‘No,’ Rebus said thoughtfully. ‘So he didn’t give evidence?’
‘Not in court. Fiscal said it would be a waste of time. Might even have harmed our case by casting doubt in the jury’s mind.’
‘In which case Cordover might have wanted the doctor as a witness.’
‘Yes, but he didn’t, and I wasn’t about to give him a hand.’ She paused. ‘You think Margolies was involved in a cover-up?’
‘What makes you ask?’
‘I wondered about it myself. I mean, chances are there were people working at Shiellion who had a good idea what was happening. But nobody stuck their head above the parapet.’
‘Afraid to cause trouble?’
‘Or warned off by the Church. It’s not been unknown in the past. Of course, there’s an even worse scenario.’
Rebus dreaded to think what it might be. But he asked anyway.
‘Just this,’ she said. ‘People knew it was happening, but they just didn’t care. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m heading back indoors to get blisteringly drunk.’
Rebus thanked her and rang off. Sat with his head in his hands, staring at his desk.
People knew... they just didn’t care...
48
Just as during their actual trial, Ince and Marshall were being held in Saughton Prison. The difference was, now they’d been found guilty they were no longer on remand. As remand prisoners, they’d been able to wear their own clothes, phone out for food, and go about their business. Now they’d be getting used to prison garb and all the other comforts of the prison regime proper.
They were being held in separate cells, with an empty cell between so there was less chance of them communicating. Rebus didn’t know why anyone bothered: they’d probably end up in the same sex offender programme.
He had a difficult choice to make: Ince or Marshall? Of course, if one failed him, there was nothing to stop him trying the other. But that would mean going through the same process again, asking the same questions, playing the same games. The right choice might save him all that grief.
He chose Ince. His reasoning: Ince was the elder, with the higher IQ. And though early on in the relationship, there was no doubt that he’d been the leader, the pupil had soon become the master. In the courtroom, Marshall had been the one who’d scowled and grunted and played to the gallery; the one who’d looked as though the trial had nothing to do with him.
The one with no visible show of shame, even as his victims told their stories.
The one who’d fallen down the stairs a couple of times on his way back to the cells.
Yes, Marshall had learned a lot from Harold Ince, but he’d added ingredients of his own. He was the more savage, the more amoral, the less penitent. He was the one who thought it was the world’s problem, not his. At the trial, he’d tried quoting Aleister Crowley, to the effect that only he had the right to judge his actions right or wrong.
The court hadn’t thought much of that.
Rebus sat in the visitors’ room and smoked a cigarette. He’d called Patience, got the machine: a message telling callers to try her mobile. He did so, found she was at a friend’s. Another woman doctor, off on prenatal leave.
‘I might stay the night,’ Patience told him. ‘Ursula’s offered.’
‘How is she?’
‘Sick.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘You misunderstand: she’s sick she can’t drink. Never mind, I’m drinking for two.’
Rebus smiled. ‘I’ll go to Arden Street,’ he said. ‘If you’re going home, let me know.’
‘You think I should stay away?’
‘It might be an idea.’ He meant until Cary Oakes was caught. When he rang off, he got through to St Leonard’s, who confirmed that the patrol car was now stationed outside Patience’s friend’s.
‘Safe as houses, John.’
So he sat in the visitors’ room and smoked a cigarette, defying the sign on the wall, flicking ash on to the carpet. The uniform brought Harold Ince in. Rebus thanked him, told him to wait just outside. Not that Rebus expected anything from Ince: no violence, no escape attempt. He looked resigned to his fate. Since Rebus had seen him at the trial, his face had grown longer and thinner, the pallid skin hanging from it. His stomach bulged, but his chest seemed to have caved in, as though the heart had been removed. Rebus knew that at least one of Ince’s victims had committed suicide. There was a smell from the man: sulphur mixed with Germolene.
Rebus offered him a cigarette. Ince, slumping into a chair, shook his head.
‘You gave evidence, didn’t you?’ The voice was thin and reedy.
Rebus nodded, flicked ash. ‘Your lawyer tried carving me up.’
The brief flicker of a smile. ‘I remember now. Didn’t work, did it?’
‘And now you’ve been found guilty.’
‘Come to rub it in?’ Ince’s eyes found Rebus’s for the briefest moment.
‘No, Mr Ince, I’ve come to ask for your help.’
Ince snorted, folded his arms. ‘Yeah, I’m well in the mood to help the police.’
‘I wonder if he’s already made up his mind?’ Rebus asked, as if wondering aloud.
Ince’s forehead creased. ‘Who?’
‘Lord Justice Petrie. He’s a tough old buzzard.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
But soft on his kids, Rebus thought to himself. Or is he...?
‘My money’s on Peterhead for the pair of you,’ he said. ‘You’ll be there a long time. That’s where they take the sex offenders.’ Rebus sat forward. ‘It’s also where a lot of the real hard cases are kept, the ones who rate kiddie-fuckers slightly lower than the amoeba on the evolutionary ladder.’
‘Ahh...’ Ince sat back, nodded. ‘So that’s it: you’ve come to scare me. Let me save you the effort: the guards at the trial told me what I could expect, whichever jail I’m sent to. A couple of them said they’d be coming to see me themselves.’ Another glance at Rebus. ‘Isn’t that thoughtful?’
Behind the show of bravado, Rebus could tell Ince was terrified. Terrified of the unknown. Every bit as scared as the kids must have been, every time they heard him approaching...
‘I don’t want to scare you, Mr Ince. I want you to help me. But I’m not stupid, I know I have to offer something in return.’
‘And what would that be, Inspector?’
Rebus stood up, walked over to where the video camera covered the room.
‘You’ll notice I’m not taping this,’ he said. ‘Good reason for that. This stays off the record, Mr Ince. Anything you tell me, it’s for my own satisfaction only. Nothing to do with building a case. If I ever tried using it, it would be my word against yours: inadmissible.’
‘I know the law, Inspector.’
Rebus turned towards him. ‘Me too. What I’m saying is, this is strictly between us. I could get into trouble just for making you an offer.’
‘What offer?’ Sounding interested now.
‘Peterhead, I know a few of the villains up there. I’m owed favours.’
There was silence while Ince digested this. ‘You’d put in a word on my behalf?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But they might choose not to heed it.’
Rebus shrugged, sat down again, arms resting along the edge of the desk. ‘It’s the best I can do.’
‘And I only have your word that you’d do it anyway.’
Rebus nodded slowly. ‘That’s right, you do.’
Ince was studying the backs of his own hands, his fingers gripping the desk.
‘Well, I must say, that’s a very generous offer.’ A touch of humour in the voice.
‘It could save your life, Harold.’