Rebus ran forward, pushed through the gap into the living room. It was Jean, bruised and beaten, her face a smear of blood and mucus, hair matted with sweat and more blood. One eye had swollen and was completely closed. Flecks of pink saliva flew from her mouth as she breathed.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Rebus said, dropping to his knees in front of her, eyes running over the visible damage. He didn’t want to touch her, thought there might be bones broken. He didn’t want her to hurt more than she already did.
Wylie was in the room now, too, surveying the scene. It looked like half the contents of the flat lay strewn across the floor, a bloody trail showing where Jean Burchill had crawled her way to the door.
‘Get an ambulance,’ Rebus said, voice trembling. Then: ‘Jean, what did he do to you?’ And watched her one good eye fill with tears.
Wylie made the call. Halfway through, she thought she heard a noise out in the halclass="underline" the nervous neighbour grown nosy perhaps. She stuck her head out, but couldn’t see anything. She gave the address and stressed again that it was an emergency, then cut the call. Rebus’s ear was close to Jean’s face. Wylie realised she was trying to say something. Her lips were swollen, and teeth looked to have been dislodged.
Rebus looked up at Wylie, eyes widening. ‘She says, did we catch him?’
Wylie caught the meaning at once, ran to the window and pulled the curtains back. Donald Devlin was scurrying across the road, dragging one leg and holding his bleeding left hand out in front of him.
‘Bastard!’ Wylie yelled, making for the door.
‘No!’ Rebus’s voice was a roar. He got to his feet. ‘He’s mine.’
As he bounded downstairs two at a time, he realised Devlin must have been hiding in one of the other rooms. Waited till they were busy in the living room and then slipped out. They’d interrupted him. He tried not to think of what Jean’s fate would have been if they hadn’t...
By the time he reached the pavement, Devlin had disappeared from view, but the splashes of bright blood were as clear a trail as Rebus could wish for. He caught sight of him crossing Howe Street, making for St Stephen Street. Rebus was gaining, until the uneven pavement caught him, sending him over on one ankle. Devlin might be in his seventies, but that didn’t mean much: he’d have the strength and determination of the possessed. Rebus had seen it before during a chase. Desperation and adrenaline made for a fearful mix...
Still the drops of blood showed the way. Rebus had slowed, trying to keep the weight off his twisted ankle, pictures of Jean’s face filling his mind. He punched numbers into his mobile, got the sequence wrong the first time and had to start again. When the call was answered, he yelled for assistance.
‘I’m keeping the line open,’ he said. That way, he could let them know if Devlin suddenly flagged a taxi or boarded a bus.
He could see Devlin again now, but then he turned the corner into Kerr Street. By the time Rebus got to the corner, he’d lost him again. Deanhaugh Street and Raeburn Place were straight ahead, busy with pedestrians and traffic: the evening trawl home. With so many people around, the trail was harder to follow. Rebus crossed the road at the traffic lights and found himself on the road-bridge which crossed the Water of Leith... There were several routes Devlin could have taken, and the trail seemed to have stopped. Had he crossed towards Saunders Street, or maybe doubled back along Hamilton Place? Resting one arm on the parapet, taking the weight off his ankle, Rebus happened to look down at the river flowing sluggishly below.
And saw Devlin on the footpath, heading down-river towards Leith.
Rebus lifted the phone and called in his position. As he was doing so, Devlin looked back and saw him. The old man’s pace quickened, but then suddenly slowed. He came to a stop, the other people on the path making a detour round him. One seemed solicitous, but Devlin shook away the offer of help. He turned back and stared at Rebus, who was walking to the end of the bridge, taking the steps down. Devlin hadn’t moved. Rebus called in his position again, then put the phone in his pocket, wanting both hands free.
As he walked towards Devlin, he saw the scratches on his face, and realised that Jean had been giving almost as good as she got. Devlin was studying his bloodied hand as Rebus stopped six feet away.
‘The human bite can be quite poisonous, you know,’ Devlin told him. ‘But at least with Miss Burchill I’m sure I needn’t be concerned about hepatitis and HIV.’ He looked up. ‘Something struck me, seeing you on that bridge. I suddenly thought: they don’t have anything.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Any evidence.’
‘Well, we can always make a start with attempted murder.’ Rebus slipped a hand into his pocket, brought out the phone.
‘Who are you going to call?’ Devlin asked.
‘Don’t you want an ambulance?’ Rebus held the phone up, took a step forwards.
‘Just a couple of stitches,’ Devlin commented, examining the wound again. Sweat dripped from his hair and the sides of his face. He was breathing hard, wheezily.
‘You don’t make the grade as a serial killer any more, do you, Professor?’
‘It’s been some time,’ he agreed.
‘Was Betty-Anne Jesperson the last?’
‘I’d nothing to do with young Philippa, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Someone stealing your idea?’
‘Well, it wasn’t exactly mine in the first place.’
‘Are there any others?’
‘Others?’
‘Victims we don’t know about.’
Devlin’s smile broke open some of the cuts on his face. ‘Isn’t four enough?’
‘You tell me.’
‘It seemed... satisfactory. No pattern, you see. Two bodies not even found.’
‘Just the coffins.’
‘Which might never have been connected...’
Rebus nodded slowly, didn’t say anything.
‘Was it the autopsy?’ Devlin asked at last. Rebus nodded again. ‘I knew it was a risk.’
‘If you’d told us at the start you’d carried out the Glasgow post-mortem, we wouldn’t have thought anything of it.’
‘But back then, I couldn’t know what else you might find. Other connections, I mean. And by the time I saw you weren’t going to come up with anything, it was too late. I could hardly say “Oh, incidentally, I was one of the pathologists”, not after we’d already been through the notes...’
He dabbed at his face with his fingers, finding blood issuing from the cuts. Rebus held the phone a little closer.
‘That ambulance...?’ he offered.
Devlin shook his head. ‘In good time.’ A middle-aged woman made to pass them, eyes widening in horror as she saw Devlin. ‘A stumble down the steps,’ he reassured her. ‘Help is on its way.’
She quickened her pace away from the scene.
‘I think I’ve said more than enough, don’t you, DI Rebus?’
‘Not for me to say, sir.’
‘I do hope DS Wylie doesn’t get into trouble.’
‘For what?’
‘Not keeping a closer eye on me when I was studying the autopsy reports.’
‘I don’t think she’s the one that’s in trouble here.’
‘Uncorroborated evidence, isn’t that what we’re dealing with, Inspector? One woman’s word against mine? I’m sure I can find some plausible motive for my fight with Miss Burchill.’ He studied his hand. ‘One might almost call me the victim. And let us be honest, what else do you have? Two drownings, two missing persons, no evidence.’