He got up and put some music on. Dr John, The Night Tripper. Then back to the table, a fresh cigarette lit from the stub of the old. The smoke stung his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. When he opened them again, his vision was slow to focus. It was as if the photos of the four women were lying behind a layer of muslin. He blinked a couple of times, shook his head, trying to stave off weariness.
When he awoke a couple of hours later, he was still seated at the table, head resting on his arms. The photos were still there, too, restless faces which had invaded his dreams.
‘I wish I could help,’ he told them, getting up to go to the kitchen. He returned with a mug of tea, which he took over to the chair by the window. Here he was, getting through another night. So how come he didn’t feel like celebrating?
8
Rebus and Jean Burchill were walking on Arthur’s Seat. It was a bright morning, but there was a cold breeze blowing. Some people said Arthur’s Seat looked like a lion about to spring. But to Rebus’s mind it more resembled an elephant or mammoth, with a great bulbous head, a dip towards the neck, and an expanse of torso.
‘It started life as a volcano,’ Jean was explaining, ‘same as Castle Rock. Later on there were farms and quarries, plus chapels.’
‘People used to come here for sanctuary, didn’t they?’ Rebus said, keen to show off what knowledge he had.
She nodded. ‘Debtors were banished here until they’d got their affairs in order. A lot of people think it’s named after King Arthur.’
‘You mean it isn’t?’
She shook her head. ‘More likely it’s Gaelic: Ard-na-Said, “Height of the Sorrows”.’
‘That’s a cheery name.’
She smiled. ‘The park’s full of them: Pulpit Rock, Powderhouse Corner.’ She looked at him. ‘Or how about Murder Acre and Hangman’s Crag?’
‘Where are they?’
‘Near Duddingston Loch and the Innocent Railway.’
‘Now that was named because they used horses instead of trains, right?’
She smiled again. ‘Could be. There are other theories.’ She pointed towards the loch. ‘Samson’s Ribs,’ she said. ‘The Romans had a fort there.’ She gave him a sly glance. ‘Maybe you didn’t think they got this far north?’
He shrugged. ‘History’s never been my strong point. Do we know where the coffins were found?’
‘The records from the time are vague. “The north-east range of Arthur’s Seat” is how the Scotsman put it. A small opening in a secluded outcrop.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve wandered all over and never found the spot. The other thing the Scotsman said was that the coffins were in two tiers, eight in each, and with a third tier just begun.’
‘Like whoever did it had more to add?’
She held her jacket around her; Rebus got the feeling it wasn’t just the wind making her shiver. He was thinking of the Innocent Railway. These days it was a walkway and cycle path. About a month back, someone had been mugged there. He didn’t suppose the story would do much to cheer up his companion. He could tell her about suicides, too, and syringes left by the side of the road. Although they were walking the same path, he knew they were in different places.
‘I’m afraid history’s about all I have to offer,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ve asked around, but no one seems to remember anyone showing particular interest in the coffins, except for the occasional student or tourist. They were kept in a private collection for a time, then handed over to the Society of Antiquaries, who gave them to the Museum.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve not been very helpful, have I?’
‘A case like this, Jean, everything’s useful. If it doesn’t rule something in, it can help rule other things out.’
‘I get the feeling you’ve made that speech before.’
It was his turn to smile. ‘Maybe I have; doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. Are you free later on today?’
‘Why?’ She was playing with her new bracelet, the one she’d bought from Bev Dodds.
‘I’m taking our twentieth-century coffins to an expert. A bit of history might come in useful.’ He paused, looked out over Edinburgh. ‘Jesus, it’s a beautiful city, isn’t it?’
She studied him. ‘Are you saying that because you think I want to hear it?’
‘What?’
‘The other night, when I stopped on North Bridge, I got the feeling you weren’t impressed by the view.’
‘I look, but I don’t always see. I’m seeing now.’ They were on the hill’s west face, so not even half the city was spread below them. Climbing higher, Rebus knew he’d have a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. But this was enough to be going on with: the spires and chimney-pots, crow-foot gables, with the Pentland Hills to the south and the Firth of Forth to the north, the Fife coastline visible beyond.
