10 Great Rebus Novels (John Rebus) (203 page)

‘Must’ve been the size of a grizzly,’ Dr Curt announced.

‘Not many grizzlies about these days,’ said Rebus.

He phoned the Procurator Fiscal’s office, just to check on Caro Rattray. After all, Cafferty had spoken of her. He just wanted to know she was okay. Maybe Cafferty was out there tying up a lot of loose ends. But Caro had gone.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Some private practice in Glasgow offered her a partnership. It’s a big step up, she grabbed it, anyone would.’

‘Which office is it?’

Funny, it was the office of Cafferty’s own lawyers. It might mean something or nothing. After all, Rebus
had
given Cafferty some names. Mairie Henderson had gone down to London to try to follow up the Moncur story. Abernethy phoned Rebus one night to say he thought she was terrific.

‘Yes,’ said Rebus, ‘you’d make a lovely couple.’

‘Except she hates my guts.’ Abernethy paused. ‘But she might listen to you.’

‘Spit it out.’

‘Just don’t tell her too much, all right? Remember, Jump Cantona will take most of the credit anyway, and wee Mairie’s been paid upfront. She doesn’t
have
to bust a gut. Most of what she’d say wouldn’t get past the libel lawyers and the Official Secrets Act anyway.’

Rebus had stopped listening. ‘How do you know about Jump Cantona?’ He could almost hear Abernethy easing his feet up onto the desk, leaning back in his chair.

‘The FBI have used Cantona before to put out a story.’

‘And you’re in with the FBI?’

‘I’ll send them a report.’

‘Don’t cover yourself with too much glory, Abernethy.’

‘You’ll get a mention, Inspector.’

‘But not star billing. That’s how you knew about Mairie, isn’t it? Cantona told the FBI? It’s how you had all the stuff on Clyde Moncur to hand?’

‘Does it matter?’

Probably not. Rebus broke the connection anyway.

He shopped for a coming home meal, pushing the trolley around a supermarket close to Fettes HQ. He wouldn’t be going back to Fettes. He’d phoned his farewell to Ormiston and told him to tell Blackwood to cut off his remaining strands of hair and be done with it.

‘He’d have a seizure if I told him that,’ said Ormiston. ‘Here, what about the Chief? You don’t think . . .?’

But Rebus had rung off. He didn’t want to talk about Ken Smylie, didn’t want to think about it. He knew as much as he needed to. Kilpatrick had been on the fringe; he was more useful to The Shield that way. Bothwell was the executioner. He’d killed Billy Cunningham and he’d ordered the deaths of Millie Docherty and Calumn Smylie. Soutar had done his master’s bidding in both cases, except Millie had proved messy, and Soutar had left her where he’d killed her. Bothwell must have been furious about that, but of course Davey Soutar had other things on his mind, other plans. Bigger things.

Rebus bought the makings for the meal and added bottles of rosé champagne, malt whisky and gin to the trolley. A mile and a half to the north, the shops on the Gar-B estate would be closing for the evening, pulling down heavy metal shutters, fixing padlocks, double-checking alarm systems. He paid with plastic at the check-out and drove back up the hill to Oxford Terrace. Curiously, the rust bucket was sounding healthier these days. Maybe that knock from Hay’s van had put something back into alignment. Rebus had replaced the glass, but was still debating the doorframe.

At the flat, Patience was waiting for him, back from Perth earlier than expected.

‘What’s this?’ she said.

‘It was meant to be a surprise.’ He put down the bags and kissed her. She drew away from him slowly afterwards.

‘You look an absolute mess,’ she said.

He shrugged. It was true, he’d seen boxers in better shape after fifteen rounds. He’d seen punchbags in better shape.

‘So it’s over?’ she said.

‘Finishes today.’

‘I don’t mean the Festival.’

‘I know you don’t.’ He pulled her to him again. ‘It’s over.’

‘Did I hear a clink from one of those bags?’

Rebus smiled. ‘Gin or champagne?’

‘Gin and orange.’

They took the bags into the kitchen. Patience got ice and orange juice from the fridge, while Rebus rinsed two glasses. ‘I missed you,’ she said.

‘I missed you, too.’

‘Who else do I know who tells awful jokes?’

‘Seems a while since I told a joke. It’s a while since I heard one.’

‘Well, my sister told me one. You’ll love it.’ She arched back her head, thinking. ‘God, how does it go?’

Rebus unscrewed the top from the gin bottle and poured liberally.

‘Whoah!’ Patience said. ‘You don’t want us getting mortal.’

He splashed in some orange. ‘Maybe I do.’

She kissed him again, then pulled away and clapped her hands. ‘Yes, I’ve got it now. There’s this octopus in a restaurant, and it’s –’

‘I’ve heard it,’ said Rebus, dropping ice into her glass.

A lot of people helped me with this book. I’d like to thank the people of Northern Ireland for their generosity and their ‘crack’. Particular thanks need to go to a few people who can’t be named or wouldn’t thank me for naming them. You know who you are.

Thanks also to: Colin and Liz Stevenson, for trying; Gerald Hammond, for his gun expertise; the officers of the City of Edinburgh Police and Lothian and Borders Police, who never seem to mind me telling stories about them; David and Pauline, for help at the Festival.

The best book on the subject of Protestant paramilitaries is Professor Steve Bruce’s
The Red Hand
(OUP, 1992). One quote from the book: ‘There is no “Northern Ireland problem” for which there is a solution. There is only a conflict in which there must be winners and losers.’

The action of
Mortal Causes
takes place in a fictionalised summer, 1993, before the Shankill Road bombing and its bloody aftermath.

Discussion points for
Mortal Causes

‘
Edinburgh’s history was full of licence and riotous behaviour. But the Festival, especially the Festival Fringe, was different. Tourism was its lifeblood, and where there were tourists there was trouble
.’ Discuss the different kinds of ‘trouble’ that Rebus encounters in
Mortal Causes
.

What is Rebus describing when he thinks about the ‘massive grey nonentity’? And why does it make him pray?

Rebus knows that in theory police work should be a team effort. But, ‘
It wasn’t Rebus’s way. He wanted to follow up every lead personally, cross-referencing them all, taking them through from first principle to final reckoning. He’d been described, not unkindly, as a terrier, locking on with his jaws and not letting go. Some dogs you had to break the jaw to get them off
.’ Discuss.

Rebus seems to like Mairie Henderson – why is this odd?

One of the themes in
Mortal Causes
is sectarianism and religious division in Scotland. How does Ian Rankin use narrative techniques (such as religious imagery) to add texture to this debate? Does DS Siobhan Clarke’s support of Hibs accord with her religious beliefs?

What is Clyde Moncur doing in Edinburgh?

Bearing in mind that ‘mortal’ is a Scottish euphemism for drunkenness, discuss the various implications of the word. And, bearing in mind Rebus’s own love of drink, consider how he feels about caffeine.

Why does Rebus kiss Caro Rattray? What are the implications of his actions?