A Heart Full of Headstones

Now

As senior counsel readied to pronounce, Rebus looked at all the cameras situated around the courtroom, broadcasting their images to the distant jury.

Cameras: he had failed to take them into account. Bought after the attack that had put Cafferty in the wheelchair, placed surreptitiously around the airy living room, recording Rebus’s assault and the eventual faltering of that assault as he thought of his daughter and granddaughter, imagining them visiting him in the prison that would be home until he died. So he had removed the cushion from Cafferty’s face, watching the man taking in huge gulps of air, hoarse sounds escaping his throat. Then he had walked away, saying nothing, not looking back.

And Cafferty had died anyway, his heart giving out, leaving Rebus on a murder charge.

All at once, he felt his balance start to go and reached out for the handrail in front of him. His heart was pounding and the pain in his chest was a constant now. The judge had noticed and held a hand up to pause proceedings.

‘Is the accused feeling all right?’

‘Just a bit dizzy there for a second.’

‘A glass of water?’

Rebus shook his head.

‘Very well. Pray continue, Mr Bartleby.’

Siobhan and Sammy were right — he should see a doctor. There was one he could consult at the prison. His legal team had argued that, bearing in mind his health issues, he should not be kept on remand, but that had cut no ice with the judge. Rebus was a danger to the public, apparently, and had to be kept under lock and key. Both Siobhan and Sammy had been to see him during visiting hours, Sammy explaining that she’d left Carrie and Brillo with a friend. He’d asked her what she’d told his granddaughter.

‘That there was a bad man and you tried to do something about him.’

He’d smiled afterwards, thinking it not a bad epitaph. But then hadn’t he been a bad man himself, consorting with many more devils than angels? He’d broken laws and skewed evidence and taken bungs, arrested guilty people for crimes they hadn’t committed when he couldn’t hold them to account for the ones they’d actually carried out. He’d used his fists and his feet as weapons of intimidation. It was all there in those Complaints boxes, including stuff he’d probably long forgotten.

Siobhan was going to take the promotion, but meantime she was kept busy with preparations for the trial of Stephanie Pelham. A lot was going to come out in court, none of it exactly beneficial to Tynecastle police station. Driscoll had already tendered his resignation. Clarke didn’t think Agnew would be far behind. Jack Oram’s body had eventually been recovered from a disused quarry in West Lothian. Crosbie — who had been too thrawn to die from the bullet wounds, unlike his lifelong pal — had been charged not only with Jack Oram’s murder but also for his role in a spate of fire-raising incidents. Tommy, too, would appear in a courtroom soon enough. Clarke had speculated that Rebus could end up doing time alongside both Tommy and Crosbie — and potentially Fraser Mackenzie and James Pelham too. The Mackenzies, Gaby included, were under investigation for all manner of offences and conspiracies, giving Laura Smith enough material to keep her busy and solvent for the foreseeable.

‘Have you seen Fox since he went back to Gartcosh?’ Rebus had enquired of Clarke.

‘He tells me he’s got his fingers crossed for you.’

‘But did you see any evidence?’

‘No, now you come to mention it.’ Which had caused them both to smile.

‘Does he still think he can get Alan Fleck?’

‘Malcolm’s not the type to give up. That’s one thing the two of you seem to have in common.’

‘It won’t be him, though, will it? It’ll be you.’

‘I suppose so.’ Her face had fallen a little.

‘And you’ll do it right, Siobhan. Because it has to be done right.’

Fleck himself had asked to visit Rebus in detention, but Rebus had denied him. He knew Fleck would be after a favour: since Rebus was going away for a stretch, might he be minded to take with him some of the flak coming Fleck’s way? No doubt compensation would be offered, but Rebus was done with covering his old pal’s back. As soon as Siobhan had shifted to Complaints, Rebus would have her visit him. There were stories that needed to be told, and no more fitting person to hear his confession. He kept thinking of Francis Haggard, still unsure if his intention to tell all was fuelled by shame or self-preservation.

Well, hell, why not both?

He realised that time had moved on. His QC had seated himself and the advocate depute was on her feet. He had missed Bartleby uttering the all-important words.

‘Are you quite sure?’ Bartleby had asked him on more than one occasion.

‘I’ve a life’s worth of mitigation,’ Rebus had assured him.

‘Then not guilty it is,’ Bartleby had agreed.

Doors were being opened to allow access to the Crown’s first witness. Andrew, who had handed police the CCTV from Cafferty’s penthouse, strode in. He wore an expensive suit and sported a new haircut. Dapper and ready for bigger things, he locked eyes with Rebus, and grinned.