‘Would he have had any means of supporting himself?’
Traynor shrugged. ‘Not unless Dirwan helped him out.’
Well, that was something for Rebus to ask the lawyer. ‘He didn’t try to contact his family?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
Rebus thought for a moment, turning towards Wylie to see if she had any questions. When she just twitched her mouth, Rebus nodded. ‘Okay, we’ll go see Mrs Yurgii now...’
Dinner had just finished, and the cafeteria was emptying.
‘Everybody eats at the same time,’ Wylie commented.
A uniformed guard was arguing with a woman whose head was covered with a shawl. She carried an infant on her shoulder. The guard was holding up a piece of fruit.
‘Sometimes they smuggle food back to their rooms,’ Traynor explained.
‘And that’s not allowed?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t see them here... must have finished already. This way...’ He led them down a corridor fitted with a CCTV camera. The building might have been clean and new, but to Rebus’s mind it was a compound within a compound.
‘Had any suicides yet?’ he asked.
Traynor glared at him. ‘One or two attempts. A hunger-striker, too. Comes with the territory...’ He had stopped at an open door, gesturing with his hand. Rebus looked in. The room was fifteen feet by twelve — not small in itself, but containing a bunk-bed, a single bed, wardrobe and desk. Two small children were working at the desk, crayonning pictures and whispering to one another. Their mother sat on her bed, staring into space, hands on her lap.
‘Mrs Yurgii?’ Rebus said, moving a little further into the room. The drawings were of trees and balls of yellow sunshine. The room was windowless, ventilated from a grille in the ceiling. The woman looked up at him with hollow eyes.
‘Mrs Yurgii, I’m a police officer.’ He had the children’s interest now. ‘This is my colleague. Could we maybe talk away from the children?’
Unblinking, her eyes never left his. Tears began to drip down her face, lips pursed to hold back the sobs. The children went to her, offering comfort with their arms. It had the look of something they did regularly. The boy would be six or seven. He looked up at the intruding adults with a face hardened beyond its years.
‘You go now, not do this for us.’
‘I need to talk to your mother,’ Rebus said quietly.
‘It is not allowed. Bugger off now.’ He enunciated these words precisely, and with a trace of the local accent — picked up from the guards, Rebus guessed.
‘I really need to talk to...’
‘I know all,’ Mrs Yurgii said suddenly. ‘He... not...’ Her eyes beseeched Rebus, but all he could do was nod. She hugged her children to her. ‘He not,’ she repeated. The girl had started crying, too, but not the boy. It was as if he knew that his world had shifted yet again, bringing another challenge.
‘What is this?’ The woman from the cafeteria was standing just outside the door.
‘Do you know Mrs Yurgii?’ Rebus asked.
‘She is my friend.’ The infant had gone from the woman’s shoulder, leaving a patch of drying milk or saliva there. She squeezed into the room and crouched in front of the widow.
‘What has happened?’ she asked. Her voice was deep, imperative.
‘We’ve brought some bad news,’ Rebus told her.
‘What news?’
‘It’s about Mrs Yurgii’s husband,’ Wylie interrupted.
‘What has happened?’ There was fear in the eyes now, realisation dawning.
‘It’s not good,’ Rebus confirmed. ‘Her husband is dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘He was killed. Someone needs to identify the body. Did you know the family before you came here?’
She looked at him as if he were stupid. ‘None of us knew the others before this place.’ She spat out the final word as though it were gristle.
‘Can you tell her that she needs to identify her husband? We can send a car for her tomorrow morning...’
Traynor held up a hand. ‘No need for that. We have transport...’
‘Oh, yes?’ Wylie said sceptically. ‘With bars on the windows?’
‘Mrs Yurgii has been marked down as a potential absconder. She remains my responsibility.’
‘You’ll take her to the mortuary in the back of a paddy-wagon?’
He glowered at Wylie. ‘Guards will escort her.’
‘I’m sure society’s reassured by that.’
Rebus placed his hand on Wylie’s elbow. She seemed about to add something, but turned away instead, heading off down the corridor. Rebus gave a little shrug.
‘Ten in the morning?’ he asked. Traynor nodded. Rebus gave him the address of the mortuary. ‘Any chance Mrs Yurgii’s friend here could go with her?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Traynor conceded.
‘Thanks,’ Rebus said. Then he followed Wylie out to the car park. She was pacing the ground, kicking imaginary stones, watched by a guard who was patrolling the perimeter with a torch, despite the floodlit glare. Rebus lit a cigarette.
‘Feeling better now, Ellen?’
‘What’s there to feel better about?’
Rebus held up both hands in surrender. ‘I’m not the one you’re pissed off with.’
The sound which issued from her mouth started as a snarl but ended in a sigh. ‘That’s the problem though: who is it I am pissed off with?’
‘The people in charge?’ Rebus guessed. ‘The ones we never see.’ He waited to see if she’d agree. ‘I’ve got this theory,’ he went on. ‘We spend most of our time chasing something called “the underworld”, but it’s the overworld we should really be keeping an eye on.’
She thought about this, nodding almost imperceptibly. The guard was walking towards them.
‘No smoking,’ he barked. Rebus just stared at him. ‘It’s not allowed.’
Rebus took another inhalation, narrowing his eyes. Wylie pointed to a faint yellow line on the ground.
‘What’s that for?’ Trying to steer his attention away from Rebus.
‘The zone of containment,’ the guard answered. ‘Detainees aren’t allowed to cross it.’
‘Why the hell not?’
He shifted his gaze to her. ‘They might try to escape.’
‘Have you taken a look at those gates lately? Height of the fence tell you anything? Barbed wire and corrugated iron...?’ She was inching towards him. He started backing away. Rebus reached out to touch her arm again.
‘I think we should leave now,’ he said, flicking his cigarette so that it bounced off the guard’s polished toecap, sending a few momentary sparks into the night. As they drove out of the compound, the lone woman was watching them from her camp-fire.
10
‘Well, this is... rustic.’ Alexis Cater gazed at the nicotine-coloured walls of the Oxford Bar’s back room.
‘I’m glad you condescend to approve.’
He wagged a finger. ‘There’s a fire in you — I like that. I’ve quenched a few fires in my time, but only after inflaming them first.’ He smirked as he raised his glass to his lips, sloshing the beer around in his mouth before swallowing. ‘Not a bad pint, mind, and bloody cheap. I might have to remember this place. Is it your local?’
She shook her head, just as Harry the barman appeared to clear away any empty glasses. ‘All right, Shiv?’ he called. She nodded back.
Cater grinned. ‘Your cover’s blown, Shiv.’
‘Siobhan,’ she corrected him.
‘Tell you what: I’ll call you Siobhan if you’ll call me Lex.’
‘You’re trying to cut a deal with a police officer?’
His eyes twinkled above the rim of the glass. ‘Hard to picture you in uniform... but well worth the effort, all the same.’