‘Probably.’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘I hear she gets a bit daft with a drink in her.’
‘Have you seen her? She’s five-foot-nothing in high heels.’
‘You’re saying she wouldn’t have attacked Cruikshank?’
‘I’m saying she wouldn’t have succeeded.’
‘On the other hand, you look pretty fit, Janine.’
Harrison gave a glacial smile. ‘You’re not my type.’
Siobhan paused. ‘Have you any idea what might have happened to Ishbel Jardine?’
Harrison was thrown momentarily by the change of subject. ‘No,’ she said at last.
‘She never talked about running away?’
‘Never.’
‘She must have spoken about Cruikshank, though.’
‘Must have.’
‘Care to elaborate?’
Harrison shook her head. ‘Is that what you do when you’re stuck? Pin the blame on someone who’s not around to stick up for herself?’ She fixed her eyes on Siobhan. ‘Some friend you are.’ Young started to say something, but she cut him off. ‘It’s your job, I know... Just a job... like working in this place... Someone dies in our care, we all feel it.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Young said.
‘Speaking of which, I’ve got checks I need to make before I clock off... Are we finished here?’
Young looked to Siobhan, who had one final question. ‘Did you know Ishbel had written to Cruikshank while he was in prison?’
‘No.’
‘Does it surprise you?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Maybe you didn’t know her as well as you think you did.’ Siobhan paused. ‘Thanks for talking to us.’
‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Young added. Then, as she started to leave: ‘We’ll be in touch about that sample of your handwriting...’
After she’d gone, Young leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. ‘If it wasn’t so politically incorrect, I’d call her a ball-breaker.’
‘Probably comes with the job she does.’
The guard who’d brought them in appeared suddenly in the doorway, as though he’d been waiting within earshot.
‘She’s fine once you get to know her,’ he said. ‘Here’s Janet Eylot’s address.’ As Siobhan took the note from him, she saw that he was studying her. ‘And by the way... for what it’s worth, you’re exactly Janine’s type...’
Janet Eylot lived in a new-build bungalow on the edge of Banehall. For now, the view from her kitchen window was of fields.
‘Won’t last,’ she said. ‘Developer’s got his eye on it.’
‘Enjoy it while you can, eh?’ Young said, accepting the mug of tea. The three of them sat down around the small square table. There were two young kids in the house, struck dumb by a noisy video game.
‘I limit them to an hour,’ Eylot explained. ‘And only once the homework’s done.’ Something about the way she said it told Siobhan that Eylot was a single mum. A cat jumped on to the table, Eylot sweeping it off with her arm. ‘I’ve bloody told you!’ she shouted, as the cat retreated into the hall. Then she put a hand to her face. ‘Sorry about that...’
‘We realise you’re upset, Janet,’ Siobhan said softly. ‘Did you know the man who hanged himself?’
Eylot shook her head. ‘But he did it fifty yards from where I was sitting. It just makes you think about all the horrible things that could be happening around you, and you don’t know about it.’
‘I see what you mean,’ Young said.
She looked at him. ‘Well, in your job... you see things all the time.’
‘Like Donny Cruikshank’s body,’ Siobhan said. She’d noticed the neck of an empty wine bottle jutting out from beneath the lid of the kitchen bin; a single wine glass drying on the draining board. Wondered how much Janet Eylot put away of an evening.
‘He’s the reason we’re here,’ Young was telling Eylot. ‘We’re looking at his lifestyle, people who might have known him, maybe even harboured a grudge.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘Didn’t you know him?’
‘Who’d want to?’
‘We just thought... after what you wrote about him on the wall of the Bane...’
‘I wasn’t the only one!’ Eylot snapped.
‘We know that.’ Siobhan’s voice had grown even quieter. ‘We’re not accusing anyone, Janet. We’re just filling in the background.’
‘This is all the thanks I get,’ Eylot said, shaking her head. ‘Bloody typical...’
‘How do you mean?’
‘That asylum-seeker... the one who got himself stabbed. It was me phoned you lot. You’d never have known who he was otherwise. And this is how I’m paid back.’
‘You gave us Stef Yurgii’s name?’
‘That’s right — and if my boss ever hears that, I’ll be for the high jump. Two of your lot came to Whitemire: big hefty bloke and a younger woman...’
‘DI Rebus and DS Wylie?’
‘Couldn’t tell you their names. I was keeping my head down.’ She paused. ‘But instead of solving that poor sod’s murder, you’d rather focus on a sleazebag like Cruikshank.’
‘Everyone’s equal under the law,’ Young said. She stared at him so hard, he started to blush, disguising the fact by lifting the mug to his lips.
‘See?’ she said accusingly. ‘You say the words, but you know it’s all crap.’
‘All DI Young means,’ Siobhan interrupted, ‘is that we have to be objective.’
‘But that’s not true either, is it?’ Eylot rose to her feet, the chair legs scraping across the floor. She opened the fridge door, realised what she’d done and slammed it shut again. Three bottles of wine chilling on the middle shelf.
‘Janet,’ Siobhan said, ‘is Whitemire the problem? You don’t like working there?’
‘I hate it.’
‘Then leave.’
Eylot laughed harshly. ‘And where’s the other job coming from? I’ve two kids, I need to provide for them...’ She sat down again, staring out at the view. ‘Whitemire’s what I’ve got.’
Whitemire, two kids, and a fridge...
‘What was it you wrote on the toilet wall, Janet?’ Siobhan asked quietly.
There were sudden tears in Eylot’s eyes. She tried blinking them back. ‘Something about him being claimed,’ she said, voice cracking.
‘Claimed in blood?’ Siobhan corrected her. The woman nodded, tears trickling down either cheek.
They didn’t stay much longer. Both found themselves taking lungfuls of fresh air when they emerged.
‘You got kids, Les?’ Siobhan asked.
He shook his head. ‘I’ve been married, though. Lasted a year; we split up eleven months ago. How about you?’
‘Never even come close.’
‘She’s coping, though, isn’t she?’ He risked a glance back at the house.
‘I don’t think we need to phone social services just yet.’ She paused. ‘Where to now?’
‘Back to base.’ He checked his watch. ‘Nearly time to knock off. I’m buying, if you’re interested.’
‘As long as you’re not suggesting the Bane.’
He gave a smile. ‘I’m heading into Edinburgh, actually.’
‘I thought you lived in Livingston.’
‘I do, but I’m in this bridge club...’
‘Bridge?’ She couldn’t completely suppress a smile.
He shrugged. ‘I started playing years ago in college.’
‘Bridge,’ she repeated.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ He tried a laugh, but sounded defensive all the same.
‘Nothing’s wrong with it. I’m just trying to picture you in a dinner jacket and bow tie...’
‘It’s not like that.’