Shankley was cornered and knew it. He turned to face them: Rebus and Jack were smiling. The impulse to flee was still too strong: Shankley pushed past the attendant, opened the door to the play area, ducked and went in. Two huge padded rollers stood directly in front of him, like a giant mangle. He was thin enough to squeeze between them.
Jack Morton laughed. ‘Where’s he going to go from there?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Let’s grab a cup of tea and wait for him to get fed up.’
Rebus shook his head. He’d heard a noise from the top storey. ‘There’s a kid in there.’ He turned to the attendant. ‘Isn’t there?’
She nodded. Rebus turned to Jack. ‘Possible hostage. I’m going in. Stay out here, tell me where Shankley is.’
Rebus took off his jacket and went in.
The rollers were the first obstacle. He was too big to squeeze through, but managed to push his way through the gap between them and the side netting. He remembered his SAS training: assault courses you wouldn’t believe. Kept going. A pool of coloured plastic balls to wade through, and then a tube curving upwards, leading to the first floor. A slide nearby — he climbed that. Through the netting he could see Jack, pointing up and towards the far corner. Rebus stayed in a crouch, looked around. Punch-bags, a net across a yawning gap, a cylinder to crawl through... more slides and climbing-ropes. There: far corner, wondering what to do next. Hank Shankley. People in the café were watching, no longer interested in swimming. One floor further up was the kid. Rebus had to get there before Shankley; either that or grab Shankley first. Shankley didn’t know anyone was in here with him. Jack was shouting up, distracting him.
‘Hey, Hank, we can wait here all day! All night too if we have to! Come on out, we only want a chat! Hank, you look ridiculous in there. Maybe we’ll just padlock it shut and keep you for an exhibit.’
‘Shut up!’ Flecks of foam from Shankley’s mouth. Skinny, gaunt... Rebus knew it was crazy to worry about HIV, but found himself worrying anyway. Edinburgh was still HIV city. He was about fifteen feet from Shankley when he heard a swooshing sound coming towards him fast. He was passing the exit to one of the tubes when a pair of feet hit him, toppling him on to his side. A boy about eight years old stared at him.
‘You’re too big for in here, mister.’
Rebus got up, saw Shankley coming for them, and started dragging the kid by the scruff of his neck. He backed up to the slide, then dropped the boy down it. He was turning to confront Shankley when another foot hit him — the albino’s. He bounced off the mesh wall and tumbled down the padded slide. The boy was making his way to the entrance, where the attendant gestured for him to hurry. Shankley slid down, both fists out, and clubbed Rebus on the neck. He was sprinting for the kid, but the boy was already through the rollers. Rebus dived at Shankley, brought him down into the plastic balls, caught him with a decent punch. Shankley’s arms were tired from swimming; he pummelled Rebus’s sides, but it was like being hit by a rag doll. Rebus grabbed a ball, stuffed it into Shankley’s mouth, where it wedged, the lips taut and bloodless. Then he hit Shankley in the groin, twice, and that just about did it.
Jack came to help him drag the unresisting figure out. ‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘The kid hurt me more than he did.’
The boy’s mother was hugging her son, checking he was all right. She gave Rebus a dirty look. The boy was complaining he still had ten minutes left. The attendant came after Rebus.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘could I have our ball back?’
St Leonard’s being so close, they took Shankley there, asked for and were given an empty biscuit-tin, only recently vacated by the smell of it.
‘Sit there,’ Rebus told Shankley. Then he took Jack outside, spoke in an undertone.
‘To fill you in, Tony El killed Allan Mitchison — I still don’t know why exactly. Tony had local help.’ He tilted his head towards the door. ‘I want to know what Hank knows.’
Jack nodded. ‘Do I stay dumb, or is there a part for me?’
‘You’re the good guy, Jack.’ Rebus patted his shoulder. ‘Always have been.’
They went back into the room as a team, like in the old days.
‘Well, Mr Shankley,’ Rebus opened, ‘so far we’ve got resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. Plenty of witnesses, too.’
‘I haven’t done nothing.’
‘Double negative.’
‘Eh?’
‘If you haven’t done nothing, you must have done something.’
Shankley just looked glum. Rebus had him pegged already: Bain’s ‘no scruples attached’ had given him the clue. Shankley lived to no code whatsoever, except perhaps ‘Look after number one’. He didn’t give a toss for anything or anyone. There was no intelligence other than a root instinct to survive. Rebus knew he could play on that.
‘You don’t owe Tony El anything, Hank. Who do you think grassed you up?’
‘Tony who?’
‘Anthony Ellis Kane. Glasgow hardman relocated to Aberdeen. He was down here to do a job. He needed an associate. Somehow he ended up with you.’
‘Not your fault,’ Jack chipped in, hands in pockets, ‘you’re an accessory. We’re not doing you for murder.’
‘Murder?’
‘That young guy Tony El was after,’ Rebus explained. ‘You scouted out somewhere to take him. That was about the sum of your part, wasn’t it? The rest was down to Tony.’
Shankley bit his top lip, showing a bottom row of narrow uneven teeth. His eyes were pale blue with dark flecks in them, his pupils contracted to pencil dots.
‘Of course,’ Rebus said, ‘there’s another way we can play it. We could say you tossed him out that window.’
‘I don’t know nothing.’
‘Don’t know anything,’ Rebus reminded him. Shankley folded his arms, spread his long legs.
‘I want a lawyer.’
‘Been watching the Kojak repeats, Hank?’ Jack asked. He looked to Rebus, who nodded: no more Mr Nice Guy.
‘I’m bored with this, Hank. Know what? We’re going to take you for fingerprinting now. You left prints all over that squat. You even left behind the carry-out. Prints all over it. You remember touching the bottles? The cans? The bag they were in?’ Shankley was trying hard to remember. Rebus’s voice grew quieter. ‘We’ve got you, Hank. You’re fucked. I’ll give you ten seconds to start talking, and that’s it — promise. Don’t think you can talk to us later, we won’t be listening. The judge will have his hearing-aid switched off. You’ll be on your own. Know why?’ He waited till he had Shankley’s attention. ‘Because Tony El croaked. Someone sliced him open in a bathtub. Could be you next.’ Rebus nodded. ‘You need friends, Hank.’
‘Listen...’ The Tony El story had woken Shankley up. He sat forward in his chair. ‘Look, I’m... I...’
‘Take your time, Hank.’
Jack asked him if he wanted something to drink. Shankley nodded. ‘Cola or something.’
‘Fetch me one, too, Jack,’ Rebus said. Jack went down the hall to the machine. Rebus bided his time, pacing the room, giving Shankley time to decide how much he was going to tell and with how much gloss. Jack came back, tossed one can at Shankley, handed the other to Rebus, who pulled it open and drank. It wasn’t a real drink. It was cold and way too sweet, and the only kick it would give him was from caffeine rather than alcohol. He saw Jack watching him, screwed up his face in reply. He wanted a cigarette, too. Jack read the look, shrugged.