberdeen side of the case, kept asking him questions.’
‘With respect, that’s DS Lumsden’s interpretation.’
‘And what’s yours?’ Leaning over the desk, fists resting on it. Getting in close. Objective: cow the suspect, show him who’s boss.
‘Mind if I smoke?’
‘Answer the question!’
‘Stop treating me like a fucking suspect!’
Rebus regretted the outburst immediately — sign of weakness, sign he was rattled. In army training, he’d survived days on end of interrogation techniques. Yes, but back then his head had been emptier; there’d been less to feel guilty about.
‘But, Inspector,’ Grogan sounding hurt by the flare-up, ‘that’s precisely what you are.’
Rebus grabbed at the edge of the table, feeling its rough metal edge. He tried to stand, but his legs failed him. He probably looked like he was crapping himself, forced his hands to release the table.
‘Yesterday evening,’ Grogan said coolly, ‘a woman’s body was found in a crate on the dockside. Pathologist reckons she was killed some time the previous night. Strangled. Raped. One of her shoes is missing.’
Rebus was shaking his head. Sweet Jesus, he was thinking, not another one.
‘There’s no sign that she fought back, no skin beneath the fingernails, but she could have lashed out with her fists. She had the look of a strong woman, tenacious.’
Involuntarily, Rebus touched the bruise on his temple.
‘You were down near the docks, Inspector, and in a foul mood according to DS Lumsden.’
Rebus was on his feet. ‘He’s trying to stitch me up!’ Attack, they said, was the best form of defence. Not necessarily true, but if Lumsden wanted to play dirty, Rebus would give as good as he got.
‘Sit down, Inspector.’
‘He’s trying to protect his fucking clients! How much do you take a week, Lumsden? How much do they slip you?’
‘I said sit down!’
‘Sod you,’ said Rebus. It was like a boil had burst; he couldn’t halt the outpour. ‘You’re trying to tell me I’m Johnny Bible! I’m nearer Bible John’s age, for Christ’s sake.’
‘You were at the docks around the time she was murdered. You arrived back at your hotel cut and bruised, your clothes a mess.’
‘This is bullshit! I don’t have to listen to this!’
‘Yes you do.’
‘Charge me then.’
‘We’ve a few more questions, Inspector. This can be as painless as you like, or it can be absolute bastarding agony. You choose, but before you do that — sit down!’
Rebus stood there. His mouth was open, and he wiped saliva from his chin. He looked over at Lumsden, who was still seated, albeit tensed, ready to jump if words became deeds. Rebus wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He sat down.
Grogan took a deep breath. The air in the room — what was left of it — was beginning to smell bad. It wasn’t even half past seven.
‘Bovril and oranges at half time?’ Rebus asked.
‘That might be a long way off.’ Grogan walked to the door, opened it and stuck his head out. Then he held the door wide open so someone outside could come in.
Chief Inspector Chick Ancram.
‘Saw you on the news, John. Not exactly telegenic, are you?’ Ancram slipped off his jacket and placed it carefully over the back of a chair. He looked like he was about to enjoy himself. ‘You weren’t wearing your hard hat, mightn’t have recognised you otherwise.’ Grogan walked over to where Lumsden was sitting, like a tag-team wrestler leaving the ring. Ancram started rolling up his sleeves.
‘Going to be a hot one, John, eh?’
‘A scorcher,’ Rebus muttered. Now he knew why CID liked dawn raids: he felt exhausted already. Exhaustion played tricks with your mind; it made you make mistakes. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’
Ancram looked to Grogan. ‘I don’t see why not. How about you, Ted?’
‘I could do with a cup myself.’ He turned to Lumsden. ‘On you go, son.’
‘Fucking message-boy,’ Rebus couldn’t help saying.
Lumsden sprang to his feet, but Grogan had a restraining hand out.
‘Easy, son, just go get those coffees, eh?’
‘And DS Lumsden?’ Ancram called. ‘Make sure Inspector Rebus gets decaf, we don’t want him getting all jumpy.’
‘Any jumpier and I’d be a kangaroo. Lumsden? I like hundred per cent decaf, no pissing or howking into it, OK?’
Lumsden left the room in silence.
‘Now then.’ Ancram sat down across from Rebus. ‘You’re a hard man to catch.’
‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.’
‘I think you’re worth it, don’t you? Tell me something about Johnny Bible.’
‘Like what?’
‘Anything. His methods, background, profile.’
‘That could take all day.’
‘We’ve got all day.’
‘Maybe you have, but my room’s got to be vacated by eleven, or else it’s another day’s rate.’
‘Your room’s already empty,’ Grogan said. ‘Your stuff’s in my office.’
‘Inadmissible as evidence: you should have had a search warrant.’
Ancram shared a laugh with Grogan. Rebus knew why they were laughing, he’d’ve been doing it too if he’d been where they were. But he wasn’t. He was where a lot of men and women, some of them barely adult, had been before him. Same chair, same sweaty room, same set-up. Hundreds and thousands of them, suspects. In the eyes of the law, innocent until proven guilty. In the eyes of the interrogator, the other way round. Sometimes to prove to yourself that a suspect was innocent you had to break them. Sometimes you had to go that far before you were sure in your mind. Rebus didn’t know how many sessions like this he’d sat in on... hundreds, certainly. He’d broken maybe a dozen suspects only to find they were innocent. He knew where he was, knew why he was there, but that didn’t make it any easier.
‘I’ll tell you something about Johnny Bible,’ Ancram said. ‘His profile can fit several professions, and one of those is serving or retired police officer, someone who knows our methods and is careful not to leave trace evidence.’
‘We’ve a physical description of him. I’m too old.’
Ancram screwed up his face. ‘IDs, John, we all know their failings.’
‘I’m not Johnny Bible.’
‘Doesn’t mean you’re not a copycat. Mind, we’re not saying you are. All we’re saying is, there are questions that have to be asked.’
‘So ask them.’
‘You came to Partick.’
‘Correct.’
‘Ostensibly to talk to me about Uncle Joe Toal.’
‘Uncannily astute.’
‘Yet if memory serves, you ended up asking me a lot of questions about Johnny Bible. And you seemed to know a lot about the Bible John case.’ Ancram waited to see if Rebus had a smart comeback. None came. ‘While in Partick, you spent a lot of time in the room where the original Bible John files were being checked.’ Ancram paused again. ‘And now a TV reporter tells me you have cuttings and notes about Bible John and Johnny Bible stashed in your kitchen cupboards.’
Bitch!
‘Now wait a minute,’ Rebus said.
Ancram sat back. ‘I’m waiting.’
‘Everything you’ve said is true. I am interested in the two cases. Bible John... that takes a bit of explaining. And Johnny Bible... well, for one thing, I knew one of the victims.’