I know what a lot of people thought — yourself included. They thought I’d planted it there. Well, I swear on my deathbed (except I’m writing this at the table) that I did not. I found it fair and square, even though I made us break the rules to accomplish it. But you see, that one crucial piece of evidence would have been ruled inadmissible because of the way we’d come to find it, which is why I persuaded you — against your better judgement — to stick to the story I invented. Am I sorry I did it? Yes and no. It can’t be very comfortable for you just now, John, and it can’t have been a nice thing to have lived with all these years. But we got the murderer, and in my mind — and I’ve spent God knows how long thinking about it, reliving it, running through the way I played it — that’s what really counts.
John, I hope all this fuss dies down. Spaven’s not worth it. Nobody’s giving much thought to Elsie Rhind, are they? The victim can never win. Chalk this one up to Elsie Rhind. Just because a villain can write doesn’t make him less of a villain. I read that the commandants at the concentration camps used to put their feet up at night and read the classics while listening to a bit of Beethoven. Monsters can do that. I know this now. I know because of Lenny Spaven.
Jack patted Rebus’s back. ‘He’s just cleared you, John. Wave this in Ancram’s face and that’s the end of that.’
Rebus nodded, wishing he could feel relief, or any other sensible emotion.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jack asked.
Rebus tapped the paper. ‘This is,’ he said. ‘I mean, most of it is probably right, but it’s still a lie.’
‘What?’
Rebus looked at him. ‘The stuff we found in the lock-up... I saw it in Elsie Rhind’s house the first time we went round there. Lawson must have lifted it later.’
Jack looked uncomprehending. ‘Are you sure?’
Rebus flew to his feet. ‘No, I’m not sure, and that’s the real bastard of it! I’ll never be sure.’
‘I mean, it was twenty years ago, your mind plays tricks.’
‘I know. Even at the time, I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure I’d seen them before — maybe I saw a different bag, different hat. I went round to her place, took another look. This was when we had Spaven in custody. I looked for the hat and the bag I’d seen there... and they were gone. Ah, shit, maybe I didn’t see them at all, only thought I did. It doesn’t change the fact that I think I saw them. I think Lenny Spaven was set up, and I’ve always thought it... and I’ve never done a thing about it.’ He sat down again. ‘Never even told anyone till now.’ He tried to pick up his mug but his hand was shaking. ‘DTs,’ he said, forcing a smile.
Jack was thoughtful. ‘Does it matter?’ he said at last.
‘You mean whether I’m right or not? Jesus, Jack, I don’t know.’ Rebus rubbed his eyes. ‘It was all so long ago. Does it matter if the killer got away? Even if I’d come forward at the time, it would have maybe cleared Spaven but it wouldn’t have got us the real killer, would it?’ He let out a breath. ‘I’ve been spinning it in my head all these years, the grooves are worn almost to nothing.’
‘Time to buy a new record?’
Rebus smiled for real this time. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘One thing I don’t understand... why didn’t Spaven himself explain any of this? I mean, he never touches on it in his book. He could have just said why Geddes had it in for him.’
Rebus shrugged. ‘Look at Weir and his daughter.’
‘You mean it was personal?’
‘I don’t know, Jack.’
Jack picked up the letter, turning its pages. ‘Interesting about the Borneo pics though. Ancram thought they were relevant because they showed Spaven. Now we find it was this guy Sloane that Geddes was after.’ Jack checked his watch. ‘We should nip over to Fettes, show this to Ancram.’
Rebus nodded. ‘Let’s do it. But first, I want a photocopy of Lawson’s letter. Like you say, Jack, I might not believe it, but it’s here in black and white.’ He looked up at his friend. ‘Which should be good enough for The Justice Programme.’
Ancram looked like he should have been fitted with a pressure valve. He was so angry he’d almost swung all the way round to calm. His voice was the first wisp of smoke from a sleeping volcano.
‘What is it?’
Rebus was trying to hand him a sheet of paper, folded in half. They were in Ancram’s office. Ancram was seated, Rebus and Jack standing.
‘Look and see,’ Rebus said.
Ancram stared at him, then unfolded the headed note.
‘It’s a doctor’s line,’ Rebus explained. ‘Forty-eight-hour stomach bug. Dr Curt was very clear that I should isolate myself. He said it could be catching.’
When he spoke, Ancram’s voice was little more than whisper. ‘Since when do pathologists hand out sick notes?’
‘You haven’t seen the queues at my health centre.’
Ancram crunched the note into a ball.
‘It’s dated and everything,’ Rebus said. Of course it was: Dr Curt had been their last call before heading north with Eve.
‘Shut up, sit down, and listen to me while I tell you why you’re on an official reprimand. And don’t think a reprimand’s going to be the end of the affair.’
‘Maybe you should read this first, sir,’ Jack said, handing over Geddes’ letter.
‘What is it?’
‘Not so much the end of the affair, sir,’ Rebus told him, ‘more like the heart of the matter. While you’re digesting it, maybe I could have a browse through the files.’
‘Why?’
‘Those Borneo pics, I’d like another look.’
After the first few sentences of Lawson Geddes’ confession, Ancram was hooked. Rebus could have walked out unnoticed with the files under his arm. But instead he slipped the photos out of their packet and went through them, checking the back of each for identifying names.
In one photo, third from the left was marked as Pvt. Sloane, R. Rebus stared at the face. Slightly blurred, with some water damage and fading. A fresh-faced young man, not long out of teens, his smile slightly crooked, maybe the fault of his teeth.
Bible John had one tooth which overlapped another, according to the eye-witness.
Rebus shook his head. That really was stretching the evidence, and Lawson Geddes had done enough of that in his time for both of them. Without knowing exactly why, and checking first that Ancram was still immersed in the letter, Rebus slid the photo into his pocket.
‘Well,’ Ancram said at last, ‘this will obviously have to be discussed.’
‘Obviously, sir. No interview today then?’
‘Just a couple of questions. Number one, what the devil happened to your nose and tooth?’
‘I got too close to a fist. Anything else, sir?’
‘Yes, what the hell have you been doing with Jack?’
Rebus turned, saw what Ancram meant: Jack fast asleep on a chair by the wall.
‘So,’ Jack said, ‘this is the big challenge.’
They’d come to the Oxford Bar, just for somewhere to be. Rebus ordered two orange juices, then turned to Jack. ‘You want some breakfast?’ Jack nodded. ‘And four packets of crisps, any flavour,’ Rebus told the barmaid.
They raised their glasses, said ‘Cheers’, and drank.
‘Fancy a smoke?’ Jack asked.
‘I’d kill for one,’ Rebus said, laughing.
‘So,’ Jack said, ‘what’s been achieved?’
‘Depends on your point of view,’ Rebus said. He’d been asking himself the same question. Maybe the Squaddies would nab all the drug players: Uncle Joe, Fuller, Stemmons. Maybe before that happened, Fuller would have done something with Ludovic Lumsden and Hayden Fletcher. Maybe. Hayden Fletcher was a regular at Burke’s. He met Tony El there, maybe even scored nose-talc from him. Maybe Fletcher was the type who liked to hang out with gangsters — some people were like that. Seeing the Major was worried, and learning that Allan Mitchison was the problem... it would have been easy to talk it over with Tony El, and for Tony to see the chance of some easy cash... Maybe Major Weir himself ordered Mitch’s death. Well, his was the one certain punishment, his daughter would make sure of that. And had Tony El ever actually intended to kill Mitch? Rebus couldn’t even be sure of that. Maybe he’d have torn the bag from Mitch’s head at the last minute. Then maybe he’d have warned him to forget all about T-Bird Oil.