‘Maybe you are at that,’ she said. And, smiling, she leaned forward, going up on her toes so she could peck his cheek. ‘Best just to get that out of the way,’ she said quietly. Rebus nodded, couldn’t think of anything to say, until she shivered again and said she was getting cold.
‘There’s a café behind St Leonard’s,’ Rebus told her. ‘And I’m buying. Not out of altruism, you understand, but because I’ve a huge favour to ask.’
She burst out laughing, slapped her hand to her mouth and started apologising.
‘What did I say?’ he asked.
‘It’s just that Gill told me this would happen. She said if I stuck close to you, I’d have to be prepared for “the big favour”.’
‘Did she now?’
‘And she was right, wasn’t she?’
‘Not entirely. It’s a huge favour I’m asking for, not just a big one …’
Siobhan was wearing a vest, polo neck and pure wool V-neck jumper. She had an old pair of thick cords on, tucked at the ankles into two pairs of socks. She’d given her old hiking boots a bit of a polish, and they seemed fine. She hadn’t worn the Barbour in years, but couldn’t think of a better chance to use it. Additionally, she was wearing a bobble-hat, and carrying a pack containing an umbrella, her mobile, a bottle of water and a flask of sweetened tea.
‘Sure you’ve got enough gear?’ Hood laughed. He was wearing jeans and trainers. His yellow cagoule looked brand new. He angled his face to the sun, so that the rays reflected off his sunglasses. They’d parked the car in a lay-by. There was a fence to climb, and after that a gently sloping field which then angled abruptly. The steep gradient was barren, except for occasional whin-bushes and rocks.
‘What do you reckon?’ Hood asked. ‘An hour to the top?’
Siobhan slipped the backpack over her shoulders. ‘With a bit of luck.’
Sheep watched them as they climbed the fence. There was a strand of barbed wire running along it, marked with tufts of grey wool. Hood gave Siobhan a foot up, then leaped over, using his hand on the fence-post for purchase.
‘Not a bad day for it,’ he said, as they started to climb. ‘Reckon Flip would have done this on her ownio?’
‘I don’t know,’ Siobhan conceded.
‘I wouldn’t have said she was the type. She’d have taken one look at this climb and got back into her Golf GTi.’
‘Except she didn’t have a car.’
‘Good point. So how would she have got out here in the first place?’
Which was another good point: they really were in the middle of nowhere, with towns few and far between and only the odd cottage or farm giving signs of habitation. They were only forty miles from Edinburgh, but the city seemed already a distant memory. Siobhan guessed that few buses came this route. If Flip had come here, she’d have needed help.
‘Maybe a taxi,’ she said.
‘Not the sort of fare you’d forget.’
‘No.’ Yet despite a public appeal, and plenty of photos of Flip in the papers, no taxi driver had come forward. ‘Maybe a friend then, someone we haven’t traced yet.’
‘Could be.’ But Hood sounded sceptical. She noticed that he was already breathing hard. A couple of minute
s later, he’d shed the cagoule and folded it, tucking it beneath his arm.
‘Don’t know how you can wear that lot,’ he complained. She pulled the bobble-hat from her head and unzipped the Barbour.
‘Is that better?’ she said.
He just shrugged.
Eventually, on the steeper climb, they were reduced to scrabbling with their hands while their feet sought purchase, the stony soil crumbling and sliding away beneath them. Siobhan stopped to rest, sitting down with her knees up, heels digging in. She took a swig of water.
‘Is that you wabbit already?’ Hood said, ten or so feet above her. She offered him the bottle, but he shook his head and started climbing again. She could see sweat shining in his hair.
‘It’s not a race, Grant,’ she called out. He didn’t reply. After another half-minute, she turned round and followed him. He was moving away from her. So much for team work, she thought. He was like a lot of men she’d known: driven, and yet probably unable to put the reasons into words. It was more in the way of an instinct, a basic need, going beyond the rational.
