‘That’s right,’ he said, ‘that’s right.’
‘So you’ve nothing to worry about,’ Rebus said, backing off from the table. ‘Unless you know better.’
‘No, I... I’m...’
‘Anyone else in your group like to play games, Albert?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Nobody. I mean, Trist has a few games for his computer, Tomb Raider, that sort of thing. But probably everyone does.’
‘Probably,’ Siobhan admitted. ‘No one else in your circle studies medicine?’
Winfield shook his head, but Siobhan could see he was having a thought. ‘There’s Claire,’ he said. ‘Claire Benzie. I’ve only met her once or twice at parties, but she was a friend of Flip’s... from school days, I think.’
‘And she’s studying medicine?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you don’t really know her?’
‘She’s a year below me, and a different specialism. God, that’s right...’ He looked up at Siobhan, then to Rebus. ‘Of all the bloody things, she wants to be a pathologist...’
‘Yes, I know Claire,’ Dr Curt said, leading them down one of the corridors. They were in part of the medical faculty at the university, in a block behind McEwan Hall. Rebus had been here before: it was where both Curt and Gates had their teaching offices. But he’d never been to the lecture halls. Curt was leading them there now. Rebus had asked if he was feeling better. Gastric problems, Curt had explained. ‘Very pleasant girl,’ he said now, ‘and a good student. I hope she stays with us.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She’s only in second year, she could yet change her mind.’
‘Are there many female pathologists?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Not many, no... not in this country.’
‘It’s a weird decision to take, isn’t it?’ Rebus said. ‘When you’re that young, I mean.’
‘Not really,’ Curt mused. ‘I was always one for dissecting the frogs at biology.’ He beamed a smile. ‘And I’d rather treat the deceased than the living: no anxious diagnoses, no expectant families, fewer negligence claims...’ He stopped at a set of doors and peered through the glass upper half. ‘Yes, in here.’
The lecture room was small and antiquated: wood veneer on the walls, curved wooden benches rising steeply. Curt checked his watch. ‘Only another minute or two.’
Rebus peered inside. Someone he didn’t know was lecturing to a few dozen students. There were fresh diagrams on the blackboard, and a podium where the lecturer stood brushing chalk from his hands.
‘Not a cadaver on view,’ Rebus commented.
‘We tend to keep those for the practicals.’
‘Are you still having to use the Western General?’
‘We are, and it’s a blessed nuisance with the traffic.’
The autopsy suite at the mortuary was out of commission. Fear of hepatitis allied to a ventilation system past its prime. No sign of funding for a new unit, which meant one of the city hospitals was bearing the brunt of the pathologists’ needs.
‘The human body is a fascinating machine,’ Curt was saying. ‘You only really get a sense of that post mortem. A hospital surgeon will concentrate on one particular area of the body, but we have the luxury of unlimited access.’
Siobhan’s look said she wished he’d stop being so remorselessly cheery on the subject. ‘It’s an old building,’ she remarked.
‘Not that old really, in the context of the university. The medical school was based at Old College in earlier times.’
‘That’s where they took Burke’s body?’ Rebus added.
‘Yes, after he was hanged. A tunnel led into Old College. The bodies were all brought in that way — by dead of night in some cases.’ He looked to Siobhan. ‘The Resurrection Men.’
‘Good name for a band.’
He graced her flippancy with a scowl. ‘Body-snatchers,’ he said.
‘And the skin was flayed from Burke’s body?’ Rebus went on.
‘You know a bit about it.’
‘I didn’t until recently. Does the tunnel still exist?’
‘Part of it.’
‘I’d be interested to see it sometime.’
‘Devlin’s your man.’
‘Is he?’
‘Unofficial historian of the medical faculty’s early days. He’s written pamphlets on the subject... self-published, but pretty enlightening.’
‘I didn’t know that. I know he knows a bit about Burke and Hare. He has a theory that Dr Kennet Lovell placed the coffins on Arthur’s Seat.’
‘Ah, the ones that’ve been in the papers of late?’ Curt frowned in thought. ‘Lovell? Well, who’s to say he isn’t right?’ He broke off and frowned again. ‘Funny you should mention Lovell actually.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Claire told me recently she’s descended from him.’ There was a sound of movement from inside. ‘Ah, Dr Easton’s finished. They’ll all filter out this way; we’d better stand back, lest we’re stampeded to death.’
‘They’re keen then?’ Siobhan said.
‘Keen to be back in the fresh air, yes.’
Only a few of the students bothered to glance in their direction. Those who did seemed to know who Curt was, some acknowledging him with a bow, smile or word. Finally, with the hall three-quarters empty, Curt went up on to his toes.
‘Claire? Could you spare a minute?’
She was tall and thin with short blonde hair and a long straight nose. Her eyes were an almost oriental shape, like tilted almonds. She carried two folders beneath one arm. There was a mobile phone in her hand. She’d been studying it on her way out of the lecture theatre: checking for messages perhaps. She came forwards with a smile.
‘Hello, Dr Curt.’ Her voice was almost playful.
‘Claire, these police officers would like a word.’
‘It’s about Flip, isn’t it?’ Her face had fallen, all humour lost to it, and the voice had taken on a sombre tone.
Siobhan nodded slowly. ‘A few follow-up questions.’
‘I keep thinking maybe it wasn’t her, maybe there’s been a mistake...’ She looked to the pathologist. ‘Did you...?’
Curt shook his head, but it was less a denial than a refusal to answer the question. Rebus and Siobhan knew Curt had been one of the pathologists at the Philippa Balfour autopsy. The other had been Professor Gates.
Claire Benzie knew it too. Her eyes were still on Dr Curt. ‘Have you ever had to... you know... on someone you knew?’
Curt glanced in Rebus’s direction, and Rebus knew he was thinking of Conor Leary.
‘It’s not a necessity,’ Curt was explaining to his student. ‘Something like that happens, you can be excused on compassionate grounds.’
‘We’re allowed compassion then?’
‘The occasional handful, yes.’ This put the smile back on to her face, albeit fleetingly.
‘So how can I help you?’ she asked Siobhan.
‘You know we’re treating Flip’s death as homicide?’
‘That’s what the news said this morning.’
‘Well, we just need your help to clear up a few things.’
‘You can use my office,’ Curt said.
As they walked, two by two, back down the corridor, Rebus watched Claire Benzie’s back. She was holding her folders in front of her, discussing her recent lecture with Dr Curt. Siobhan glanced at him and frowned, wondering what he was thinking. He shook his head: not important. But all the same, he thought Claire Benzie was interesting. The morning her friend’s murder is announced, and she’s able to attend a lecture, talk about it afterwards, even with two detectives right behind her...
One explanation: displacement. She was pushing thoughts of Flip aside, replacing them with the routine. Keeping busy to keep from bursting into tears.
Another: she was self-possession itself, Flip’s demise a minor intrusion in her universe.