‘Ah yes, Hugh.’ McAnally probably hadn’t been called ‘Hugh’ by anyone apart from the minister at his christening and the judge who pronounced sentence on him. Charters seemed to read Rebus’s mind. ‘I respect a person’s name, Inspector. It’s all we bring into this world, and it’s all we take out of it. My own name is sometimes abbreviated to Derry. In here, that has earned me the nickname “the apprentice boy”.’
Charters’ voice — quiet, atonal — had a mesmeric quality, and once his eyes had fixed on Rebus’s, they never left them.
‘You know he committed suicide, Mr Charters?’
‘Very unfortunate.’
‘Suicides have to be investigated.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Whether you know it or not, it happens to be the case. Tell me, did McAnally talk to you much?’
‘All the time. To be frank, it annoyed me. Even when I was trying to read, he’d be blethering on about nothing of consequence, just filling the cell with noise. As though there wasn’t enough noise in here already. At the start, I thought he’d been allotted my cell as some subtle form of punishment. You know, psychological torture.’
‘So what did he talk about? I’m assuming these were fairly one-sided affairs?’
‘They were soliloquys. As to the substance … he talked about his background, his wife — interminably about his wife; I feel I know her as well as her gynaecologist must. He spoke of his affairs with other women, which I didn’t believe for one second. And every time he finished a story, he’d ask me, plead with me, to tell him something about myself.’ Charters paused. ‘What do you make of that, Inspector? I mean, Hugh was obsessed with himself, and yet every now and then he’d suddenly stop and ask me something. Don’t you think that’s strange?’
Rebus ignored the question. ‘What was he in for?’
‘You see? You’ve avoided answering! That’s what I had to do twenty times a day.’
‘Are you going to answer?’
‘He told me it was for housebreaking.’
‘And I believe you’re inside for fraud, is that correct?’
‘Interesting,’ Charters mused, patting his fingers against his mouth. ‘Why would you ask me what Hugh was inside for?’
‘I just wondered,’ Rebus improvised, ‘if the two of you ever talked about it. I’m trying to build up a picture of him.’
‘To hazard a guess as to why he killed himself?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, obviously he killed himself because he was dying of cancer.’
‘Did he tell you that?’
Charters smiled again. ‘I’m only guessing.’
‘Well, you’re probably right, that’s probably why he did kill himself. What it doesn’t explain is the manner.’
‘You mean, why would he pick on a city councillor to witness his last rites?’ Rebus nodded. ‘Have you tried asking the councillor?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did he say?’ Charters was trying to sound casually curious. Rebus stared at him.
‘Do you know the councillor?’ he asked.
‘Never met him.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
Charters sat back and folded his arms. ‘Now you’re learning subtlety, Inspector. Our contest can only improve.’
‘It’s not a game of chess, Mr Charters.’
Charters looked penitent. ‘Of course not, I’m sorry.’
‘Do you know the councillor?’ Rebus repeated.
‘I read newspapers, Inspector, I keep up with events. So to a certain extent, yes, I know Councillor Gillespie.’
‘And does he know you?’
‘Why should he?’
It was Rebus’s turn to smile. Charters had used the word ‘subtlety’. Rebus was learning that he must needs be oblique.
‘You ran a company called Mensung, didn’t you?’
‘A long time ago, yes.’ Rebus noticed that though he was outwardly well groomed, Charters’ teeth were the colour of dead fish. ‘I like these tangents, Inspector. Your mind moves in mysterious ways. Difficult to zugzwang someone who plays so erratically. Why are you interested in a company I wound up seven years ago?’
‘I told a friend of mine I was coming to speak to you. He said he attended some retraining seminars held by Mensung on Corstorphine Road.’
The response seemed to satisfy Charters. ‘Which company did he work for?’
‘He didn’t say. He still works in electronics, for one of PanoTech’s subcontractors.’
‘Then maybe the seminars did him some good.’
Rebus nodded. ‘I heard a story that you helped finance PanoTech when the company was in its infancy.’
Charters raised an eyebrow. ‘Stories tend to become confused over time.’
‘You’d nothing to do with it then?’ Charters shook his head. ‘By the way, why did Mensung go bust?’
‘It didn’t “go bust” — I wound it up. I was bored with it, and couldn’t find anyone to buy me out.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m easily bored.’ He got up and started pacing the room again. ‘You know, Inspector, you told me you were here to ask a few questions about Hugh. We’ve strayed a long way from that particular topic, wouldn’t you say?’
Rebus stood up.
‘Going so soon?’
‘You’re enjoying yourself too much, Derry. This isn’t supposed to be fun. A man’s dead.’
Charters stopped pacing. ‘A man who was dying anyway. A man who chose his own route out. Luckier than most of us, I’d wager. If the doctors told me I had only a few agonising months to live, I think I’d go find myself a gun, too. But the world would look so unfair to my eyes — all those people so alive and vibrant around me, all those ill people being cured in hospitals — maybe I’d want a witness to the injustice of it all, someone representing authority in my eyes and the eyes of those around me. Maybe I’d want him to see my agony, to share in my horror. It would have to be an easy target though … and a councillor is such an easy target — accessible, public, approachable. I’d be making a point to the world. I would refuse to die in silence!’
The silence after Charters had finished was resonant. He had worked himself up to a pitch, and now calmed only slowly. There had been anger in his voice, and fervour, and conviction. His eyes were on Rebus’s. He’d make a damned good salesman.
‘I don’t buy it,’ Rebus said, going to the door.
‘Inspector.’ Rebus paused. ‘You called me “Derry” — that was a cheap shot. Apart from that, you did pretty well.’ He paced the floor again. ‘Hugh didn’t really talk about his wife that often. There was another woman … he described her so accurately, I could probably paint her for you even now. Her name was Maisie. He talked about her all the time. I think he loved her more than anyone in the world. Perhaps you should talk to her.’
‘I already have, Mr Charters.’
Rebus left the cell feeling that Charters had given a name to his own feelings about the investigation, Willie and Dixie, and life in general.
The word was zugzwang.
It was four a.m. when his phone rang. He came awake, but left it to ring. Four a.m., news just had to be bad. The caller persisted, and at last Rebus picked up the receiver.
‘Mr Rebus?’
A young voice, insolent, a bit drunk. Loud music and voices in the background: a party.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Paul. Paul Duggan.’
‘Paul, nice of you to call.’
‘Is it late? I don’t have my watch on.’
‘It sounds like a great party, Paul. Give me the address and I’ll drop by with a few uniforms.’
‘Don’t be like that Mr Rebus. I bring glad tidings. I’ve found her.’
‘Kirstie Kennedy?’
‘Aye.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Not bad for a junkie.’
‘Can I speak to her?’
‘Listen, she’s adamant she’s not going home. She says her stepmum’s a lunatic.’
‘I’d like to see her. There’s no question of her having to go home.’
‘I don’t know.’ Duggan sounded doubtful.
‘Paul, don’t hang up! Listen, would she talk to me if I paid her?’