He wasn’t killed. But there was brain damage, spinal damage... not much more than a vegetable, cared for round the clock. Rebus thought back to David’s flat — the half-bottle of Bell’s... Not a drinker, he’d thought.
‘Bit of a shock at that age,’ Macmanus had written. ‘Got David clean and sober in no seconds flat, otherwise he might have turned out not so much a chip off the old block as a bloody great boulder.’
Like son, like father. Thomas Costello had managed to write off eight cars, yet never lose his driving licence. His wife Theresa had twice called police to the home when her husband was in a rage. Both times they’d found her in the bathroom, door locked but missing some splinters where Thomas had started attacking it with a carving knife. ‘Just trying to get the bloody thing open,’ he’d explained to officers the first time. ‘Thought she was going to do herself in.’
‘It’s not me that needs doing in!’ Theresa had yelled back. (In the margins of the fax, Macmanus had added a handwritten note to the effect that Theresa had twice taken overdoses, and that everyone in the city felt sorry for her: hard-working wife, abusive and lazy husband who just happened to be hugely wealthy through no significant effort of his own.)
At the Curragh, Thomas had verbally abused a tourist visitor and been ejected by stewards. He’d threatened to cut off a bookmaker’s penis after the man had asked if Mr Costello might wish finally to settle up his huge losses, losses the bookmaker had been carrying for several months.
And so it went on. The two rooms at the Caledonian made sense now...
‘Lovely family,’ Templer commented.
‘Dublin’s finest.’
‘And all of it covered up by police.’
‘Tut tut,’ Rebus remarked. ‘We wouldn’t do that here, would we?’
‘Dear me, no,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘And your thinking on all this is...?’
‘That there’s a side of David Costello we didn’t know about till now. And that goes for his family, too. Are they still in the city?’
‘They went back to Ireland a couple of days ago.’
‘But they’ll be coming over again?’
She nodded. ‘Now that Philippa’s been found.’
‘Has David Costello been told?’
‘He’ll have heard. If Philippa’s parents haven’t said, the media will have.’
‘I’d like to have been there,’ Rebus said to himself.
‘You can’t be everywhere.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Okay, talk to the parents when they get here.’
‘And the boyfriend?’
She nodded. ‘But not too heavy... doesn’t look good with someone who’s grieving.’
He smiled. ‘Always thinking of the media, eh, Gill?’
She looked at him. ‘Could you send Grant in, please?’
‘One impressionable young officer coming right up.’ He pulled open the door. Grant was standing there, rocking on the heels of his shoes. Rebus didn’t say anything, just gave another wink as he passed.
Ten minutes later, Siobhan was getting a coffee from the machine when Grant found her.
‘What did Templer want?’ she asked, unable to stop herself.
‘Offered me liaison.’
Siobhan concentrated on stirring her drink. ‘Thought it might be that.’
‘I’ll be on the telly!’
‘I’m thrilled.’
He stared at her. ‘You could try a bit harder.’
‘You’re right, I could.’ They locked eyes. ‘Thanks for helping with the clues. I couldn’t have done it without you.’
Only now did he seem to realise that their partnership truly was dissolved. ‘Oh... right,’ he said. ‘Look, Siobhan...’
‘Yes?’
‘What happened in the office... I really am sorry.’
She allowed herself a sour smile. ‘Afraid I’ll tell on you?’
‘No... it’s not that...’
But it was, and they both knew it. ‘Haircut and a new suit this weekend,’ she suggested.
He looked down at his jacket.
‘If you’re going to be on the box. Plain shirt: no stripes or checks. Oh, and Grant...?’
‘What?’
She reached out a finger and slipped it under his tie.
‘Keep this plain, too. Cartoon characters just aren’t funny.’
‘That’s what DCS Templer said.’ He sounded surprised, angling his head to examine the little Homer Simpson heads which decorated his tie.
Grant Hood’s first TV appearance took place that same afternoon. He was seated next to Gill Templer as she read out a short statement concerning the finding of the body. Ellen Wylie watched on one of the office monitors. There wasn’t going to be a speaking part for Hood, but she noticed how, as the media all started asking questions, he leaned over to whisper some comment into Templer’s ear, the Chief Super nodding a response. Bill Pryde was on Templer’s other side, fielding most of the queries. Everyone wanted to know if the corpse was that of Philippa Balfour; everyone wanted to know the cause of death.
‘We’re not in a position to confirm identity as yet,’ Pryde stated, his words punctuated with little coughs. He looked nervous, and Wylie knew the coughs were vocal tics. She’d been the same herself, all that throat-clearing. Gill Templer glanced towards Pryde, and Hood seemed to take this as his cue.
‘Cause of death is also yet to be determined,’ he said, ‘with a post-mortem examination scheduled for late afternoon. As you know, another conference will take place at seven this evening, by which time we hope to have more details available.’
‘But the death’s being treated as suspicious?’ one journalist called out.
‘At this early stage, yes, we’re treating the death as suspicious.’
Wylie stuck the end of her biro between her teeth and ground down on it. Hood was cool, no doubt about it. He’d changed his clothes: the ensemble looked brand new. Managed to wash his hair too, she thought.
‘There’s very little we can add right now,’ he was telling the media, ‘as you’ll no doubt appreciate. If and when an identification is made, family have to be contacted and the identification confirmed.’
‘Can I ask if Philippa Balfour’s family are coming to Edinburgh?’
Hood gave the questioner a sour look. ‘I won’t deign to answer that.’ Beside him, Gill Templer was nodding agreement, marking her own distaste.
‘Can I ask Detective Inspector Pryde if the missing persons investigation is ongoing?’
‘The investigation’s ongoing,’ Pryde said determinedly, picking up some confidence from Hood’s performance. Wylie wanted to switch off the monitor, but others were watching with her, so instead she got up and wandered down the corridor to the drinks machine. By the time she got back, the conference was ending. Someone else turned off the monitor and put her out of her misery.
‘Looked good in there, didn’t he?’
She stared at the uniform who’d asked, but there was no malice apparent. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed. ‘He did all right.’
‘Better than some,’ another voice said. She turned her head, but there were three officers there, all Gayfield-based. None was looking at her. She reached out a hand for her coffee, but didn’t pick it up, fearing her trembling would be noticed. Instead, she turned her attention to Siobhan’s notes on the German student. She could make a start, busy herself with phone calls.
Just as soon as she got the words better than some out of her head.
Siobhan was sending another message to Quizmaster. She’d taken twenty minutes getting it right.
Hellbank solved. Flip’s body found there. Do you want to talk?
It didn’t take long for him to respond.
How did you solve it?
Anagram of Arthur’s Seat. Hellbank the hillside’s name.