‘Well,’ Rebus corrected him, ‘no evidence apart from this.’ He held the phone a little higher. ‘It was already on when I took it from my pocket, connected to our comms centre down in Leith.’ He put the phone to his ear. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that uniformed officers were making their way down the steps from the bridge. ‘Did you get all that?’ he asked into the mouthpiece. Then he looked at Devlin and smiled.
‘We record every call, you see.’
The animation left Devlin’s face, his shoulders slumping. Then he turned on his heels, preparing to run. But Rebus’s arm snaked out, gripping him hard by the shoulder. Devlin tried to wrestle free. One foot slipped off the walkway and he started to fall, his weight pulling Rebus with him. The two men landed heavily in the Water of Leith. It wasn’t deep, and Rebus felt his own shoulder connect with a rock. When he tried standing up, his feet sank to the ankles in mud. He was still holding on to Devlin, and as the bald head appeared from below the surface, missing its spectacles, Rebus saw again the monster who had battered Jean. He reached out his free hand to the Professor’s neck and forced him back under. Hands flew up, splashing, wrestling air. Fingers clawing at Rebus’s arm, clutching at his jacket lapel.
He felt as calm as he ever had in his life. The water lapped around him, icy but somehow soothing, too. There were people on the bridge, staring down, and officers wading into the water nearby, and a pale lemon sun spectating from above a bruised cloud. The water seemed cleansing to him. He couldn’t feel his twisted ankle any more, couldn’t feel anything much. Jean would recover, and so would he. He’d move out of Arden Street, find somewhere else, somewhere nobody knew about... maybe near water.
His arm was wrenched from behind: one of the uniforms.
‘Let go of him!’
The cry broke the spell. Rebus released his grip, and Donald Devlin rose spluttering and choking into the daylight, watery vomit dribbling from his chin...
They were loading Jean Burchill into the ambulance when Rebus’s mobile started ringing. One of the green-suited paramedics was explaining that they couldn’t rule out spinal or neck damage, which was why they’d strapped her to a stretcher and placed braces around her head and neck.
Rebus was staring at Jean, trying to take in what was being said.
‘Shouldn’t you answer that?’ the paramedic asked.
‘What?’
‘Your phone.’
Rebus lifted the mobile to his ear. When he’d struggled with Devlin, it had dropped on to the walkway. It was scratched and chipped, but at least still working. ‘Hello?’
‘DI Rebus?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Eric Bain here.’
‘Yes?’
‘Is something the matter?’
‘Quite a lot, yes.’ As the trolley slid home into the back of the ambulance, Rebus looked down at his sodden clothes. ‘Any sign of Siobhan?’
‘That’s why I’m calling.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing’s happened. It’s just that I can’t reach her. They think she’s in the Botanics. There are half a dozen men out there looking for her.’
‘So?’
‘So there’s news about Quizmaster.’
‘And you’re bursting to tell someone?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’
‘I’m not sure you’ve got the right person, Bain, I’m a bit tied up right now.’
‘Oh.’
Rebus was inside the ambulance now, seated across from the trolley. Jean had her eyes closed, but when he reached for her hand, his pressure was returned.
‘Sorry?’ he said, having missed what Bain had just said.
‘Who should I tell then?’ Bain repeated.
‘I don’t know.’ Rebus sighed. ‘Okay, tell me what it is.’
‘It’s Special Branch,’ Bain said, the words streaming out. ‘One of the e-mail addresses Quizmaster was using, it traces back to Philippa Balfour’s account.’
Rebus didn’t understand: was Bain trying to say that Flip Balfour had been Quizmaster...?
‘I think it makes sense,’ Bain was saying now. ‘Taken with Claire Benzie’s account.’
‘I’m not getting you.’ Jean’s eyelids were fluttering. A sudden jolt of pain, Rebus guessed. He lessened the pressure on her hand.
‘If Benzie did lend her laptop to Philippa Balfour, we’ve got two computers in the same place, both used by Quizmaster.’
‘Yes?’
‘And if we rule out Ms Balfour as a suspect...’
‘We’re left with someone who had access to both?’
Silence for a moment, and then Bain: ‘I think the boyfriend’s back in the frame, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rebus was having trouble concentrating. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, feeling perspiration there.
‘We could always ask him...’
‘Siobhan’s gone to meet Quizmaster,’ Rebus said. Then he paused. ‘She’s at the Botanics, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do we know?’
‘Her car’s parked right outside.’
Rebus thought for a second: Siobhan would know they were looking for her. Leaving the car in full view was too big a giveaway...
‘What if she’s not there?’ he said. ‘What if she’s meeting him somewhere else?’
‘How can we find out?’
‘Maybe Costello’s flat...’ He looked down at Jean. ‘Look, Bain, I really can’t do this... not right now.’
Jean’s eye opened. She mouthed something.
‘Hang on, Bain,’ Rebus said. Then he lowered his head to Jean’s.
‘Fine...’ he heard her slur.
She was telling him she’d be okay; that he had to help Siobhan now. Rebus turned his head, his eyes meeting those of Ellen Wylie, who was standing on the roadway, waiting for the doors to close. She nodded slowly, letting him know she’d stay with Jean.
‘Bain?’ he said into the mobile. ‘I’ll meet you outside Costello’s flat.’
By the time Rebus got there, Bain had climbed the winding stairs and was standing outside Costello’s door.
‘I don’t think he’s home,’ Bain was saying, crouching down to look through the letter-box. A chill ran up Rebus’s spine, remembering what he’d seen when he’d peered into Devlin’s flat. Bain got to his feet again. ‘No sign of... Jesus Christ, man, what happened to you?’
‘Swimming lessons. I didn’t have time to change.’ Rebus looked at the door, then at Bain. ‘Together?’ he said.
Bain stared back at him. ‘Isn’t that illegal?’
‘For Siobhan,’ Rebus said simply.
They hit the door together on the count of three.
Inside, Bain knew what he was looking for: a computer. He found two in the bedroom, both of them laptops.
‘Claire Benzie’s,’ Bain guessed, ‘and either his own or someone else’s.’
The screen-saver had been activated on one computer. Bain accessed Costello’s ISP and opened the filing cabinet.
‘No time to try for a password,’ he said, almost to himself more than Rebus. ‘So all we can read are the old messages.’ But there were none to or from Siobhan. ‘Looks like he wipes as he goes,’ Bain said.
‘Or else we’re barking up the wrong tree.’ Rebus was looking around the room: unmade bed, books scattered across the floor. Notes for an essay on the desk next to the PC. Socks, pants and T-shirts spilled from the chest of drawers, but not from the top drawer. Rebus limped over, opened it slowly. Inside: maps and guidebooks, including one about Arthur’s Seat. A postcard of Rosslyn Chapel and another guidebook.
‘Right tree,’ he remarked simply. Bain got up, came to look.
‘Everything the well-dressed Quizmaster could need.’ Bain went to reach into the drawer, but Rebus slapped his hand away. ‘No touching.’ He tried sliding the drawer out further. Something was sticking. He took a pen from his pocket and dislodged it: an Edinburgh A — Z.