‘Am I being watched, is that it?’
‘Oh aye, Steve, you’re right up there with those Watergate reporters.’ Rebus paused. ‘I just took a guess, that’s all.’
‘Yeah?’ Holly sounded far from convinced.
‘Look, I’ve got something for you, but it can wait till you’ve had that paranoia seen to.’
‘Whoah, hang on... what is it?’
‘The Knoxland victim, we found a photo belonging to him — looks like he had a wife and kids.’
‘And you’re giving it to the press?’
‘At the moment, you’re the only one it’s being offered to. If you want it, it’s yours to print just as soon as forensics confirm it belonged to the victim.’
‘Why me?’
‘You want the truth? Because an exclusive means more coverage, a bigger splash, front page hopefully...’
‘No promises,’ Holly was quick to say. ‘And how long afterwards does everyone else get it?’
‘Twenty-four hours.’
The reporter seemed to mull this over. ‘Again I have to ask: why me?’
It’s not you, Rebus wanted to say — it’s your paper, or more precisely, your paper’s circulation figure. That’s who’s getting the photo, the story... Instead, he kept silent, and heard Holly exhale noisily.
‘Okay, fine. I’m in Glasgow: can you bike it over to me?’
‘I’ll leave it behind the bar in the Ox — you can come and fetch it. By the way, there’ll also be a tab for you to pay.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Bye, then.’ Rebus flipped his phone closed and busied himself lighting a cigarette. Of course Holly would take the photo — because if he turned it down and the competition didn’t, he’d have to answer to his boss.
‘Another?’ Harry was asking. Well, the man already had the gleaming glass in his hand, ready to commence filling it. How could Rebus refuse without causing offence?
5
‘From a cursory examination of the female skeleton, I’d say it’s quite old.’
‘Cursory?’
Dr Curt fidgeted in his chair. They were seated in his office in the university’s medical faculty, tucked away in a courtyard behind the McEwan Hall. Every now and then — usually when they were in a bar together — Rebus would remind Siobhan that many of Edinburgh’s grand buildings — the Usher Hall and McEwan Hall predominantly — had been built by brewing dynasties, and that this would not have been possible without drinkers like him.
‘Cursory?’ she repeated into the silence. Curt made show of straightening some of the pens on his desk.
‘Well, it wasn’t as if I could ask for help... It’s a teaching skeleton of some kind, Siobhan.’
‘But it is real?’
‘Very much so. In less squeamish times than our own, medical teaching had to depend on such things.’
‘You don’t any more?’
He shook his head. ‘New technologies have replaced many of the old ways.’ He sounded almost wistful.
‘So that skull’s not real then?’ She meant the skull on the shelf behind him, resting on green felt in a wood-and-glass box.
‘Oh, it’s authentic enough. Once belonged to the anatomist Dr Robert Knox.’
‘The one who was in cahoots with the body-snatchers?’
Curt winced. ‘He did not aid them; they destroyed him.’
‘Okay, so real skeletons were used as teaching aids...’ Siobhan saw that Curt’s mind was now preoccupied with his predecessor. ‘How long ago did that practice end?’
‘Probably five or ten years back, but we held on to some of the... specimens for a while longer.’
‘And is our mystery woman one of your specimens?’
Curt’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
‘A simple yes or no will do,’ Siobhan pressed.
‘I can offer neither... I simply can’t be sure.’
‘Well, how were they disposed of?’
‘Look, Siobhan...’
‘What is it that’s bothering you, Doctor?’
He stared at her, and seemed to come to a decision. He rested his arms on the desk in front of him, hands clasped. ‘Four years ago... you probably won’t remember... some body parts were found in the city.’
‘Body parts?’
‘A hand here, a foot there... When tested, it turned out they’d been preserved in formaldehyde.’
Siobhan nodded slowly. ‘I remember hearing about it.’
‘Turned out they’d been taken from one of the labs as a practical joke. Not that anyone was caught, but we got a lot of unnecessary press attention as well as various firm rebukes from everyone from the Vice-Chancellor down.’
‘I don’t see the connection.’
Curt held up a hand. ‘Two years passed, and then an exhibit went missing from the hallway outside Professor Gates’s office...’
‘A female skeleton?’
It was Curt’s turn to nod. ‘I’m sorry to say, we hushed it up. It was at a time when we were disposing of a lot of old teaching aids...’ He glanced up at her, before returning his gaze to his arrangement of pens. ‘At that time, I think we may have thrown out some plastic skeletons.’
‘Including one of an infant?’
‘Yes.’
‘You told me no exhibits had gone missing.’ He offered only a shrug. ‘You lied to me, Doctor.’
‘Mea culpa, Siobhan.’
She thought for a moment, rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘I’m still not sure I’m getting this. Why was the female skeleton kept as an exhibit?’
Curt fidgeted again. ‘Because one of Professor Gates’s predecessors decided on it. Her name was Mag Lennox. You’ve heard of her?’ Siobhan shook her head. ‘Mag Lennox was reputed to be a witch — this was two hundred and fifty years ago. She was killed by the citizens, who didn’t want her buried afterwards — something about being fearful she’d climb out of the coffin. Her body was allowed to rot, and those who had an interest were free to study the remains, looking for signs of the devil, I suppose. Alexander Monro eventually came to own the skeleton and bequeathed it to the medical school.’
‘And then someone stole it, and you kept it quiet?’
Curt shrugged and angled his head back, looking towards the ceiling.
‘Any idea who did it?’ she asked.
‘Oh, we had ideas... Medical students are renowned for their black humour. The story was, it graced the living room of a shared flat. We arranged for someone to investigate...’ He looked at her. ‘Investigate privately, you understand...’
‘A private eye? Dear me, Doctor.’ She shook her head, disappointed at his choice of action.
‘No such item was found. Of course, they could simply have disposed of it...’
‘By burying it in Fleshmarket Close?’
Curt shrugged. Such a reticent man, a scrupulous man... Siobhan could see that this conversation was causing him almost physical pain. ‘What were their names?’
‘Two young men, almost inseparable... Alfred McAteer and Alexis Cater. I think they modelled themselves on the characters from the TV show MASH. Do you know it?’
Siobhan nodded. ‘Are they still students here?’
‘Based out at the Infirmary these days, God help us all.’
‘Alexis Cater... any relation?’
‘His son, apparently.’
Siobhan’s lips formed an O. Gordon Cater was one of the few Scottish actors of his generation to have made it in Hollywood. Character parts mostly, but in profitable blockbusters. There was talk that at one time he’d been first choice to play James Bond after Roger Moore, only to be beaten by Timothy Dalton. A hellraiser in his day, and an actor most women would have watched however bad the film.