‘Easy, pal, I’m going.’ He was backing away, the guard following. ‘Suicide watch, eh? Sounds like his neighbour’s going to be next, judging by the uproar he’s making...’
The guard said nothing. He just closed the door on Rebus and stood there, watching through its glass panel. Rebus held his hands up again, then turned and walked away. Something told him that his requests to Traynor would have slipped a little down the man’s list of priorities...
The session at the cafeteria was ending, Wylie shaking hands with the interpreter, who then guided the widow in the direction of the family unit.
‘So,’ Wylie asked Rebus, ‘where was the fire?’
‘No fire, but some poor sod topped himself.’
‘Bloody hell...’
‘Let’s get out of here.’ He started walking ahead of her towards the exit.
‘How did he do it?’
‘Turned his clothes into a kind of tourniquet. He couldn’t hang himself: there was nothing up high for him to swing from...’
‘Bloody hell,’ she repeated. When they were out in the fresh air, Rebus lit a cigarette. Wylie unlocked her Volvo. ‘We’re getting nowhere with this, are we?’
‘It was never going to be easy, Ellen. The girlfriend’s the key.’
‘Unless she did it,’ Wylie offered.
Rebus shook his head. ‘Listen to her phone call... she knows why it happened, and that “why” leads to the “who”.’
‘That’s a bit metaphysical, coming from you.’
He shrugged again, flicked the remains of his cigarette on to the ground. ‘I’m a renaissance man, Ellen.’
‘Oh aye? Spell it for me then, Mr Renaissance Man.’
As they drove out of the compound, he looked towards the site of Caro Quinn’s camp. When they’d arrived, she hadn’t been there, but she was there now, standing by the roadside, drinking from a thermos. Rebus asked Wylie to stop the car.
‘I’ll only be a minute,’ he said, getting out.
‘What are you...?’ He closed his door on her question. Quinn smiled when she recognised him.
‘Hello, there.’
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘do you know any friendly media people? I mean, friendly to what you’re trying to accomplish here?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘One or two.’
‘Well, you could slip them an exclusive: one of the inmates has just committed suicide.’ As soon as the words were out, he knew he’d made a mistake. Could have phrased that better, John, he told himself as tears welled in Caro Quinn’s eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He could see Wylie watching in the wing mirror. ‘I just thought you could do something with it... There’ll be an inquiry... the more press interest there is, the worse it is for Whitemire...’
She was nodding. ‘Yes, I can see that. Thanks for telling me.’ The tears were pouring down her face. Wylie sounded the horn. ‘Your friend’s waiting,’ Quinn said.
‘Are you going to be all right?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She rubbed her face with the back of her free hand. The other hand still held a cup, though most of the tea inside was dribbling on to the ground unnoticed.
‘Sure?’
She nodded. ‘It’s just... so... barbaric.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘Look... have you got a phone with you?’ She nodded. ‘You’ve got my number, right? Can I take yours?’ She reeled it off, and he jotted it down in his notebook.
‘You better go,’ she said.
Rebus nodded, backing away towards the car. He waved before getting into the passenger seat.
‘I hit the horn by accident,’ Wylie lied. ‘So you know her then?’
‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘She’s an artist — paints portraits.’
‘So it’s true then...’ Wylie put the car into first gear. ‘You really are a renaissance man.’
‘One “n”, two “s”s, right?’
‘Right,’ she said. Rebus angled the rearview mirror so he could watch Caro Quinn recede as the car gathered pace.
‘So how do you know her?’
‘I just do, all right?’
‘Sorry I asked. Do your friends always burst into tears when you talk to them?’
He gave her a look, and they drove in silence for a few moments.
‘Want to drop into Banehall?’ Wylie eventually asked.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Just to take a look.’ They’d talked about the murder on the outward journey.
‘What’ll we see?’
‘We’ll see F Troop at work.’
F Troop because Livingston was ‘F Division’ of the Lothian and Borders Police, and few in Edinburgh really rated them. Rebus was forced to concede a smile.
‘Why not?’ he said.
‘That’s decided then.’
Rebus’s mobile sounded. He wondered if it might be Caro Quinn, thought maybe he should have stayed a bit longer, kept her company. But it was Siobhan.
‘I’ve just been on the phone to Gayfield,’ she said.
‘Oh aye?’
‘DCI Macrae’s got the pair of us marked down as AWOL.’
‘What’s your excuse?’
‘I’m in Banehall.’
‘Funny, we’ll be there in two minutes...’
‘We?’
‘Me and Ellen. We’ve been out to Whitemire. You still looking for that girl?’
‘There’s been a bit of lateral movement... you heard they found a body?’
‘I thought it was a bloke.’
‘It’s the guy who raped her sister.’
‘I can see that would change things. So now you’re helping F Troop with their inquiries?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
Rebus snorted. ‘Jim Macrae must think there’s something about Gayfield we don’t like.’
‘He’s not too thrilled... And he told me to give you another message.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘Someone else who’s fallen out of love with you...’
Rebus thought for a moment. ‘Is that sad bastard still after me for the torch?’
‘He’s talking about an official complaint.’
‘Christ’s sake... I’m buying him a new one.’
‘Apparently it’s specialist kit — over a hundred quid’s worth.’
‘You could buy a chandelier for that!’
‘Don’t shoot the messenger, John.’
The car was passing the sign into town: BANEHALL had become BANEHELL.
‘That’s inventive,’ Wylie muttered. Then: ‘Ask her where she is.’
‘Ellen wants to know where you are,’ Rebus said into the phone.
‘There’s a room at the library... we’re using it as a base.’
‘Good idea: F Troop can see if there are any reference books to help them. My Big Book of Murders, maybe...’
Wylie smiled at this, but Siobhan sounded anything but amused. ‘John, don’t bring that attitude here...’
‘Only a bit of fun, Shiv. See you in a few minutes.’
Rebus told Wylie where they were headed. The library’s narrow car park was already full. Uniformed officers were carrying computers into the single-storey pre-fabricated building. Rebus held the door open for one, then followed, Wylie waiting outside while she checked her phone for messages. The room set aside for the investigation was only about fifteen feet by twelve. Two folding tables had been appropriated from somewhere, along with a couple of chairs.
‘We don’t have space for all these,’ Siobhan was telling one of the uniforms, as he crouched to deposit an oversized computer screen at her feet.
‘Orders,’ he said, breathing hard.
‘Can I help you?’ This question was directed at Rebus from a young man in a suit.