by Ian Rankin
39
Rebus recognised her and got out of his car, locking it after him. Billie Meikle had a key out, ready to open the door to her tenement, but had paused to watch a group of students as they passed, probably heading home from the university. She was dressed in her school uniform and was toting a heavy-looking backpack.
‘Billie?’ Rebus said. ‘Is your father at home? Can I come up and have a word?’ She gave him a troubled look. ‘I’m with the police,’ he explained. ‘Nothing to worry about, it won’t take long.’
She didn’t say anything, just pushed at the door and held it while he followed her inside.
‘You moved schools, eh?’ he asked as they climbed the stone stairs. He was praying the flat would be no more than a flight or two up. ‘How’s it working out?’
‘It’s great.’ She had stopped at the first landing and was unlocking a red door with no name on it.
‘You like living with your dad?’ Rebus tried not to sound too breathless.
‘Yeah.’
She was fourteen, her hair a mass of brown curls, falling over her forehead, half covering her eyes. Gawkiness would leave her soon, as would the puppy fat. She was already thinking of college, thinking of joining those students she had paused to study.
The flat was minimally furnished, not enough books to fill the single bookcase in the hall, the seating in the living room angled so that the vast flat-screen TV was the focus of attention.
‘He’ll be home soon,’ she said.
‘I’m happy to wait. Do you see much of your brother?’
Her cheeks reddened. ‘Just the weekly visit.’ She was shedding her outer coat and blazer, the backpack hitting the floor with a thump.
‘I saw him yesterday,’ Rebus told her. ‘I’m fixing for him to have an easier time of it inside.’
She seemed uncertain what he meant but thanked him anyway. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
‘I’m fine,’ Rebus said, settling on one of the chairs. ‘You got homework to be getting on with?’
‘Always.’ She had hoisted the backpack onto the small round dining table and was emptying it. ‘Maths, biology, geography, English …’
‘Can’t help you with any of those.’
She pretended an interest in a textbook while asking her next question: ‘How was he?’
‘Your brother’s doing okay.’
‘He doesn’t like that he’s in with … with people who …’
‘That’s one of the things I’m trying to change.’
‘Why?’ Now she looked at him, keen for knowledge.
‘Because it’s not right, I suppose.’
She considered this and nodded slowly in agreement.
‘You visited your mum that day, didn’t you? Did Ellis seem his usual self?’
‘He was on his computer mostly. He had a couple of mates round.’
‘But you popped into his room to say hello?’
‘He didn’t even take his headphones off – just a grunt and a wave.’
‘And you hadn’t heard anything about him and Kristen? Maybe breaking up or having a row?’ Rebus watched her shake her head. ‘Kristen was at your school, wasn’t she – your old school, I mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you know her? To hang out with?’
‘She was three years above me.’
‘I suppose at your age that seems quite a gap.’
‘She had her own friends.’
‘Did she ever visit here?’
Billie shook her head.
‘Not even when Ellis was visiting?’
Another shake.
‘So your dad didn’t really know her, then?’
She spun towards him. ‘What have they been saying?’
‘Who’s they?’
‘All of them!’
‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ She had turned her face away from him again and was sifting through her books. ‘You’re right, though – I’ve been hearing that Kristen might have had a thing for your dad.’
‘He wouldn’t give her the time of day.’
‘Just rumours, then.’
‘It’s revolting, you know – the stuff out there. The stuff in here.’ She was holding up her mobile phone.
‘World’s always been full of idiots, Billie, bullies and racists and the like. You just have to remember, a phone can’t really hurt you.’
‘Yes it can,’ she replied quietly.
‘Did you get messages about Kristen? About her and your dad?’
The sound of a lock turning, the front door opening.
‘You home, duchess?’ Charles Meikle called out.
‘In here!’
The grin on Meikle’s face disappeared when he saw there was a visitor.
‘He’s with the police,’ Billie told him.
‘Oh aye?’ Meikle removed his blue parka. He wore overalls underneath. ‘So can I see some identification?’
‘I’m not actually a police officer,’ Rebus explained. ‘What I told Billie is that I’m working with them.’
‘What on?’
‘Your son’s case.’
‘He’s in jail, if you hadn’t noticed. Trying to pin something else on him, are you? Help massage your clear-up rate?’
Meikle’s looks were almost worthy of Hollywood – chiselled face, brooding eyes, mop of black hair swept to one side, just the right amount of stubble. He’d had a few run-ins with the police in the past, but not since breaking up with his wife. According to the files, he’d been a car mechanic half his life, and, from what Rebus had seen of the flat, was doing his best as a single parent.
‘Just a few niggles that we’d like taken care of.’
‘You don’t think you’ve done enough damage?’
‘He visited Ellis,’ Billie interrupted. ‘He’s helping him.’
‘What you have to remember, duchess, is that the police will lie to your face and then lie some more.’
‘Billie’s right, though,’ Rebus said quietly.
Meikle just shook his head and disappeared across the hallway into the kitchen. Rebus followed and watched him fill the kettle from the tap. The place was immaculate, draining board and sink empty, surfaces wiped clean. He wondered: Billie’s work or her father’s?
