The Naming of the Dead

Rebus waited to see if there would be more, then touched his hands to her shoulders. “Cafferty,” he said quietly, “wanted Gareth Tench put out to pasture, and he was happy to use you as a means to that end.”

“He told me he didn’t want him dead.”

“And he told me he did. I had quite a descriptive little rant from him on that subject.”

“We didn’t tell Keith Carberry to kill him,” she stated.

“Siobhan,” Rebus reminded her, “you said it yourself just a minute ago-Keith does pretty much what he thinks people want him to do-powerful people, people who’ve got some measure of control over him. People like Tench…and Cafferty…and you.” He pointed a finger at her.

“So I’m to blame?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“We can all make a mistake, Siobhan.”

“Well, thanks for that.” She turned on her heels and started striding back across the playing field. Rebus looked down at his feet and gave a sigh, then reached into his pocket for cigarettes and lighter.

The lighter was empty. He shook it, tipped it up, blew on it, rubbed it for luck…not so much as a spark. He sauntered back toward the line of police vehicles, asked one of the uniforms if he had a light. His colleague was able to oblige, and Rebus decided he might as well beg another favor.

“I need a lift,” he said, watching Siobhan’s taillights receding into the night. Couldn’t believe Cafferty had gotten his claws into her. No…he could believe it all too readily. Siobhan had wanted to prove something to her parents-not just that she’d made a success of her job, but that it meant something in the greater scheme. She’d wanted them to know there were always answers, always solutions. Cafferty had promised her both.

But at a price-his price.

Siobhan had stopped thinking like a cop, turning back into a daughter again. Rebus thought of how he had let his own family drift away from him, first his wife and daughter, and then his brother. Pushing them away because the job seemed to demand it, demanded his unconditional attention. No room for anyone else…Too late now to do anything about it.

But not too late for Siobhan.

“You still want that lift?” one of the uniforms was asking. Rebus nodded and got in.

His first stop: Craigmillar police station. He got himself a cup of coffee and waited for the team to reconvene. Stood to reason they’d set up the murder room here. Sure enough, the cars started to arrive. Rebus didn’t know the faces, but introduced himself. The detective angled his head.

“It’s DS McManus you want.”

McManus was just coming through the door. He was younger even than Siobhan-maybe not yet thirty. Boyish features, tall and ski

“I was begi

“True.”

“Worked with Bain and Maclay.”

“For my sins.”

“Well, they’re both long gone, so you needn’t worry.” They were walking down the long hallway behind the reception desk. “What can I do for you, Rebus?”

“Just something I thought you ought to know.”

“Oh aye?”

“I’d had a few run-ins recently with the deceased.”

McManus glanced at him. “That right?”

“I’ve been working the Cyril Colliar case.”

“Still just the two additional victims?”

Rebus nodded. “Tench had links to one of them-guy worked at an adult day-care center not far from here. Tench got him the position.”

“Fair enough.”

“You’ll be interviewing the widow…she’ll probably say CID paid a visit.”

“And that was you?”

“Myself and a colleague, yes.”

They’d taken a left turn into an adjoining corridor, Rebus following McManus into the CID office, where the team was gathering.

“Anything else you think I should know?”

Rebus tried to look as though he were racking his brain. Finally, he shook his head. “That’s about it,” he said.

“Was Tench a suspect?”

“Not really.” Rebus paused. “We were a bit concerned by his relationship with a young rebel called Keith Carberry.”

“I know Keith,” McManus said.

“He was in court, charged with fighting and disturbing the peace in Princes Street. When he came out, Councilmen Tench was waiting for him. They seemed pretty friendly. Then surveillance cameras showed Carberry whacking some i

“Carberry saw the pair of you together?” Rebus nodded. “And that was lunchtime?”

“I got the feeling he was tailing the councilman.”

“You didn’t stop to ask?”

“I was in my car by then…only caught a glimpse of him in the rearview.”

McManus was gnawing on his bottom lip. “Need a quick result on this,” he said, almost to himself. “Tench was hellish popular, did this area a power of good. There are going to be some very angry people.”

“No doubt,” Rebus confirmed. “Did you know the councilman?”

“Friend of my uncle’s…they go back to school days.”

“You’re from round here,” Rebus stated.

“Grew up in the shadow of Craigmillar Castle.”

“So you’d known Councilman Tench for some time?”

“Years and years.”

Rebus tried to make his next question sound casual. “Ever hear rumors about him?”

“What sort of rumors?”

“I don’t know, the usual stuff, I suppose-extramarital flings, money going astray from the coffers…”

“Guy’s not even cold yet,” McManus complained.

“Just wondering,” Rebus apologized. “I’m not trying to imply anything.”

McManus was looking toward his team-seven of them, including two women. They were trying to look as though they weren’t eavesdropping. McManus stepped away from Rebus and stood in front of them.

“We go to his house, inform the family. Need someone to make the formal ID.” He half turned his head toward Rebus. “After that, we bring in Keith Carberry. Few questions we need to ask him.”

“Such as, Where’s the knife, Keith?” one of the team offered.

McManus allowed the joke. “I know we’ve had Bush and Blair and Bono up here this past week, but in Craigmillar, Gareth Tench counts as royalty. So we need to be proactive. More boxes we can check off tonight, happier I’ll be.”

There were a few groans, but they lacked force. Seemed to Rebus that McManus was well liked. His officers would go the extra hour for him.

“Any overtime?” one of them asked.

“G8 wasn’t enough for you, Ben?” McManus retorted. Rebus stayed put for a moment, ready to say something like “thanks” or “good luck,” but McManus’s attention was on this fresh new case. He’d already started doling out tasks.

“Ray, Barbara, see if there’s any security-camera footage from around the Jack Kane Center. Billy, Tom, you’re going to light some fires under our esteemed pathologists-ditto those lazy sods at Forensics. Jimmy, you and Kate go pick up Keith Carberry. Sweat him in the cells till I get back. Ben, you’re with me, little trip to the councilman’s house in Duddingston Park. Any questions?”

No questions.

Rebus headed back down the corridor, hoping Siobhan could be kept out of it. No way of telling. McManus owed Rebus no favors. Carberry might spill his guts, which would be awkward, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Rebus was already forming the story in his head.

DS Clarke had information that Keith played pool in Restalrig. When she got there, the owner, Morris Gerald Cafferty, also happened to be present…

He doubted McManus would swallow it. They could always deny any meeting had taken place, but there’d been witnesses. Besides, the denial would only work if Cafferty played along, and the only reason he’d do that would be to tighten the noose around Siobhan. She would owe Cafferty her whole future, and so would Rebus. Which was why, out in reception, he asked for another lift, this time to Merchiston. The uniforms in the patrol car were chatty but didn’t question where he was headed. Maybe they thought CID could afford to own homes in this quiet, tree-lined enclave. The detached Victorian houses sat behind high walls and fences. The street lighting seemed subdued, so as not to keep the inhabitants awake. The wide streets were almost empty-no parking problems here: each house boasted a driveway for half a dozen cars. Rebus got the patrol car to stop on Ettrick Road-didn’t want to be too obvious. They seemed content to hang out and watch him enter whichever house was his final destination. But he waved them away, busying himself with lighting a cigarette. One of the uniforms had gifted him half a dozen matches. Rebus struck one against a wall and watched the patrol car signal right at the end of the street. At the foot of Ettrick Road he took a right-still no sign of the patrol car and no place they could be hiding. No sign of life anywhere: no traffic or pedestrians, no sounds from behind the thick stone walls. Huge windows muffled by wooden shutters. Bowling green and te