A beat..
HEATHER It’s lost history isn’t it? Didn’t realise I was hopeful but... That’s stupid eh? The way you can keep hoping. Like still believing in Santa... or life after death. Look it’s ok. As long as you tried.
REBUS You have to talk to the police, Heather, about the night Andy was killed.
HEATHER No!
REBUS Why not?
HEATHER Don’t call them.
REBUS Well I have to...
He stops as HEATHER takes out a gun and points it at him.
HEATHER Stupid fucker didn’t think I’d use a knife so he came at me. That’s when I knew I needed a gun. Should have realised: if you don’t look like you’re big enough to give them a doing they will try eh? And that’s just messy. And upsetting. I need folk to stand still when I’m talking to them.
REBUS Right.
HEATHER If I’d had a gun that night I probably wouldny have had to use it. But he thought he could take me. Stupid fuck.
REBUS You were supplying Andy. You were his boss.
HEATHER And he was a fucking idiot. All he had to do was take the business off the stair. Like you said. You noticed. You knew exactly what he was doing. Can’t have folk working for me that are that kind of stupid. I wouldny have killed him but... Like I said, he tried to take me. (breaks off) What are you looking at me like that for?
REBUS That’s the business plan is it Heather? This is how you’re going to make your fortune?
HEATHER This is just how I’ll get started. Then I’ll diversify.
REBUS Thing is, when you’ve got a toe in one world, it’s awfy hard to pull it loose and jump into another.
HEATHER Richard Branson kick started his millions by fiddling his VAT.
REBUS Is that a fact? Och you’ll be fine then.
HEATHER All I’m doing is what the whole world does to get rich.
REBUS Only difference is you’re doing it with your own hands.
HEATHER That’s right.
REBUS Must be in your blood.
HEATHER What do you mean?
REBUS Remember your mum Heather. She’d want you to do that.
HEATHER Sometimes I kid on she’s watching me. Think she’d be proud John?
REBUS I think she’d be worried for you. There’s sharks out there Heather. Seriously sharp teeth.
HEATHER I can look after myself. Better than she could. Maybe I take after my Dad eh? What do you think?
REBUS Careful what you wish for.
HEATHER’S on the move.
HEATHER You can make your phone call now. I’m going. See you around John.
She’s leaving.
REBUS I won’t do that. I won’t call it in.
HEATHER (stopped) Why not?
REBUS (offering her a card) Because one day, if you ever meet the biggest shark out there, you should phone me.
HEATHER Why?
REBUS Because if you meet him, you’ll really need my help.
HEATHER And what’s in it for you?
REBUS Maybe something we called a win... back in my day.
HEATHER Alright. I’ll do that.
She takes the card and leaves. After a moment REBUS follows her down the stairs. The song, HEATHER and MAGGIE’S song starts and swells in volume.
We see CAFFERTY lit up in his penthouse, staring out over the city.
REBUS is in the Meadows, staring up towards CAFFERTY’S penthouse. They can’t see each other but each knows the other is there.
Music hits a crescendo.
BLACKOUT.
Ian Rankin and Rona Munro
In conversation
Ian: So, Rona, what were your feelings when you were first approached about Long Shadows?
Rona: My first reaction was that I hadn’t read the books with enough attention! I think my brain clicked into ‘homework’ mode. Years of encounters with John Rebus, purely for pleasure, didn’t seem to qualify me for the responsibility. Of course, I then re-read the novels, especially the ones that focused on that strange, potent dynamic between Rebus and Cafferty. That reminded me that reading for pleasure was the point; that’s why the books are so fantastic. The job was to try and transfer that appreciation to the stage in a way that was theatrical but also satisfying to fans of the books.
Ian: Yes, I was certainly keen to see your ‘take’ on that powerful relationship between Rebus and Cafferty. The two share an empathy but also an antipathy. They seem to me like warring sides of the same split personality — and as you know I’ve always had a fascination for books such as R L Stevenson’s Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and James Hogg’s Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. I was also interested in the way you had dealt with masculine/ royal power (and disempowerment) in your James Plays for the National Theatre of Scotland. Scotland is such a small country, I think people outside reckon all the writers must know each other, but we had somehow conspired never to bump into one another until we started bouncing ideas around about a Rebus stage play. Do you remember the early stages of that working relationship?
Rona: Well, I think we made it up as we went along, didn’t we? I don’t know about you, but I always felt that it had to be as organic as a conversation. I didn’t go into the project with any expectations of how we would work together. I thought we’d probably just start from that first mug of coffee and chocolate biscuit in your living-room and see what felt comfortable. I think every creative collaboration I’ve ever been part of has depended on mutual respect and trust. In this case, the biggest leap of trust probably came from you — Rebus is yours, after all. I know you’ve let others get their sticky paws on him with TV adaptations, and you seem very laid back and not at all possessive of the great man. Is that something you’ve had to work at or did you always feel able to detach?
Ian: I think it was easier to detach in the early years. When the first Rebus novel came out, there was immediate TV interest from Leslie Grantham (who was famous at the time for playing Dirty Den on BBC’s East Enders). He wanted to move the action to London so he could play Rebus as a London cop. I took one look at the fee being offered and I was delighted with that. But then it never happened. I think throughout my years with Rebus I’ve come to accept that he belongs to everybody, most notably his fans. You and I did discuss this, I remember — we wanted to produce a play that would engage lifelong fans while still being accessible to an audience who might not know the books but love a night out at the theatre. I know you hadn’t worked with the whodunit genre previously — did the format present you with particular issues as a playwright?