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“I’ve yet to meet a teenager who started a war.” The voice rang slightly false: another prepared answer to an oft-put point.
“Only because we don’t tend to give them the firepower,” Rebus commented, staring again at the array of arms.
Fogg was relocking the iron gate.
“So nothing’s missing?” Rebus asked.
Hogan shook his head. “But both victims were in the CCF.”
Rebus looked at Fogg, who nodded confirmation. “Anthony was a very keen member… Derek a little less so.”
Anthony Jarvies: the judge’s son. His father, Roland Jarvies, was well known in Scottish courts. Rebus had probably given evidence fifteen or twenty times in cases over which Lord Jarvies had presided with wit and what one lawyer had described as “a gimlet eye.” Rebus wasn’t sure what a gimlet eye was, but he got the idea.
“We were wondering,” Siobhan was saying, “whether anyone’s been looking at Herdman’s bank or credit union.”
Hogan studied her. “His accountant’s been very helpful. Business wasn’t going to the wall or anything.”
“But no sudden deposits?” Rebus asked.
Hogan narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Rebus glanced in the principal’s direction. He hadn’t meant for Fogg to notice, but he did.
“Would you like me to…?” Fogg said.
“We’re not quite finished, Dr. Fogg, if that’s all right.” Hogan’s eyes met Rebus’s. “I’m sure whatever DI Rebus wants to say will be kept between us.”
“Of course,” Fogg stressed. He had locked the door of the vault and now turned the combination wheel.
“The other kid who was killed,” Rebus started to explain to Hogan. “He was in a car crash last year. The driver was killed. We’re wondering if it’s too far back for revenge to be a motive.”
“Doesn’t explain why Herdman would top himself after.”
“Botched job maybe,” Siobhan said, folding her arms. “Two other kids got hit, Herdman panicked…”
“So when you talk about Herdman’s bank, you’re thinking a big, recent deposit?”
Rebus nodded.
“I’ll get someone to take a look. Only thing we’ve got from his business accounts is a missing computer.”
“Oh?”
Siobhan asked if it could be a tax dodge.
“Could be,” Hogan agreed. “But there’s a receipt. We’ve talked to the shop that sold him the setup-top of the line.”
“Reckon he ditched it?” Rebus asked.
“Why would he do that?”
Rebus shrugged.
“Perhaps to cover something up?” Fogg suggested. When they looked at him, he lowered his eyes. “Not that it’s my place to…”
“Don’t apologize, sir,” Hogan reassured him. “You might have a good point.” Hogan rubbed a hand across his eyes, turned his attention back to Rebus. “Anything else?”
“These army bastards,” Rebus began. Hogan held up the same hand.
“You just have to accept them.”
“Come on, they’re not here to shed any light. If anything, it’ll be the opposite. They want his SAS past forgotten, hence the plainclothes. For Whiteread, read ‘whitewash.’”
“Look, I’m sorry if they’re stepping on your toes -”
“Or trampling us to death,” Rebus interrupted.
“John, this investigation’s bigger than you and me, bigger than anything!” Hogan’s voice had risen, quavering slightly. “Last thing I need is this sort of shit!”
“Language, please, Bobby,” Rebus said, glancing meaningfully towards Fogg.
As Rebus had hoped, Hogan started to remember Rebus’s own recent outburst, and his face cracked into a smile.
“Just get on with it, eh?”
“We’re on your side, Bobby.”
Siobhan took a step forwards. “One thing we’d like to do…”-she ignored Rebus’s gaze, a gaze that said this was the first he’d heard of it-“is interview the survivor.”
Hogan frowned. “James Bell? What for?” His eyes were on Rebus, but it was Siobhan who answered.
“Because he survived, and he’s the only one in the room who did.”
“We’ve talked to him half a dozen times. Kid’s in shock, God knows what else.”
“We’d go easy,” Siobhan insisted quietly.
“You might, but then it’s not you that worries me…” His eyes were still on Rebus.
“It’d be good to hear it from someone who was there,” Rebus said. “How Herdman acted, anything he said. Nobody seems to have seen him that morning: not the neighbors, no one at the marina. We need to fill in some of the blanks.”
Hogan sighed. “First of all, listen to the tapes.” Meaning recordings of the interviews with James Bell. “If you still think you need to see him face-to-face… well, we’ll see.”
“Thank you, sir,” Siobhan said, feeling the moment merited a certain formality.
“I said we’ll see: no promises.” Hogan raised a warning finger.
“And take another look at his finances?” Rebus added. “Just in case.”
Hogan nodded tiredly.
“Ah, there you are!” a voice boomed. Jack Bell was marching down the corridor towards them.
“Oh, Christ,” Hogan muttered. But Bell’s attention was focused on the principal.
“Eric,” he said loudly, “what the hell’s this I’m hearing that you won’t go on the record about the school’s inadequate security?”
“The school had adequate security, Jack,” Fogg said with a sigh, indicating that this was an argument he’d had before.
“Complete rubbish, and you know it. Look, all I’m trying to do is highlight that the lessons of Dunblane have not been learned.” He held up a finger. “Our schools still aren’t safe…” A second finger was raised. “And guns are flooding the streets.” He paused for effect. “And something’s got to be done, you must see that.” His eyes narrowed. “I could have lost my son!”
“A school is not a fortress, Jack,” the principal pleaded, but to no effect.
“Nineteen ninety-seven,” Bell steamrollered on, “aftermath of Dunblane, hand weapons above.22 were ba
“You’re preaching to the wrong audience,” Rebus stated.
Bell stared at him. “Maybe I am,” he agreed, pointing a finger. “Because you lot seem utterly incapable of tackling the problem to any degree whatsoever!”
“Now hang on, sir,” Hogan started to argue.
“Let him rattle on, Bobby,” Rebus interrupted. “The hot air might help keep the school heated.”
“How dare you!” Bell snarled. “What makes you think you can talk to me like that?”
“I suppose I just elected to,” Rebus retorted, stressing the word, reminding the MSP of the precarious nature of his calling.
In the silence that followed, Bell’s mobile phone began to trill. He managed a sneer in Rebus’s direction before turning on his heels, moving a few paces back down the corridor as he answered the call.
“Yes? What?” Glanced at his wristwatch. “Is it radio or TV?” Listened again. “Local radio or national? I’ll only do national…” He kept walking, leaving his audience to relax a little, sharing looks and gestures.
“Right,” the principal was saying, “I suppose I’d best get back to…”
“Mind if I walk you to your office, sir?” Hogan asked. “Couple more things we need to talk about.” He nodded to Rebus and Siobhan. “Back to work,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Siobhan agreed. Suddenly the corridor was empty, save for Rebus and her. She puffed out her cheeks, then exhaled noisily. “Bell’s a real piece of work.”
Rebus nodded. “He’s ready to exploit this whole thing to the hilt.”
“He wouldn’t be a politician if he didn’t.”
“Natural instincts, eh? Fu
“Think he wants a spot of revenge?”
“He’ll drag us down if he can. We have to make sure we’re moving targets.”
“And that was you being a ‘moving target,’ was it? Answering him back like that?”