‘Lucky he’s not a pianist, then.’
‘He’s still sedated and there’s talk of an operation if the surgeons think it would help.’
‘So he’s not been saying anything?’
‘A few words here and there.’
‘Did those words include “accident”?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘So what’s next?’
‘I’m meeting with Alvin James. He needs convincing that the two cases are actually one.’
‘It’s not like we have any hard evidence. Would it help if I was there?’
‘I was just debating that — would you play nice?’
‘I’ll be yours to command, Siobhan.’ Rebus watched as a bed was pushed past by two male orderlies, its occupier hooked to a saline drip. ‘Christ, I hate hospitals,’ he said.
‘Had much experience lately? As a patient, I mean.’ She waited for an answer she knew wouldn’t come, then glanced down at an incoming text. ‘James can see me in half an hour. Better skedaddle.’
‘Is there anyone at Arnott’s bedside?’
‘His young cage-fighting pal is visiting. And Christine Esson’s due to take over from me.’ She peered over his shoulder. ‘Talk of the devil.’
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Esson apologised. ‘Stopped off for a bottle of water and a magazine.’
‘He’s in there,’ Clarke said, gesturing. ‘Bed three. Visitor with him is Donny Applecross. He uses Arnott’s gym. Don’t expect much chat.’
Esson nodded and made her way into the ward. Rebus was looking at Clarke.
‘So am I invited or not?’
‘You really promise not to start winding James up?’
‘Cross my heart.’
Clarke exhaled noisily. ‘Okay then. Let’s go...’
‘Is your head full of fucking mince?’ Rebus asked Alvin James.
He was standing in front of the detective superintendent, Clarke alongside him. James was leaning back in his chair, one foot up on the edge of his desk. His team, Fox included, had been watching and listening. It had taken Clarke a full ten minutes to recount what they knew and what they suspected. At the end of which, after a few seconds’ thought, James had said he wasn’t sure, which was when Rebus had opened his mouth and asked the question.
‘John...’ Clarke cautioned.
‘I mean,’ Rebus ploughed on, ‘if you can’t see the connection, you’re up there with Tommy.’
James’s forehead creased. ‘Tommy?’
‘Deaf, dumb and blind.’
‘I wouldn’t say I’m any of those things,’ James continued calmly, ‘but as a police detective, I work on evidence, and that’s the one thing you’ve not given me.’
‘Then why not rally the troops and detect some?’
‘We’ll certainly interview Mr Arnott when he’s available.’ James looked down at the notes he’d made during Clarke’s presentation. ‘And Cafferty, too, though you don’t sound hopeful that either of them will give us anything. The fact remains that there’s nothing to prove Robert Chatham attacked Darryl Christie, or that this is why he was killed. We can ask Christie if he has an alibi for the night in question. From what you’ve told me, I’m guessing he will, and that it will be iron-clad.’ His eyes moved from Clarke to Rebus and back again. ‘You know yourself, Siobhan, what the Procurator Fiscal will say if I take this to her.’
Clarke was forced to nod in agreement.
‘Okay, it’s thin,’ Fox piped up, ‘but that doesn’t mean it’s not right. John has a point when he says we should dig further.’
‘Not so long ago,’ James said, ‘your friend John here was telling us it all had to do with a murder back in the 1970s. There’s a folder on your desk as proof, Malcolm. I dread to think of the hours you wasted going through it, plus reading the book that woman wrote, plus letting yourself be taken on a wild goose chase to St Andrews and Perthshire.’
‘I’m right this time,’ Rebus bristled. ‘Siobhan knows it, Malcolm knows it.’
‘Some of us haven’t fallen under your spell the way they have,’ James commented. He rubbed one cheek. ‘On the other hand, we’re not exactly making headway in any other direction...’
‘This could be the lease of life the inquiry needs,’ Fox stressed.
James looked at him. ‘Reversing away from the dead end, eh, Malcolm?’
Clarke’s shoulders straightened — she had won him over.
‘Okay,’ he went on. ‘Let’s arrange a new game plan, starting with the attack at the gym — neighbours, local CCTV, whatever we can get our hands on.’ James had risen from his desk and was making a circuit of the room, pausing for a moment at each desk. ‘Was the hammer new? Let’s talk to DIY stores and hardware shops. Where’s the weapon now? Did the assailant dispose of it nearby? Then there are the nails — if we get lucky, he bought everything at the same time. It wasn’t forced entry, so maybe someone saw a stranger loitering in the vicinity. He might have popped into a local shop, or been parked kerbside for long enough that passers-by took note.’ He paused and fixed his eyes on Clarke. ‘Anything I’ve forgotten?’
‘We need to see if Arnott will open up to us. Might help if we have leverage.’
James nodded. ‘So we look at his business dealings, see if there’s anything he’s been hiding. Friends, associates — the usual drill.’ He returned to his desk and fell into his chair, pulling a pad of paper towards him and turning to a fresh sheet. ‘I need five minutes to decide on what order we do this in and which tasks you each get.’ He had already started writing. ‘And in case nobody’s noticed, there’s a member of the public in this room — maybe one of you could escort him out of the building?’
Rebus stared at the top of Alvin James’s head. ‘Your patter’s shite,’ he said.
‘I’d say that’s all you merit,’ James replied, without looking up.
Glancey and Oldfield had risen to their feet, eager to haul Rebus outside, but Clarke placed a hand on his forearm.
‘Come on, John,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’
For a moment, he refused to budge, then he allowed her to lead him out into the corridor and down the stairs.
‘We got the result we wanted,’ she reminded him as they reached the ground floor.
‘Bully for us.’
‘He’s good at geeing up his team, though, you have to give him that.’
‘No, you have to give him that — he’s your boss, not mine.’
‘In point of fact, he’s not my boss either.’
‘You just handed him your case, Siobhan.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’ She followed Rebus out of the building on to the pavement. ‘So what now?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got a dog to walk.’
‘And after that? Maybe put some ice on your hip?’
‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Just your body telling you something?’
‘Aye, it keeps doing that — I wish to hell it would shut up. You heading back upstairs?’
‘I think so.’
‘On you go, then. And tell James something from me.’
‘What?’
‘That I’ve seen more arseholes than a proctologist, and he’s a Grade A specimen.’
‘Am I allowed to rephrase that?’
‘I’d rather it was verbatim.’ Rebus stared across the street to where his Saab was parked. ‘And speaking of arseholes...’ He crossed the road and ripped the parking ticket from his windscreen. ‘Almost got the full set,’ he called to Clarke, waving it towards her as he opened the door and got in. He added it to the collection in his glove box and started the engine. If Hank Marvin did end up being the death of him, at least he could say he’d cheated the council out of their pound of flesh...