‘Which is a long way from Falls,’ Siobhan felt bound to point out. ‘I mean, those other coffins you’ve got, they were found near the scene, weren’t they?’
‘And the Falls coffin is different from the others,’ Ellen Wylie added.
‘I’m not saying otherwise,’ Rebus interrupted. ‘I’m just trying to establish whether I’m the only one who sees possible links?’
They all looked at each other; no one said anything until Wylie lifted her Bloody Mary and, studying its red surface, mentioned the German student. ‘Swords and sorcery, role-playing, ends up dead on a Scottish hillside.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But,’ Wylie continued, ‘hard to tie in with your disappearances and drownings.’
Devlin seemed persuaded by her tone. ‘It’s not,’ he added, ‘as if the drownings were considered suspicious at the time, and my examination of the pertinent details doesn’t persuade me otherwise.’ He had taken his hands from his pockets; they now rested on the shiny knees of his baggy grey trousers.
‘Fine,’ Rebus said, ‘then I’m the only one who’s even remotely convinced?’
This time, not even Wylie spoke up. Rebus took another long swallow of beer. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Look, why are we here?’ Wylie laid her hands on the table. ‘You’re trying to convince us to work as a team?’
‘I’m just saying all these little details may end up being part of the same story.’
‘Burke and Hare to the Quizmaster’s Treasure Hunt?’
‘Yes.’ But Rebus looked like he was believing it less himself now. ‘Christ, I don’t know...’ He ran a hand over his head.
‘Look, thanks for the drink...’ Ellen Wylie’s glass was empty. She picked her shoulder-bag up from the bench, started getting to her feet.
‘Ellen...’
She looked at him. ‘Big day tomorrow, John. First full day of the murder inquiry.’
‘It’s not officially a murder inquiry until the pathologist pronounces,’ Devlin reminded her. She looked ready to say something, but just graced him with the coldest of smiles. Then she squeezed out between two of the chairs, said a general goodbye, and was gone.
‘Something connects them,’ Rebus said quietly, almost to himself. ‘I can’t for the life of me think what it is, but it’s there...’
‘It can be detrimental,’ Devlin pronounced, ‘to begin obsessing — as our transatlantic cousins might say — on a case. Detrimental both to the case and to oneself.’
Rebus tried for the same smile Ellen Wylie had just given. ‘I think the next round’s yours,’ he said.
Devlin checked his watch. ‘Actually, I’m afraid I’m unable to tarry.’ He seemed to find it painful rising from the table. ‘I don’t suppose one of the young ladies might proffer a lift?’
‘You’re on my way home,’ Siobhan conceded at last.
Rebus’s sense of desertion was softened when he saw her glance in Jean’s direction: she was leaving the two of them alone, that was all.
‘But I’ll get a round in before I go,’ Siobhan added.
‘Maybe next time,’ Rebus told her with a wink. He sat in silence with Jean until they’d gone, and was about to speak when Devlin came shuffling back.
‘Am I right to assume,’ he said, ‘that my usefulness is now at an end?’ Rebus nodded. ‘In which case, will the files be sent back to their place of origin?’
‘I’ll get DS Wylie to do it first thing,’ Rebus promised.
‘Many thanks then.’ Devlin’s smile was directed at Jean. ‘It’s been a pleasure to have met you.’
‘And you,’ she said.
‘I may pop into the Museum some day. Perhaps you’d do me the honour of showing me round...?’
‘I’d love to.’
Devlin bowed his head, and started back towards the stairs again.
‘I hope he doesn’t,’ she muttered when he’d gone.
‘Why not?’
‘He gives me the creeps.’
Rebus looked over his shoulder, as though some final view of Devlin might persuade him she was right. ‘You’re not the first to say that.’ He turned back to her. ‘But don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe with me.’
‘Oh, I hope not,’ she said, eyes twinkling above her glass.
They were in bed when the news came through. Rebus took the call, seated naked on the edge of the mattress, uncomfortably aware of the view he was presenting to Jean: probably two spare tyres around his middle, arms and shoulders more fat than muscle. The silver lining was: the view could only be worse from the front...
‘Strangulation,’ he told her, sliding back under the bedclothes.
‘It was quick then?’
‘Definitely. There’s bruising on the neck just at the carotid artery. She probably passed out, then he strangled her.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Easier to kill someone when they’re compliant. No struggle.’
‘You’re quite the expert, aren’t you? Ever killed someone, John?’
‘Not so you’d notice.’
‘That’s a lie, isn’t it?’
He looked at her and nodded. She leaned over and kissed his shoulder.
‘You don’t want to talk about it. That’s okay.’
He wrapped his arm around her, kissed her hair. There was a mirror in the room, one of those floor-standing models so you could see yourself head to foot. It faced away from the bed. Rebus wondered if that was on purpose or not, but he wasn’t about to ask.
‘Where’s the carotid artery?’ she asked.
He placed a finger on his own neck. ‘Put pressure on it, the person blacks out in a matter of seconds.’
She felt her neck until she’d found it. ‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘Does everyone except me know that?’
‘Know what?’
‘Where it is, what it does.’
‘I don’t suppose so, no. What are you getting at?’
‘It’s just that whoever did it was in the know.’
‘Cops know about it,’ he admitted. ‘It’s not much used these days, for obvious reasons. But there was a time it could make an unruly prisoner manageable. The Vulcan death-grip, we used to call it.’
She smiled. ‘The what?’
‘You know, Spock on Star Trek.’ He pinched her shoulder blade. She wriggled free and gave his chest a slap, resting her hand there. Rebus was thinking of his army training, and how he’d been taught attack techniques, including pressure on the carotid...
‘Would doctors know?’ Jean asked.
‘Probably anyone who’s had medical training would.’
She looked thoughtful.
‘Why?’ he asked at last.
‘Just something from the paper. Wasn’t one of Philippa’s friends a medical student, one of the ones she was going to meet that night...?’
10
His name was Albert Winfield — ‘Albie’ to his friends. He seemed surprised that the police wanted to talk to him again, but turned up at St Leonard’s at the appointed time next morning. Rebus and Siobhan left him fully fifteen minutes while they got on with other work, then made sure two burly uniforms led him to the interview room, where they left him for a further quarter of an hour. Outside the room, Siobhan and Rebus locked eyes and nodded at one another. Then Rebus pushed open the door forcefully.