‘DI Rebus,’ Rebus said.
Siobhan stepped forward. ‘John, this is DI Young. He’s in charge.’
The two men shook hands. ‘Call me Les,’ the young man said. He was already losing interest in this new visitor: he had a murder room to get ready.
‘Lester Young?’ Rebus mused. ‘Like the jazz musician?’
‘Leslie, actually — like the town in Fife.’
‘Well, good luck, Leslie,’ Rebus offered. He walked back into the body of the library, Siobhan following. A few retired people were peering at newspapers and magazines, seated at a large circular table. In the kids’ corner, a mother lay on a bean-bag, apparently dozing, while her toddler, dummy in mouth, pulled books off the shelves and piled them on the carpet. Rebus found himself in the history aisle.
‘Les, eh?’ he said in an undertone.
‘He’s a good guy,’ Siobhan whispered back.
‘You’re a quick judge of character.’ Rebus picked a book off the shelf. It seemed to be saying that the Scots had invented the modern world. He looked around to make sure they weren’t in the fiction section. ‘So what happens about Ishbel Jardine?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. That’s one reason I’m sticking around.’
‘Do the parents know about the murder?’
‘Yes.’
‘Party time tonight then...’
‘I went to see them... they weren’t celebrating.’
‘And was either of them caked in blood?’
‘No.’
Rebus placed the title back on its shelf. The toddler sent up a squeal as the tower of books toppled over. ‘And the skeletons?’
‘A dead end, as you might say. Alexis Cater says the chief suspect was a guy who came to a party with a friend of Cater’s. Only the friend barely knew him, wasn’t even sure of his name. Barry or Gary, I think she said.’
‘So that’s it then? The bones can lie in peace?’
Siobhan shrugged. ‘What about you? Any luck with the stabbing?’
‘Inquiries are continuing...’
‘... a police spokesman said today. I take it you’re floundering?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. A break would be nice though.’
‘Isn’t that what you’re doing here — having a break?’
‘Not the kind I meant...’ He looked around. ‘You reckon F Troop are up to this?’
‘No shortage of suspects.’
‘I suppose not. How was he killed?’
‘Whacked with something not unlike a hammer.’
‘Where?’
‘On the head.’
‘I meant where in the house.’
‘His bedroom.’
‘So it was probably someone he knew?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘Reckon Ishbel could swing a hammer hard enough to kill someone?’
‘I don’t think she did it.’
‘Maybe you’ll get the chance to ask her.’ Rebus patted her on the arm. ‘But with F Troop on the case, you may have to work that wee bit harder...’
Outside, Wylie was finishing a call. ‘Anything worth looking at indoors?’ she asked. Rebus shook his head. ‘Back to base then,’ she guessed.
‘With just one more detour along the way,’ Rebus informed her.
‘Where’s that then?’
‘The university.’
17
They parked in a pay-bay on George Square and walked through the gardens, emerging in front of the university library. Most of the buildings here had gone up in the 1960s, and Rebus hated them: blocks of sand-coloured concrete replacing the square’s original eighteenth-century town houses. Rows of treacherous steps, and a notorious wind-tunnel effect which could blow over the unwary on the wrong day. Students walked between the buildings, hugging books and folders in front of them. Some stood and chatted in groups.
‘Bloody students,’ was Wylie’s concise summing-up of the situation.
‘Didn’t you used to go to college yourself, Ellen?’ Rebus asked.
‘That’s why I’m entitled to say it.’
A Big Issue vendor stood beside the George Square Theatre. Rebus approached him.
‘All right, Jimmy?’
‘Not so bad, Mr Rebus.’
‘Are you going to survive another winter?’
‘It’s that or die in the trying.’
Rebus handed over a couple of coins, but refused to take one of the magazines. ‘Anything I should know?’ he asked, dropping his voice a little.
Jimmy looked thoughtful. He wore a frayed baseball cap over long grey matted hair. A green cardigan hung down almost to his knees. There was a Border collie — or a version thereof — asleep at his feet. ‘Nothing much,’ he eventually said, voice coarsened by the usual vices.
‘Sure?’
‘You know I keep my eyes and ears open...’ Jimmy paused. ‘Price of blaw is falling, if that’s any use.’
Blaw: cannabis. Rebus smiled. ‘Sadly, I’m not in the market. My drugs of choice, prices only ever seem to rise.’
Jimmy laughed loudly, causing the dog to open one eye. ‘Aye, the fags and the booze, Mr Rebus, the most pernicious drugs known to man!’
‘Take care of yourself,’ Rebus said, moving away again. Then, to Wylie: ‘This is the building we want.’ He pulled open the door for her.
‘You’ve been here before then?’
‘There’s a linguistics department — we’ve used them in the past for voice tests.’ A grey-uniformed servitor sat in a glass reception booth.
‘Dr Maybury,’ Rebus said.
‘Room two-twelve.’
‘Thanks.’
Rebus led Wylie to the lifts. ‘Do you know everyone in Edinburgh?’ she asked.
He looked at her. ‘This is the way it used to be done, Ellen.’ He ushered her into the lift and punched the button for the second floor. Knocked on the door of 212 but there was no one home. A frosted-glass window to the side of the door showed no movement within. Rebus tried the next office along, and was told he might find Maybury in the basement language lab.
The language lab was at the end of a corridor, through a set of double doors. Four students sat in a row of booths, unable to see each other. They wore headphones, and spoke into microphones, repeating a set of random-seeming words:
Bread
Mother
Think
Properly
Lake
Allegory
Entertainment
Interesting
Impressive
They looked up as Rebus and Wylie entered. A woman was facing them, seated at a large desk with what looked like a switchboard attached to it, and a large cassette recorder hooked up to that. She made an impatient sound and switched off the recorder.
‘What is it?’ she snapped.
‘Dr Maybury, we’ve met before. I’m Detective Inspector John Rebus.’
‘Yes, I think I remember: threatening phone calls... you were trying to identify the accent.’
Rebus nodded and introduced Wylie. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Just wondered if you might spare a few minutes.’
‘I’ll be finished here at the top of the hour.’ Maybury checked her watch. ‘Why don’t you go up to my office and wait for me? There’s a kettle and stuff.’
‘A kettle and stuff sounds great.’
She fished in her pocket for the key. By the time they’d turned to leave, she was already telling the students to prepare for the next set of words.
‘What do you think she was up to?’ Wylie asked as the lift took them back to the second floor.
‘Christ knows.’
‘Well, I suppose it keeps them off the streets...’
Dr Maybury’s room was a clutter of books and papers, videos and audio cassettes. The computer on her desk was well camouflaged by more paperwork. A table meant to accommodate tutorial groups was laden with books borrowed from the library. Wylie found the kettle and plugged it in. Rebus stepped outside and headed to the toilets, where he took out his mobile and called Caro Quinn.