The climb was levelling off a little. Hood stood up, hands on his hips, admiring the view as he rested. Siobhan watched as he bent his head and tried to spit, but his saliva was too viscous. It hung in a strand from his mouth, refusing to drop. He got a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it away. Catching up with him, she handed him the bottle.
‘Here,’ she said. He looked like he might refuse, but eventually took a mouthful. ‘It’s clouding over.’ Siobhan was interested in the sky rather than the view. The clouds were thick and blackening. Funny how the weather could change so suddenly in Scotland. The temperature must have dropped three or four degrees, perhaps more. ‘Maybe a shower,’ she said. Hood just nodded, handing back the bottle.
She looked at her watch and saw that they’d been climbing for twenty minutes. That meant they were maybe fifteen from the car, reckoning the descent quicker than the climb. Peering upwards, she guessed they had another fifteen or twenty minutes to go. Hood expelled breath noisily.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
‘Good exercise,’ he said hoarsely. Then he began climbing again. There were damp patches on the back of his dark blue sweatshirt. Any minute now he’d probably take it off, and be clad only in a T-shirt as the weather turned. Sure enough, he paused to pull the sweatshirt over his head.
‘It’s getting cold,’ she warned him.
‘But I’m not.’ He tied the arms of the sweatshirt around his waist.
‘At least put your cagoule back on.’
‘I’ll bake.’
‘No you won’t.’
He seemed ready to argue, then changed his mind. Siobhan had already zipped up her Barbour again. The countryside around them was growing less visible, either low cloud or mist. Or maybe showers blowing in.
Five minutes on, the rain began. Drizzle at first, and then a smattering of big drops. Siobhan put her hat back on, and watched Grant pull his hood up. It was getting windy, too, gusts cutting across them. Grant lost his footing and went down on one knee, cursing. For the next few dozen steps he was limping, clutching at his leg with one hand.
‘Do you want to wait?’ she asked, knowing what his answer would be: silence.
The rain grew heavier, but in the distance the sky was already clearing. It wouldn’t last long. All the same, Siobhan’s legs were soaked, her trousers sticking to her. Grant’s trainers were making squelching sounds. He had switched to auto-pilot, his eyes staring, nothing at all on his mind except reaching the summit, whatever it took.
As they clambered up the last steep incline, the land levelled off. They’d reached the summit. The rain was easing. Twenty feet away stood a cairn. Siobhan knew that sometimes hill-walkers added a rock or stone each time they ended a climb. Maybe that was how this cairn had come into being.
‘What, no restaurant?’ Grant said, crouching down to get his breath back. The rain had stopped, a shaft of sunshine splitting the clouds and bathing the hills around in an eerie yellow glow. He was shivering, but the rain had been pouring off his cagoule and on to his sweatshirt, soaking it. No use putting it on now. His denims had changed colour to a darker, dampened blue.
‘Hot tea, if you want it,’ Siobhan said. He nodded and she poured him a cup. He sipped at it, studying the cairn.
‘Are we scared what we’ll find?’ he said.
‘Maybe we won’t find anything.’
He conceded as much with a nod. ‘Go look,’ he told her. So she screwed the top back on the flask and approached the cairn, walked round it. Just a pile of stones and pebbles. ‘There’s nothing here,’ she said. She got down on her haunches to take a closer look.
‘There must be.’ Grant rose to his feet, walked towards her. ‘There’s got to be.’
‘Well, whatever it is, it’s well hidden.’
He touched a foot to the cairn, then gave a push, toppling it. Dropped to his knees, running his hands through the debris. His face was screwed up, teeth bared. Soon the pile of stones was completely flattened. Siobhan had lost interest in it, was looking around for other possibilities, seeing none. Grant thrust a hand into his cagoule pocket, pulling out the two plastic evidence bags he’d brought. She watched him stuff them under the largest rock, then begin building the cairn again. It didn’t get very high before it started to fall down.
‘Leave it, Grant,’ Siobhan said.
‘Useless piece of shit!’ he cried out. She couldn’t be sure who or what his words were aimed at.
‘Grant,’ she said quietly. ‘Weather’s closing in again. Let’s head back.’
He seemed reluctant to go. He sat on the ground, legs stretched out, arms behind him to support himself.
