‘Sorry,’ he said. This time, when he turned he kept on walking.
Andy Steele had been the necessary go-between. It was too dangerous for Rebus to put the story out first-hand. The source of the tale might have got back to Cafferty, and that would have ruined everything. McPhail hadn’t been necessary, but he’d been useful. Rebus explained the ruse twice to Andy Steele, and even then the young fisherman didn’t seem to take it all in. He had the look of a man with a dozen unaskable questions.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ Rebus asked. He’d been hoping in fact that Steele might already have left for home.
‘Oh, I’m applying for a grant,’ said Steele.
‘You mean like university?’
But Steele hooted. ‘Not likely! It’s one of those schemes to get the unemployed into business.’
‘Oh aye?’
Steele nodded. ‘I’m eligible.’
‘So what’s the business?’
‘A detective agency, of course!’
‘Where exactly?’
‘Edinburgh. I’ve made more money since I came here than I made in six months in Aberdeen.’
‘You cannot be serious,’ said Rebus. But Andy Steele was.
36
He had one last meeting planned, and wasn’t looking forward to it. He walked from St Leonard’s to the University library at George Square. The indifferent security man on the door glanced at his ID and nodded him towards the front desk, where Nell Stapleton, tall and broad-shouldered, was taking returned books from a duffel-coated student. She caught his eye and looked surprised. Pleased at first; but as she went through the books, Rebus saw her mind wasn’t wholly on the job. At last, she came over to him.
‘Hello, John.’
‘Nell.’
‘What brings you here?’
‘Can we have a word?’
She checked with the other assistant that it was okay to take a five-minute break. They walked as far as a book-lined corridor.
‘Brian tells me you’ve closed the case, the one he was so worried about.’
Rebus nodded.
‘That’s great news. Thanks for your help.’
Rebus shrugged.
She tilted her head slightly. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Rebus. ‘Do you want to tell me?’
‘Me?’
Rebus nodded again.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’ve lived with a policeman, Nell. You know we deal in motives. Sometimes there isn’t much else to go on. I’ve been thinking about motives recently.’ He shut up as a female student pulled open a door, came out into the corridor, smiled briefly at Nell, and went on her way. Nell watched her go. Rebus thought she would like to swop bodies for a few minutes.
‘Motives?’ she said. She was leaning against the wall, but Rebus got no notion of calmness from her stance.
‘Remember,’ he said, ‘that night in the hospital, the night Brian was attacked. You said something about an argument, and him going off to the Heartbreak Cafe?’
She nodded. ‘That’s right. We met that night to talk over a drink. But we argued. I don’t see-’
‘Only, I’ve been thinking about the motive behind the attack. There were too many at first, but I’ve narrowed them down. They’re all motives you’d have, Nell.’
‘What?’
‘You told me you were scared for him, scared because he was scared. And he was scared because he was poking into something that could nail Big Ger Cafferty. Wouldn’t it be better if there was another body on the case, someone else to attract the fire? Me, in other words. So you got me involved.’
‘Now wait a minute-’
But Rebus held his hand up and closed his eyes, begging silence. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘there was DC Clarke. They were getting along so famously together. Jealousy maybe? Always a good motive.’
‘I don’t believe this.’
Rebus ignored her. ‘And of course the simplest motive. The two of you had been rowing about whether or not to have kids. That and the fact that he was overworking, not paying you enough attention.’
‘Did he tell you that?’
Rebus did not sound unkind. ‘You told me yourself you’d had a row that evening. You knew where he was headed-same place as always. So why not wait near his car and brain him when he came out? A nice simple revenge.’ Rebus paused. ‘How many motives does that make? I’ve lost count. Enough to be going on with, eh?’
‘I don’t believe this.’ Tears were rising into her eyes. Every time she blinked, more appeared. She ran a thumb and forefinger down her nose, clearing it, breathing in noisily. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked at last.
‘I’m going to lend you a hankie,’ said Rebus.
‘I don’t want your fucking hankie!’
Rebus put a finger to his lips. ‘This is a library, remember?’ She sniffed and wiped away tears.
‘Nell,’ he said quietly, ‘I don’t want you to say anything. I don’t want to know. I just want you to know. All right?’
‘You think you’re so fucking smart.’
He shrugged. ‘The offer of a hankie still stands.’
‘Get stuffed.’
‘Do you really want Brian to leave the force?’
But she was walking away from him, head held high, shoulders swinging just a little exaggeratedly. He watched her go behind the desk, where her co-worker saw something was wrong and put a comforting arm around her. Rebus examined the shelves of books in front of him in the corridor, but saw nothing to delay his leavetaking.
He sat on a bench in the Meadows, the back of the library rising up behind him. He had his hands in his pockets as he watched a hastily arranged game of football. Eight men against seven. They’d come over to him and asked if he fancied making up the numbers.
‘You must be desperate,’ he’d said, shaking his head. The goalposts comprised one orange and white traffic cone, one pile of coats, one pile of folders and books, and a branch stuck in the ground. Rebus glanced at his watch more often than necessary. No one on the field was worrying too much about the time taken to play the first half. Two of the players looked like brothers though they played on opposing sides. Mickey had left the flat that morning, taking the photo of their dad and Uncle Jimmy with him.
‘To remind me,’ he’d said.
A woman in a Burberry trenchcoat sat down on the bench beside him.
‘Are they any good?’ she asked.
‘They’d give Hibs a run for their money.’
‘How good does that make them?’ she asked.
Rebus turned towards Dr Patience Aitken and smiled, reaching out to take her hand in his. ‘What kept you so long?’ he asked.
‘Just the usual,’ she said. ‘Work.’
‘I tried phoning you so often.’
‘Put my mind at rest then,’ she said.
‘How?’
She moved closer. ‘Tell me I’m not just a number in your little black boo…’
The End