‘Many thanks for coming along, Mr Winfield,’ he snapped. The young man almost leaped from his chair. The window was closed tight, the room stifling. Three chairs — two on one side of the narrow table, one on the other. Winfield had been facing those two empty chairs. Tape recorders and a video recorder were bolted to the wall where it met the table. There were scratched names on the table itself, evidence of time being whittled away by previous occupants called things like Shug, Jazz and Bomber. A No Smoking sign on the wall, defaced with ballpoint pen, and a video camera mounted where wall met ceiling, peering down on proceedings should anyone decide a video record was required.
Rebus ensured his chair-legs made the maximum noise as he scraped them in towards the table. He’d thrown a bulky folder down: no names on it. Winfield seemed mesmerised. He couldn’t know it was full of blank sheets of paper borrowed from one of the photocopiers.
Rebus rested his hand on the folder and smiled at Winfield.
‘It must have come as a terrible shock.’ A quiet voice, soothing, solicitous... Siobhan sat down beside her thuggish colleague. ‘I’m DC Clarke, by the way. This is DI Rebus.’
‘What?’ the young man said. Perspiration made his forehead shine. His short brown hair came to a widow’s peak. There was acne on his chin.
‘The news of Flip’s murder,’ Siobhan continued. ‘It must have been a shock.’
‘Y-es... absolutely.’ He sounded English, but Rebus knew he wasn’t. Private education south of the border had ironed out all trace of his Scottish roots. Father a businessman in Hong Kong until three years ago, divorced from the mother, who lived in Perthshire.
‘You knew her well then?’
Winfield kept his eyes on Siobhan. ‘I suppose so. I mean, she was Camille’s friend really.’
‘Camille’s your girlfriend?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Foreign, is she?’ Rebus barked.
‘No...’ The eyes strayed to Rebus, but only for a second. ‘No, she’s from Staffordshire.’
‘Like I said, foreign.’
Siobhan glanced at Rebus, worried he was milking his role. As Winfield stared down at the table-top, Rebus gave Siobhan a wink of reassurance.
‘Hot in here, isn’t it, Albert?’ Siobhan paused. ‘You don’t mind me calling you Albert?’
‘No... no, that’s fine.’ He glanced up at her again, but whenever he did his eyes were drawn towards her neighbour.
‘Would you like me to open a window?’
‘Wonderful, yes.’
Siobhan looked at Rebus, who pushed his chair back with as much noise as possible. The windows were narrow, fixed high on the external wall. Rebus stood on tiptoe to open one of them, pulling it in three or four inches. The breeze swept over him.
‘Better?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Yes, thanks.’
Rebus stayed standing, over to Winfield’s left. He folded his arms and rested against the wall, directly below the camera.
‘Just a few follow-up questions really,’ Siobhan was saying.
‘Right... fine.’ Winfield nodded enthusiastically.
‘So you wouldn’t say you knew Flip that well?’
‘We went out together... in a group, I mean. Dinner sometimes...’
‘At her flat?’
‘Once or twice. And at mine.’
‘You live down near the Botanics?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Nice part of town.’
‘It’s my father’s place.’
‘He lives there?’
‘No, he’s... I mean, he bought it for me.’
Siobhan looked towards Rebus.
‘All right for some,’ he muttered, arms still folded.
‘I can’t help it if my father has money,’ Winfield complained.
‘Of course you can’t,’ Siobhan agreed.
‘What about Flip’s boyfriend?’ Rebus asked.
Winfield found himself looking at Rebus’s shoes. ‘David? What about him?’
Rebus bent down, waved a hand in Winfield’s direction. ‘I’m up here, son.’ He straightened. Winfield held his gaze for all of three seconds.
‘Just wondering if you consider him a friend,’ Rebus said.
‘Well, it’s a bit awkward now... I mean, it was awkward. They kept splitting up, getting back together again...’
‘And you took Flip’s side?’ Siobhan guessed.
‘I had to, what with Camille and everything...’
‘You say they kept splitting up. Whose fault was it?’
‘I just think they had this personality clash... you know how opposites attract? Well, sometimes you get the inverse of that.’
‘I didn’t have the benefit of a university education, Mr Winfield,’ Rebus said. ‘Maybe you could spell that out for me.’
‘I just mean that they were similar in lots of ways, and that made their relationship difficult.’
‘They argued?’
‘It was more that they couldn’t let an argument lie. There had to be a winner and a loser, no middle ground.’
‘Did these disagreements ever turn violent?’
‘No.’
‘But David’s got a temper on him?’ Rebus persisted.
‘No more so than anyone else.’
Rebus walked over to the table. It only took him a couple of steps. He leaned forward so that his shadow covered Winfield. ‘But you’ve seen him lose the rag?’
‘Not really.’
‘No?’
Siobhan cleared her throat, a sign that she thought Rebus had hit a wall. ‘Albert,’ she said, her voice like a balm, ‘did you know that Flip liked to play computer games?’
‘No,’ he said, looking surprised.
‘Do you play them?’
‘I used to play Doom in first year... maybe pinball in the student union.’
‘Computer pinball?’
‘No, just pinball.’
‘Flip was playing a game online, a sort of variation on a treasure hunt.’ Siobhan unfolded a sheet of paper and slid it across the table. ‘Do these clues mean anything to you?’
He read with a frown, then expelled some air. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘You’re studying medicine, aren’t you?’ Rebus interrupted.
‘That’s right. I’m in my third year.’
‘I bet it’s hard work,’ Siobhan said, sliding the sheet of paper back towards her.
‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ Winfield laughed.
‘I think we might,’ Rebus said. ‘In our line of work, we see doctors all the time.’ Though some of us, he could have added, do our best to avoid them...
‘I’m assuming you know something of the carotid artery then?’ Siobhan asked.
‘I know where it is,’ Winfield admitted, looking puzzled.
‘And what it does?’
‘It’s an artery in the neck. Actually, there are two of them.’
‘Carrying blood to the brain?’ Siobhan said.
‘I had to look it up in a dictionary,’ Rebus told Winfield. ‘It’s from the Greek, meaning sleep. Know why that is?’
‘Because compression of the carotid causes you to black out.’
Rebus nodded. ‘That’s right, a deep sleep. And if you keep on pressing...’
‘Christ, is that how she died?’
Siobhan shook her head. ‘We think she was rendered unconscious, then strangled afterwards.’
In the silence that followed, Winfield looked wildly from one detective to the other. Then he started rising to his feet, fingers gripping the table’s edge.
‘Jesus Christ, you don’t think...? For pity’s sake, you think it was me?’
‘Sit down,’ Rebus ordered. In truth, Winfield hadn’t got very far up; it looked like his knees were refusing to lock.
‘We know it wasn’t you,’ Siobhan said firmly. The student fell back on to his chair, nearly toppling it.
‘We know it wasn’t you because you’ve got an alibi: you were with everyone else in the bar that night, waiting for Flip.’