Saints of the Shadow Bible ir-19
Page 34
‘Maybe to you — but then you’ve been drinking.’
‘Just the one whisky, Peter. Call it Dutch courage.’
Meikle was staring at him. ‘What are you going to do?’
Rebus offered a cold smile. ‘We’re just driving,’ he repeated.
And so they were — snaking around the foot of Salisbury Crags, with the Dumbiedykes estate on their left, then passing Holyrood and taking a right at St Margaret’s Loch, beginning the ascent around Arthur’s Seat. Meikle knew where they would stop — opposite the gateway that led to Willowbrae, just like before. There was another car parked up, and Rebus drew to a halt behind it.
‘We’ve not got long, Peter,’ he said, checking his watch as he turned off the ignition. ‘You carried her body up here, yes? Buried her somewhere in the vicinity.’ He paused. ‘Did you find your phone, by the way?’
‘Took me almost half an hour, scouring those bushes.’
Rebus nodded his satisfaction. ‘You’d had a bit of marital strife. Neighbours knew it, Dorothy’s sister knew it. Dorothy had gone to her saying she was terrified of what you’d do to her if she tried walking out. Maybe she was packing a case when you came home. Maybe you thumped her and she decided enough was enough. Lots of ways it could have played out, Peter. The one way it didn’t play is her jumping on a bus or train and leaving town for pastures new.’
‘You’re barking up the wrong tree.’
‘Am I? All right then, fair enough.’ He tapped his hands against the steering wheel.
‘Eh?’
‘I’ve done what I can.’ Rebus sounded the horn and the doors of the car in front opened. Two men emerged. One was Darryl Christie, the other a huge, shaven-headed creature who had presumably taken over Dean Grant’s role.
‘What’s this?’ Peter Meikle asked, his left hand gripping the Saab’s door handle, as if to stop it being opened from outside.
‘This is where we say goodbye.’
‘That’s Darryl Christie,’ Meikle spluttered.
‘Darryl owes me a favour, Peter, and I’ve decided you’re it. Now out you get.’
‘What?’
‘You’re going with them.’ Rebus nodded towards the Evoque. ‘I’m too old and too tired. All the stuff I used to be able to do to you, they still can. And afterwards, there’ll be a nice quiet spot for your bones.’
‘You can’t do this!’
‘Why not?’
‘You’re the police!’
Rebus leaned towards him, face tightening. ‘I’m from the eighties, Peter — I’m not the newfangled touchy-feely model. Now get out of my fucking car!’
When Meikle, wide-eyed, looked through the passenger window, he saw Christie and the man-monster standing right there. Then his door was being wrenched open, despite his best efforts, and Rebus was helpfully unclipping his seat belt.
‘No!’ he pleaded as he was hauled out of the car. One of his cheap slip-on shoes came off and lay there on the floor. He was dragged to the Evoque and shoved on to its back seat, the bodyguard climbing in next to him. Rebus wound down his window and got a cigarette going. Then he watched as Christie pulled shut the driver’s-side door and the car moved off. As it disappeared around a bend, his phone rang.
‘Hiya, Siobhan,’ he said. ‘We still on for tonight?’
‘Can we not find anywhere more salubrious than the back room of the Ox?’
‘That’s a deal-breaker for me.’
‘Fine, then.’ She sighed. ‘Eight thirty?’
‘I might be first to arrive.’
‘You’re on your way there now?’
‘Not quite. Can Malcolm definitely come?’
‘Says he’s looking forward to it.’
‘The management might feel differently if he sticks to drinking Coke.’
‘I dare say you and me can make up for him.’
‘I dare say.’ Rebus allowed himself a smile, flicking ash from the window.
‘You somewhere with a breeze?’
‘Taking the air.’
‘Next few weeks might be uncomfortable. Lot of questions are going to be asked.’
‘I’ll be ready.’
‘Maybe we can compare notes when we meet?’
‘Are you sure that isn’t against the rules?’
‘I suppose it might be. Lucky we’ve got Malcolm to keep us on the straight and narrow.’
‘Best place to be, Siobhan.’
‘I’ve called Laura Smith and given her a heads-up. Reckoned she just about deserves it.’
‘You never know when you might need a friendly journalist. I’ll see you tonight.’
‘Tapas afterwards at Café Andaluz?’
‘Couple of drinks is all I can manage.’
‘Other plans?’ She paused. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got a date?’
‘You better not be about to tell me I’m too old.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Am I not allowed a private life?’
‘You know I’m going to keep digging.’
‘I’ll see you tonight.’
‘Best suit, remember. And don’t take her anywhere cheap. .’
Rebus was smiling as he ended the call.
He kept his eyes on his wing mirror as he finished the cigarette. Then he got out of the Saab, lifting something from the back seat. The wind whipped around him as he started tearing methodically at the loose-leaf pages of the Shadow Bible, gusts scooping them up, sending them flying. He had just finished, nothing left but the leather covers, when the Evoque crawled past, settling in the same spot as before. The three men got out, the man-monster holding Peter Meikle upright while Darryl Christie walked towards Rebus.
‘He’ll show you,’ he said. ‘Right now, if you like.’
Rebus opened the passenger door of the Saab, threw the remains of the Shadow Bible on to the seat and picked up Peter Meikle’s shoe.
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