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Jensen shook his head. “Just some seminars and a di
“The Web site was your wife’s idea?” Siobhan asked quietly.
“It was a way of dealing with…She’d gone online looking for help.”
“Help?”
“Victims’ families. She wanted to know how to help Vicky. Along the way, the idea came to her.”
“She had help to construct the site?”
“We paid a firm of designers.”
“And the other sites in America…?”
“Oh, yes, they helped with layout. Once it was up and ru
“Do people subscribe?”
Jensen nodded. “If they want the newsletter. It’s supposed to be every quarter, but again, I’m not sure Dolly’s kept it up.”
“So you have a list of subscribers?” Rebus asked.
Siobhan looked at him. “Not that you need to be a subscriber to look at the site.”
“There’ll be a list somewhere,” Jensen was saying.
“How long has the site been active?” Siobhan asked.
“Eight or nine months. It was when his release date started to come closer…Dolly was getting more and more anxious.” He paused, glanced at his watch. “For Vicky, I mean.”
As if on cue, the front door opened and closed. An excited, breathless voice came from the hallway.
“I did it, Dad! The shore and back!” The woman who filled the door frame was red-faced and overweight. She shrieked when she saw that her father was not alone.
“It’s all right, Vicky.”
But she’d turned on her heels and fled. Another door opened and slammed shut. They heard her footsteps as she padded down to her basement refuge. Thomas Jensen’s shoulders slumped.
“That’s as far as she’s managed on her own,” he explained.
Rebus nodded. The shore was barely half a mile away. He knew now why Jensen had been so anxious at their arrival, and why he had sca
“We pay someone to stay with her weekdays,” Jensen went on, hands in his lap. “Means we can both keep working.”
“You told her Colliar’s dead?” Rebus asked.
“Yes,” Jensen confirmed.
“She was interviewed about it?”
Now Jensen shook his head. “The officer who came to ask us questions…he was very understanding when we explained about Vicky.” Rebus and Siobhan shared a look: Going through the motions…not trying too hard…‘We didn’t kill him, you know. Even if he’d been standing there in front of me…” Jensen’s eyes grew unfocused. “I’m not sure I could bring myself to do it.”
“They all died of injections, Mr. Jensen,” Siobhan stated.
The vet blinked a couple of times, raised a hand slowly and squeezed the skin either side of his nose, just below the eyes. “If you’re going to accuse me of anything, I’d like my lawyer to hear it.”
“We just need your help, sir.”
He stared at her. “And that’s the one thing I’m determined not to give you.”
“We’ll need to talk to your wife and daughter,” Siobhan said, but Jensen was on his feet.
“I want you to leave now. I have to look after Vicky.”
“Of course, sir,” Rebus said.
“But we’ll be back,” Siobhan added. “Lawyer or no lawyer. And remember, Mr. Jensen, tampering with evidence can get you locked up.” She strode toward the door, Rebus following in her wake. Outside, he lit a cigarette, staring toward a makeshift game of soccer on the links.
“See, when I said diplomacy wasn’t my strong point…?”
“What?”
“Five more minutes in there, you’d’ve been roughing him up.”
“Don’t be stupid.” But the blood had risen to her face. She puffed out her cheeks and made an exasperated sound.
“What did you mean about evidence?” Rebus asked.
“Web sites can be wound down,” she explained. “Subscriber lists can be lost.”
“Which means the sooner we speak to Brains, the better.”
Eric Bain was watching the Live 8 concert on his computer-at least, that was what it looked like to Rebus, but Bain soon corrected him.
“Editing it, actually.”
“A download?” Siobhan guessed, but Bain shook his head.
“Burned it onto DVD-ROM; now I’m taking out anything I don’t need.”
“That would take some time in my case,” Rebus said.
“It easy enough once you get the hang of the tools.”
“I think,” Siobhan broke in, “DI Rebus means he’d be deleting a lot of stuff.”
Bain smiled at this. He hadn’t gotten up since they’d arrived, hadn’t so much as glanced up from the screen. It was his girlfriend, Molly, who’d opened the door for them; Molly who’d asked if they’d like a cup of tea. She was in the kitchen now, boiling the kettle, while Bain stuck to his task in the living room.
It was a top-floor apartment in a warehouse conversion off Slateford Road. The brochure had probably referred to it as the “penthouse.” There were expansive views from the small windows, mostly of chimneys and abandoned factories. The top of Corstorphine Hill was just visible in the distance. The room was neater than Rebus had expected. No lengths of wiring, cardboard boxes, soldering irons, or game consoles. Hardly the typical residence of a self-confessed gadget geek.
“How long you been here, Eric?” Rebus asked.
“Couple of months.”
“Pair of you decided to move in together?”
“That’s about the size of it. I’ll be finished here in a minute…”
Rebus nodded, went over to the sofa and made himself comfortable. Molly shuffled in with the tea tray, fizzing with energy. She was wearing mules on her feet. Tight blue jeans that only reached as far as her calves. A red T-shirt with Che Guevara on it. Great figure, and long blond hair-dyed that color, but still suiting her. Rebus had to admit he was impressed. He’d risked several glances toward Siobhan, who on each occasion had been studying Molly the way a scientist would a lab rat. Clearly she too thought Bain had done well for himself.
And Molly had made her mark on Brains: the boy had been housebroken. What was that Elton John line? You nearly had me roped and tied…Bernie Taupin actually. The original Brown Dirt Cowboy to Reg’s Captain Fantastic.
“Place looks great,” Rebus said to Molly as she handed him a mug. His reward: her pink lips and perfect white teeth breaking into a smile. “Didn’t catch your last name…?”
“ Clark,” she said.
“Same as Siobhan here,” Rebus informed her. Molly looked to Siobhan for confirmation.
“I’ve an e at the end,” Siobhan offered.
“Not me,” Molly replied. She’d settled on the sofa next to Rebus but kept moving her bottom, as if unable to get comfortable.
“Still, it gives you something else in common,” Rebus added teasingly, receiving a scowl from Siobhan for his effort. “How long have you two been an item then?”
“Fifteen weeks,” she said breathlessly. “Doesn’t seem long, does it? But sometimes you just know.”
Rebus nodded agreement. “I’m always saying, Siobhan here should settle down. It can be the making of you, can’t it, Molly?”
Molly didn’t look convinced, but still looked at Siobhan with something like sympathy. “It really can,” she stressed. Siobhan gave Rebus a hard stare and accepted her own mug.
“Actually,” Rebus went on, “for a wee while back there, Siobhan and Eric looked like becoming an item.”
“We were just friends,” Siobhan said, forcing out a laugh. Bain seemed frozen in front of the computer screen, hand unmoving on the mouse.
“Is that right, Eric?” Rebus called to him.
“John’s just teasing,” Siobhan was assuring Molly. “Take no notice of him.”
Rebus offered Molly a wink. “Lovely spot of tea,” he said. She was still fidgeting.
“And we’re really sorry to disturb your Sunday,” Siobhan added. “If it wasn’t an emergency…”
Bain’s chair creaked as he rose from it. Rebus noticed he had lost a good bit of weight, maybe as much as fifteen pounds. His pale face was still fleshy, but the gut had shrunk.
“Still based at the Forensic computer branch?” Siobhan asked him.