‘You still here?’ Meikle asked.
‘I know you and Ellis had a few differences down the years,’ Rebus said, ‘but did you get on okay with Kristen?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Just wondering how well you knew her.’
Meikle stabbed a finger towards him. ‘Shouldn’t go listening to gossip, should you?’
‘Billie says she never came round here.’
‘That’s right.’
‘But you had met her?’
‘When she was with Ellis, aye. At his mum’s.’
‘Things were okay between you and your ex-wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your brother wasn’t an issue?’
‘There’s nothing going on between them.’
‘And nothing between Dallas and Kristen?’
‘More fucking lies,’ Meikle muttered, shaking his head as he dropped a tea bag into a mug. ‘Don’t you sometimes think there’s more shite out there than anything else?’
‘Billie said much the same.’
‘I told her she should ditch that phone, but she can’t do it. They have to have them these days.’ Meikle rested his knuckles against the worktop as he waited for the kettle to boil. ‘Best thing I ever did was ask if she wanted to come live with me. Her old school was rubbish, grades dropping.’ He paused. ‘I’m doing everything I can, really I am.’
‘I’ve seen no evidence to the contrary.’
‘I’ve not always been a good dad – you’re right that me
and Ellis used to have a fair few ding-dongs. He’s not a bad kid, though.’
‘So what drove him to do it, Charles?’
‘Did you try asking him?’ Meikle watched Rebus give a slow nod. ‘Aye, me too. But I don’t think even he knows. At the trial, his lawyer tried putting the blame on us – Seona and me. Bad upbringing, bad parents …’
‘She was doing her job, trying to get him a lesser sentence.’
‘I know that. It still hurt, though.’ He stared at Rebus. ‘Is that all you’ve got, then? I was leching after my own son’s girlfriend so he decides to top her?’ He shook his head again. ‘Jesus …’
‘You don’t visit Ellis, Mr Meikle – why is that?’
‘He won’t let me – don’t think I haven’t tried. I’ve had Billie practically beg him.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed shut his eyes for a moment. ‘After the split, he took his mum’s side, reckoned it was all my fault – maybe that was payback for all the rows I’d had with him. He’s still my son, though; I still love him. I’d do anything for him, if he’d let me.’
Billie had been listening from the hall. She burst in and gave her father a hug. His eyes stayed closed as he stroked her hair. Father and daughter seemed close to tears, and Rebus suspected it was a regular occurrence. He retreated as quietly as he could and let himself out, standing on the landing for a minute or two while he considered what he had heard and seen.
And, most importantly of all, what he’d not seen.
40
Graham Sutherland walked into the MIT room with a face like thunder. He crossed to the window and stood there, hands in pockets, saying nothing. Clarke looked to Callum Reid, who just shrugged. Tess Leighton entered, closing the door after her, looking as though she’d been summoned. Eventually Sutherland turned round. When he fixed Siobhan Clarke with a look, she began to realise what was coming.
‘You were seen yesterday,’ he told her, working hard to keep his jaw from clenching, ‘just prior to the press conference, in a café halfway up Leith Walk. You were with Dougal Kelly, is that right?’
‘Him and Laura Smith, yes. Laura invited me – I’d no idea Kelly was going to be there.’
‘Neverthless—’
‘Ask her,’ Clarke ploughed on. ‘I was there about two minutes before I got the hump with Kelly and walked out.’
‘Two minutes in which you discussed Jackie Ness’s fingerprint?’
‘Absolutely not. If I’d done that, Laura would have known too. She was as surprised as anyone when Kelly blurted it out at the press conference. I wouldn’t have told him, I’d have told her! And who saw me anyway? Anyone with an axe to grind?’
‘One of the admin staff.’ Sutherland was about to say something else, but Clarke was already on her way. She flung open the door, stalked to the office next door and stared at the faces there, half hidden behind computer screens. Women mostly; civilians.
‘Nobody likes a grass!’ she yelled into the room, before marching back into MIT. Sutherland had moved to the middle of the floor. All eyes were on Clarke.
‘Until recently,’ she stated, her voice betraying the slightest tremble, ‘people kept saying I was in Laura’s pocket – so why would I give the Ness fingerprint to Dougal Kelly? Don’t you see – it’s Steele. It has to be.’
‘Explain,’ Sutherland said, folding his arms.
‘I know how it looks.’ Clarke held up her hands as if in surrender. ‘But Steele and Edwards have been talking to Kelly, sharing gossip from the original inquiry, giving him dirt on practically everyone involved, except themselves.’
‘You’ve got a bit of history with them,’ Sutherland said.
‘I know this looks like I want payback.’
‘More to the point, can you prove it?’
‘Not without Dougal Kelly.’
Sutherland thought for a moment. ‘What was the meeting about anyway?’
‘Laura’s a mate. I thought it was just a catch-up.’
‘What did Kelly want?’
‘A contact on the inside, I think. We really didn’t get very far.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he wanted to talk about the team on the original inquiry and how they’d fallen down on the job.’