‘We got it wrong,’ he said, almost in tears. Siobhan was looking at him, knowing she needed to coax him back down the hill. He was wet and cold and losing it. She crouched in front of him.
‘I need you to be strong, Grant,’ she said, her hands on his knees. ‘You go to pieces on me, and that’s it finished. We’re a team, remember?’
‘A team,’ he echoed. Siobhan was nodding.
‘So let’s act like a team and get our arses off this hill.’
He was staring at her hands. He reached out with his own, wrapping them around hers. She started to rise, pulling him with her. ‘Come on, Grant.’ They were both up on their feet now, and his eyes weren’t moving from her.
‘Remember what you said?’ he asked. ‘When we were trying to get parked near Victoria Street?’
‘What?’
‘You asked why I always had to play by the rules …’
‘Grant …’ She tried for a look that was sympathetic rather than pitying. ‘Let’s not spoil it,’ she said quietly, trying to slide her hands out from his grip.
‘Spoil what?’ he asked hollowly.
‘We’re a team,’ she repeated.
‘That’s it?’
He was staring at her as she nodded. She kept nodding and he slowly released her hands. Siobhan turned to move away, start the descent. She hadn’t gone five paces when Grant flew past her, bounding down the slope like a man possessed. He lost his footing once or twice but bounced straight back up again.
‘Tell me those aren’t hailstones!’ he called out at one point. But they were: stinging Siobhan’s face as she tried to catch up. Then Grant caught his cagoule on the barbed wire as he hurdled the fence, ripping its seam. He was swearing and red-faced as he helped Siobhan over. They got into the car and just sat there for a full minute, getting their breath back. The windscreen started steaming up, so Siobhan slid her window down. The hail had stopped. The sun was coming out again.
‘Bloody Scottish weather,’ Grant spat. ‘Is it any wonder we’ve a chip on our shoulder?’
‘Have we? I hadn’t noticed.’
He snorted, but smiled too. Siobhan looked at him, hoping it was going to be all right between them. The way he was acting, it was as if nothing had happened up there on the summit. She t
ook off her Barbour and tossed it into the back. Grant slipped the cagoule over his head. There was steam rising from his T-shirt. From beneath the seat, Siobhan retrieved the laptop and plugged her mobile into it, booting the machine up. The mobile’s signal was weak, but it would do.
‘Tell him he’s a bastard,’ Grant said.
‘I’m sure he’d be thrilled to hear it.’ Siobhan started typing a message, Grant leaning over to watch.
Just been up Hart Fell. No sign of next clue. Did I get it wrong?
She pressed ‘send’ and waited, pouring herself a cup of tea. Grant was trying to prise his denims away from his skin. ‘Soon as we get moving, I’ll put the heater on.’ She nodded, offered him some more tea, which he took. ‘What time’s the meeting with the banker?’
She checked her watch. ‘We’ve a couple of hours. Time enough to go home and get changed.’
Grant looked at the screen. ‘He’s not there, is he?’
Siobhan shrugged, and Grant turned the Alfa’s ignition. They drove in silence, the weather clearing ahead of them. It soon became clear that the rain had been localised. By Innerleithen, the road was bone dry.
‘I wonder if we should have taken the A701,’ Grant mused. ‘Might have made for a shorter climb, the west side of the hill.’
‘Doesn’t matter now,’ Siobhan said. She could see that in his mind he was still on Hart Fell. The laptop suddenly announced that there was post. She clicked, but it was an invitation to visit a porn site. ‘That’s not the first of those I’ve had,’ she informed Grant. ‘Makes me wonder what you got up to with your computer.’
‘They pick names at random,’ he said, his neck reddening. ‘I think they have some kind of system that tells them when you’re online.’
‘I’ll believe you,’ she said.
‘It’s true!’ His voice was rising.
‘Okay, okay. I really do believe you.’
‘I’d never do that, Siobhan.’
She nodded, but kept quiet. They had reached the outskirts of Edinburgh when the next message was announced. This time it was Quizmaster. Grant pulled up on to the verge and stopped the car.