The Naming of the Dead

Bain stared at him. “You…?”

“I had a word with Molly last night. If she’s scampered, that means she’d rather keep working at the Nook than stay shacked up with you.”

“I don’t…I’m not sure I…” Bain’s eyes widened as though lit by a jolt of caffeine. The milk carton fell from his grasp. His hands reached in through the window and found Rebus’s throat. His teeth were bared with the effort. Rebus pushed himself back toward the passenger seat, one hand scrabbling at Bain’s fingers, the other finding the window button. Up went the glass, trapping Bain. Rebus slid all the way over to the passenger side and exited the car. Walked around to where Bain was extracting his arms from the door frame. As Bain turned, Rebus kneed him in the crotch, sending him down onto his knees in the widening pool of milk. Rebus swung a punch at Bain’s chin and sent him onto his back. Straddled him, holding his shirt by its open collar.

“Your fault, Eric, not mine. One whiff of pussy and you start spilling your guts. And according to your ‘girlfriend’ you were delighted to oblige, even after you’d figured out it wasn’t just natural curiosity on her part. Made you feel important, did it? That’s the reason most informers start gabbing.”

Bain wasn’t putting up any sort of a struggle, apart from a jerking of his shoulders-and even this fell far short of resistance. In point of fact, he was sobbing, face spattered with droplets of milk, like a kid whose favorite plaything had just been lost. Rebus rose to his feet, straightening his own clothes.

“Get up,” he ordered. But Bain seemed content to lie there, so Rebus hauled him to his feet. “Look at me, Eric,” he said, drawing out a handkerchief and holding it out. “Here, wipe your face.”

Bain did as he was told. There was a bubble of snot swelling from one of his nostrils.

“Now listen,” Rebus ordered. “The deal I made with her was that if she left, we’d let it go at that. Meaning I don’t go telling Fettes about any of this-and you get to keep your job.” Rebus angled his face until Bain met his eyes. “Do you understand?”

“Plenty more jobs.”

“In IT? Sure, and they all love an employee who can’t keep secrets from strippers.”

“I loved her, Rebus.”

“Maybe so, but she was playing you like Clapton with a six-string…What’re you smiling at?”

“I’m named after him…my dad’s a fan.”

“Is that a fact?”

Bain looked up at the sky, his breathing slowing a little. “I really thought she-”

“Cafferty was using you, Eric-end of story. But here’s the thing…” Rebus made sure he had eye contact. “You can’t go near her, you don’t go to the Nook pining for her. She’s sending someone for her stuff because she knows that’s how it works.” Rebus emphasized his point by chopping the air karate-style with his hand.

“You saw her that day in the apartment, Rebus. She must’ve liked me at least a little bit.”

“Keep thinking that if you like…just don’t go asking her. If I hear you’re trying to contact her, don’t think I won’t tell Corbyn.”

Bain mumbled something Rebus didn’t catch. He asked him to repeat it. Bain’s eyes drilled into him.

“It wasn’t about Cafferty at the start.”

“Whatever you say, Eric. But it was about him eventually…trust me on that.”

Bain was silent for a few moments. He stared down at the pavement. “I need more milk.”

“Best get yourself cleaned up first. Look, I’m heading out of town. You’re going to spend all day turning this over-what if I give you a ring tomorrow, you can let me know the score?”

Bain nodded slowly, tried handing Rebus back his handkerchief.

“You can keep that,” he was advised. “Got a friend you can talk to?”

“On the Net,” Bain said.

“Whatever works.” Rebus patted his shoulder. “Are you okay now? I need to get going.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Good boy.” Rebus took a deep breath. “I’m not going to apologize for what I did, Eric…but I’m sorry you had to get hurt.”

Bain nodded again. “It’s me who should-”

But Rebus silenced him with a shake of the head. “All in the past now. Just got to pick yourself up and move on.”

“No use crying over spilled milk?” Bain offered with an attempt at a smile.

“Been trying my damnedest not to say it these past ten minutes,” Rebus admitted. “Go stick your head under the shower, wash it all away.”

“Might not be that easy,” Bain said quietly.

Rebus nodded agreement. “But all the same…it’s a start.”

Siobhan had spent a good forty minutes soaking in the bath. Normally, she only had time for a shower in the morning, but today she was determined to pamper herself. About a third of a bottle of Space NK bath foam, and a big glass of fresh orange juice. BBC 6 music on her digital radio and her cell phone switched off. The ticket to T in the Park was on the sofa in the living room, next to a list of things she would need-bottled water and snacks, her fleece, suntan lotion (well, you never could tell). Last night she’d been on the verge of calling Bobby Greig and offering him her ticket. But why should she? If she didn’t go, she’d just end up slouched on the sofa with the TV playing. Ellen Wylie had called first thing, told her she’d been talking to Rebus.

“He’s sorry,” Ellen had reported.

“Sorry for what?”

“For anything and everything.”

“Nice of him to tell you instead of me.”

“My fault,” Ellen had admitted. “I said he should leave you in peace for a day or so.”

“Thanks. How’s Denise?”

“Still in bed. So what’s the plan for today? Bopping yourself into a sweat at Kinross, or would you rather we go somewhere and drown all our sorrows?”

“I’ll bear that offer in mind. But I think you’re right-Kinross might be just what I need.”

Not that she’d be staying the night. Although her ticket was valid for both days, she’d had quite enough of the outdoors life. She wondered if the dope dealer from Stirling would be there, plying his trade. Maybe this time she would decide to indulge, break yet another rule. She knew plenty of officers who did a bit of pot; had heard rumors of some who even did coke at weekends. All kinds of ways to unwind. She considered the options, and decided she’d better pack a couple of condoms, just in case she did end up in someone’s tent. She knew two women PCs who were heading to the festival. They were hoping to rendezvous with her by text message. A wild pair they were, with a crush on the front men with the Killers and Keane. They were already in Kinross-wanted to be sure of a place front of stage.

“You better text us when you get there,” they’d warned Siobhan. “Leave it too long, we might be in a sorry state.”

Sorry…

For anything and everything.

But what had he to feel sorry about? Had he sat in the Bentley GT and listened to Cafferty’s plan? Had he climbed those stairs with Keith Carberry and stood with him as Cafferty held court? She screwed shut her eyes and ducked her head beneath the surface of the bathwater.

I’m to blame, she thought. The words kept bouncing around the inside of her skull. Gareth Tench…so vividly alive, voice booming…charismatic like all the best showmen-just “happening along” to chase Carberry and his pals away, proving to the outside world that he was the only man for the job. A bravura con trick, finessing grant aid for his constituents. Larger than life and seemingly indefatigable…and now lying cold and naked in one of the drawers at the city morgue, turned into a series of incisions and statistics.

Someone had told her once: an inch-long blade was all it took. A single slender inch of tempered steel could knock the whole world out of kilter.

She heaved herself up into daylight, spluttering and wiping the hair and suds from her face. She’d thought she could hear a phone ringing, but there was nothing, just a floorboard creaking in the apartment upstairs. Rebus had told her to stay away from Cafferty, and he was right. If she lost it in front of Cafferty, she’d be the loser.