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“Siobhan…” His voice breaking.
He knew what he needed: bolt cutters. A patrol car could bring some, if Rebus had any way of calling one.
Brimson… he knew it now. Knew Brimson was ru
Staring through the gate.
Blinking his vision back into focus.
Because someone was there… A figure in the doorway, one hand to its head, another to its stomach. Rebus blinked again, making sure.
“Siobhan!” he yelled. She raised a hand, waved it. Rebus grabbed the fence and hauled himself onto it, shouted her name again. She disappeared back into the building.
His voice cracked. Was he seeing things now? No: she was out of the building again, getting into her car, driving the short distance to the gate. As she neared, Rebus saw that it really was her. And she was fine.
She stopped the car and got out. “Brimson,” she was saying. “He’s the one with the drugs… in cahoots with Johnson and Teri’s mother…” She’d brought Brimson’s keys, was finding the right one to use on the padlock.
“We know,” Rebus told her, but she wasn’t listening.
“Must’ve made a run for it… laid me out cold. I only came to when the phone started buzzing.” She yanked the padlock free, the chain coming with it. Pulled open the gate.
And was picked off the ground by Rebus, his hug enveloping her.
“Ow, ow, ow,” she said, causing him to ease off. “Bit bruised,” she explained, her eyes meeting his. He couldn’t help himself, planted his lips on hers. The kiss lingered, his eyes tight shut, hers wide open. She broke away, took a step back, tried to catch her breath.
“Not that I’m not overwhelmed or anything, but what’s this all about?”
27
It was Rebus’s turn to visit Siobhan in the hospital. She’d been admitted for a concussion, was due to stay the night.
“This is ridiculous,” she protested. “I’m fine, really I am.”
“You’ll stay where you are, young lady.”
“Oh, yes? Like you did, you mean?”
As if to emphasize her point, the same nurse who had changed Rebus’s dressings walked past, pushing an empty cart.
Rebus pulled a chair across and sat down.
“You didn’t bring anything, then?” she asked.
Rebus shrugged. “Been a bit rushed; you know how it is.”
“What’s the story with Peacock?”
“He’s doing a good impression of a clam. Not that it’ll do him any good. Way Gill Templer sees it, Herdman wouldn’t want the guns lying around in his own boathouse, so Peacock rented the one next door. That’s where Herdman worked on them, reconditioning them, and they were stored in the shed. When he put a bullet to his head, things got too hot, no way Peacock could shift them…”
“But then he panicked?”
“Either that or he just wanted to tool himself up for what was to come.”
Siobhan closed her eyes. “Thank God that didn’t happen.”
They stayed quiet for a couple of minutes. Then: “And Brimson?” she asked.
“What about him?”
“The way he decided to end it all…”
“I think he chickened out, right at the last.”
She opened her eyes again. “Or came to his senses, couldn’t bring himself to involve anyone apart from himself.”
Rebus shrugged. “Whatever… he’s another statistic for the armed forces to work on.”
“Maybe they’ll try to say it was an accident.”
“Maybe it was at that. Could be he was pla
“I prefer my version.”
“Then you stick to it.”
“And what about James Bell?”
“What about him?”
“Reckon we’ll ever understand how he could do it?”
Rebus shrugged again. “All I know is, the papers are going to have a field day with his dad.”
“And that’s good enough for you?”
“It’ll do to be going on with.”
“James and Lee Herdman… I don’t really get it.”
Rebus thought for a moment. “Maybe James reckoned he’d found himself a hero, someone different from his dad, someone whose respect he’d give his eyeteeth for.”
“Or kill for?” Siobhan guessed.
Rebus smiled and stood up, patted her arm.
“You going already?”
He shrugged. “Lots to be getting on with; we’re an officer short at the station.”
“Nothing that can’t wait till tomorrow?”
“Justice never sleeps, Siobhan. Which doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Anything I can get you before I go?”
“A sense of having achieved something, maybe?”
“I’m not sure the vending machines are up to it, but I’ll see what I can do.”
He’d done it again.
Ended up drinking too much… slumped on the toilet seat back in his flat, jacket discarded on the hall floor. Leaning forwards, head in hands.
Last time… Last time had been the night Martin Fairstone had died. Rebus had spent too long in too many pubs, tracking down his prey. A few more whiskies back at Fairstone’s place, and a taxi home. Driver had had to wake him up when they reached Arden Street. Rebus reeking of cigarettes, wanting to slough it all off. Ru
World tilting in the darkness, shifting on its axis, pitching him forwards so his head thumped against the rim of the bath… waking on his knees, hands burning.
Hands hanging over the side of the bath, scalded by the rising water…
Scalded.
No mystery about it.
The sort of thing that could happen to anyone.
Couldn’t it?
But not tonight. He got back to his feet, steadied himself, managed to make it through to the living room and into his chair, pushing it over to the window with his feet. The night was still and calm, lights on in the tenement windows across the way. Couples relaxing, checking on the kids. Singles awaiting pizza deliveries, or sitting down to the videos they’d rented. Students debating another night out at the pub, unstarted essays troubling them.
Few if any of them harboring mysteries. Fears, yes; doubts, most certainly. Maybe even guilt about tiny mistakes and misdemeanors.
But nothing to trouble the likes of Rebus. Not tonight. His fingers patted the floor, feeling for the telephone. He sat with it in his lap, thinking of giving Allan Renshaw a call. There were things he had to tell him.
He’d been thinking about families: not just his own, but all those co
He stared at the phone in his lap, reckoned it was a bit late now to call his cousin. Shrugged and mouthed the word “tomorrow.” Smiled at the memory of lifting Siobhan off her feet.
Decided to see if he could make it to his bed. The laptop was in “sleep” mode. He didn’t bother waking it; unplugged it instead. It could go back to the station tomorrow.
He came to a stop in the hallway and walked into the guest room, lifted the copy of The Wind in the Willows. He’d keep it near him so he wouldn’t forget. Tomorrow he’d make a gift of it to Bob.
Tomorrow, God and the devil willing.