Again, Rebus nodded.
‘This one’s a bit cruder,’ Patullo said, holding up the Glasgow coffin. ‘Different wood, too. The rest are pine, this is balsa. But the joints are the same, as are the measurements.’
‘So you think it’s the same person?’
‘As long as my life didn’t depend on it.’ Patullo picked up another coffin. ‘Now this one, the proportions are different. Joints aren’t so tidy. Either a rushed job, or my guess would be it’s by someone else.’
Rebus looked at the coffin. It was the one from Falls.
‘So we’ve got two different people responsible?’ Wylie said. When Patullo nodded, she blew air from her mouth and rolled her eyes. Two culprits made for twice the work, and halved the chance of getting a result.
‘A copycat?’ Rebus guessed.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Patullo admitted.
‘Which brings us to...’ Jean Burchill dipped a hand into her shoulder-bag, produced a box, which she opened. Inside, wrapped in tissue, was one of the Arthur’s Seat coffins. Rebus had asked her to bring it, and she made eye contact with him now, letting him know what she’d already told him in the café: that she was putting her job on the line. If it was discovered that she’d sneaked an artefact out of the Museum, or if anything happened to it... she’d be dismissed on the spot. Rebus nodded his head, letting her know he understood. She got up and placed the coffin on the desk.
‘It’s rather delicate,’ she told Patullo. Devlin, too, had risen to his feet, and Wylie wanted a better look also.
‘My goodness,’ Devlin gasped, ‘is that what I think it is?’
Jean just nodded. Patullo didn’t pick the coffin up, but bent down so his eyes were close to the level of the desk.
‘What we’re wondering,’ Rebus said, ‘is whether you think the coffins you’ve just looked at could be modelled on this.’
Patullo rubbed his cheek. ‘This is a much more basic design. Still well made, but the sides are a lot straighter. It’s not the casket shape we’d recognise today. The lid has been decorated with iron studs.’ He rubbed his cheek again, then straightened up, gripping the edge of the desk for support. ‘They’re not copies of it. That’s about as much as I can tell you.’
‘I’ve never seen one outside the Museum,’ Devlin said, shuffling forward so he could take Patullo’s place. He beamed at Jean Burchill. ‘You know, I have a theory as to who made them.’
Jean raised an eyebrow. ‘Who?’
Devlin turned his attention to Rebus. ‘You remember that portrait I showed you? Dr Kennet Lovell?’ When Rebus nodded, Devlin turned back to Jean. ‘He was the anatomist who carried out Burke’s autopsy. Afterwards, I think he carried a weight of guilt over the whole affair.’
Jean was interested. ‘Had he been buying corpses from Burke?’
Devlin shook his head. ‘There’s no historical indication that such was the case. But like many an anatomist of the day, he probably bought his share of bodies without asking too many questions as to provenance. The thing is,’ Devlin licked his lips, ‘our Dr Lovell was also interested in carpentry.’
‘Professor Devlin,’ Rebus told Jean, ‘owns a table he made.’
‘Lovell was a good man,’ Devlin was saying, ‘and a good Christian.’
‘He left them to commemorate the dead?’ Jean asked.
Devlin shrugged, glanced around. ‘I’ve no evidence, of course...’ His voice tailed off, as though he realised his animation maybe looked foolish.
‘It’s an interesting theory,’ Jean conceded, but Devlin only shrugged again, as though realising he was being patronised.
‘Like I say, it’s well enough made,’ Patullo commented.
‘There are other theories,’ Jean said. ‘Maybe witches or sailors made the Arthur’s Seat coffins.’
Patullo nodded. ‘Sailors used to be good woodworkers. In some cases it was a necessity, for others it passed a long voyage.’
‘Well,’ Rebus said, ‘thanks again for your time, Mr Patullo. Can we get someone to drive you home?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
They said their goodbyes, and Rebus directed his party to the Metropole café, where they ordered coffees and squeezed into one of the booths.
‘One step forward, two steps back,’ Wylie said.
‘How do you reckon?’ Rebus asked.
‘If there’s no connection between the other coffins and the one at Falls, we’re chasing a wild goose.’
‘I don’t see that,’ Jean Burchill interrupted. ‘I mean, maybe I’m speaking out of turn here, but it seems to me whoever left that coffin at Falls had to get the idea from somewhere.’
‘Agreed,’ Wylie said, ‘but it’s far more likely they got it from a trip to the Museum, wouldn’t you say?’
Rebus was looking at Wylie. ‘You’re saying we should ditch the four previous cases?’
‘I’m saying their only relevance here is if they connect to the Falls coffin, always supposing it has anything to do with the Balfour disappearance. And we can’t even be sure of that.’ Rebus started to say something, but she hadn’t finished. ‘If we go to DCS Templer with this — as we should — she’ll say the same thing I’m saying now. We’re getting further and further away from the Balfour case.’ She raised her cup to her lips and sipped.
Rebus turned to Devlin, who was sitting next to him. ‘What do you think, Professor?’
‘I’m forced to agree, reluctant though I am to be cast back into the darkness of an old man’s retirement.’
‘There was nothing in the autopsy notes?’
‘Nothing as yet. It looks very much as if both women were alive when they went into the water. Both bodies sustained some injuries, but that’s not so unusual. The river would have rocks in it, so that the victim may have hit her head when falling. As to the victim in Nairn, the tides and sealife can do terrible things to a body, especially one that’s been in the water for some time. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.’
‘Everything’s useful,’ Jean Burchill said. ‘If it doesn’t rule something in, it can help rule other things out.’
She looked to Rebus, hoping he might smile at hearing his own words paraphrased, but his mind was elsewhere. He was worried Wylie was right. Four coffins left by the same person, one by someone completely different, no connection between the two. The problem was, he felt there was a connection. But it wasn’t something he could make someone like Wylie comprehend. There were times when instinct had to take over, no matter what the protocol. Rebus felt this was one of those times, but doubted Wylie would go along with it.
And he couldn’t blame her for that.
‘Maybe if you could give the notes a final look,’ he asked Devlin.
‘Gladly,’ the old man said, bowing his head.
‘And talk to the pathologists from either case. Sometimes they remember things...’
‘Absolutely.’
Rebus turned his attention to Ellen Wylie. ‘Maybe you should make your report to DCS Templer. Tell her what we’ve done. I’m sure there’s work for you on the main investigation.’
She straightened her back. ‘Meaning you’re not giving up?’
Rebus gave a tired smile. ‘I’m close to. Just a couple more days.’