‘You didn’t want to hear that?’
‘Not especially.’
‘Because it might have meant hearing something unflattering about John Rebus?’
‘Because,’ Clarke countered, ‘my focus is the current case, not what happened back then.’
Sutherland pursed his lips and stared at the floor, then raised his head and scanned the faces around him.
‘Thoughts, people?’
There were shrugs, and twitches of mouths, and a clearing of the throat from George Gamble.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Clarke said drily.
‘Your reporter friend, she’ll back up your story?’ Sutherland asked.
‘I’d hope so, since it happens to be the truth.’
‘Then again, she’s a mate – you said as much yourself – so she’d want to cover your back.’
‘Am I being reprimanded? Kicked into touch?’
‘Course of action yet to be decided.’
‘Thanks a fucking bunch.’ Clarke turned and started to leave.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Some fresh air – want someone shadowing me to make sure I don’t get up to anything?’ She waited for a response. When none came, she headed for the stairs.
Rebus was driving through the city when Christine Esson called him.
‘Bad time?’ she asked.
‘Bloody roadworks,’ Rebus snarled. ‘What can I do for you, Christine?’
‘I’ve done what digging I can. Ended up using a few aliases, so I can keep monitoring the chat. This is by way of an interim report.’
‘Fire away.’
‘Kristen wasn’t hugely popular among Ellis’s friends. They all fancied her, but none of them actually liked her. Too stuck-up and too mouthy. Nothing to suggest she wasn’t in love with Ellis, though, or was seeing anyone else. Her parents are a bit …’
‘Religious?’
‘Cold, I was going to say. After she died, they went deep and silent, their social media presence non-existent. Ellis’s mum, on the other hand, went into overdrive. Anyone bad-mouthed her son, she hit back hard. Mostly Facebook and Twitter for her, a mix of Snapchat, Tumblr, Instagram, Flickr, Reddit and WhatsApp for everyone else.’
‘Everyone else meaning …?’
‘Kristen and Ellis’s peer group.’
‘What about Ellis’s sister?’
‘She’s online a fair amount. I tried saying hello to some of her friends, but I think they twigged. Not sure my “voice” was right.’
‘You’re telling me you’re not down with the kids?’
‘Steady, Grandad.’
‘Is she still in touch with pals from her old school?’
‘Looks like.’
‘But no trouble integrating at her new one?’
‘Nope.’
‘Her dad says her old school had been letting her down.’
‘Can’t help you there. But about her dad …’
‘Yes?’
‘I think I found traces of him on a dating site – he only seems to have the one email address and used his real name. Having left his wife, he seems to be in the market for a younger model.’
Rebus’s brow furrowed. ‘How young?’
‘Nothing illegal – not that I can find. Late teens to late twenties.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘A tweet he sent to a mate he works with, thanking him for the tip. I scrolled back through the workmate’s timeline.’
‘He ever have dealings with Kristen?’
‘Anything
between them could have been deleted.’
‘How about Kristen and Dallas?’
‘Same goes. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.’
‘It’s all helpful, Christine.’
‘One other thing. There’s always a fair bit of goading and sneering online, even between friends. One seems to have a go at Billie harder than the others. They go by the name Chizzy. I’m not sure Billie knows them, except online.’
‘What sort of stuff are we talking about?’
‘They’ll comment on a photo, saying Billie’s looking fat or spotty – that sort of thing. Pretty harmless, and always accompanied by winking or laughing emojis. But it’s the sort of thing a girl like Billie might take to heart.’
‘Any idea who Chizzy might be?’
‘Well that’s the thing.’ Esson paused. ‘I’m thinking Billie’s mother.’
‘What?’
‘I might be totally wrong, but it’s just a couple of the things Chizzy says. She spells “laughs” as l-a-f-z, for example. Seona Meikle does the same on her Facebook posts. I could be reading too much into it, of course.’
‘Can we find out Chizzy’s real identity?’
‘We’d need someone a bit more technical. I’m strictly amateur hour.’
‘What does that make me?’ Rebus asked.
‘Thing is, why would Seona be taunting her own daughter?’
‘I’ll need to think about that.’
‘Want me to keep going?’
‘If it’s no bother.’
‘I’m actually quite enjoying it.’
‘Just so long as it doesn’t cross the line into stalking.’
He heard her give a tut. ‘Incidentally,’ she said, ‘I even decided to check your social media presence.’
‘Oh aye? And?’
‘There isn’t one.’
‘Did that come as a surprise?’
‘Not in the least. But knowing how frugal you are …’
‘Tell me.’
‘You could FaceTime for free.’
‘I’m still getting the hang of phones without wires, Christine – don’t start bamboozling me.’
41
‘Well,’ Clarke said, ‘I thought Zombies v Bravehearts was bad, but it was Gregory’s Girl by comparison.’ The end credits had finished and the DVD’s main menu was showing on her TV screen. She was seated on the sofa next to Rebus. He had nodded off for a couple of minutes in the middle and missed absolutely nothing. She stepped over the dozing Brillo, crossed to her living room window and closed the curtains against the Edinburgh night.