Only later had the walls begun to close in.
When he peered at the spines of his LPs, he saw that they weren’t in anything like the same order as upstairs. Not that there had been any real sense of cataloguing – it was more that he’d known pretty much where he’d find whatever he wanted to hear. Instead of the Stones, he decided on Van Morrison.
‘Aye, you’ll do,’ he said to himself.
Having eased the needle onto the vinyl, he stepped back. The record skipped. He looked down at the floor. Loose floorboard. He placed his foot on it again and the same thing happened. He stabbed a finger at the offender.
‘You’re on my list now, pal,’ he warned it, keeping his footsteps soft as he retreated to his chair.
It wasn’t long before Brillo curled up on the floor next to his feet. Rebus had promised himself that he’d unpack a few more boxes before bedtime, but he realised there was no urgency. When his phone buzzed, he checked the screen before answering: Deborah Quant. He’d asked her a while back if they were courting. She’d replied that they were friends with benefits – which seemed to suit both of them just fine.
‘Hiya, Deb.’
‘Settling in?’
‘Thought you might have popped round to check.’
‘Busy day, mostly thanks to your lot.’
‘I’m long retired, Deb.’ Rebus paused. ‘I’m guessing this is the Saudi student?’
‘Police and Procurator Fiscal don’t seem to trust me to establish cause of death any more.’
‘You reckon pressure’s being applied?’
‘From all sides – government here and in London, plus our friends in the media. Added to which, Muslim burials usually take place within two to three days – embassy are pushing for that to happen.’
‘Handy for whoever killed him, if you can’t keep the body for future examination … ’
‘Which I’ve explained until I’m blue in the face.’
‘So it’s the full tourniquet, eh?’ He paused again. ‘I take it you didn’t find anything out of the ordinary?’
‘Thin-bladed knife, maybe four to six inches long.’
‘Did they know what they were doing?’
‘They went for his neck rather than chest, abdomen or stomach. I’m not a hundred per cent sure what that tells us, but then that’s not my job. Angle of incision suggests someone of similar height and probably right-handed. Can I assume you’ve been discussing it with Siobhan?’
‘She’s champing at the bit.’
‘But she’s a loyal friend, too.’
‘I’ve told her I’ll be fine from here in.’
‘So where are you right now?’
‘Chair in the living room, Brillo at my feet.’
‘And you’ve got the hi-fi set up, so all’s well with the world.’
‘Will I see you tomorrow?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘You work too hard.’ He listened to her laughter.
‘It was the right move to make – you do know that, don’t you?’
‘For the sake of my lungs, maybe.’
‘Try spending a day without them, John. Give Brillo a scratch behind the ears from me. We’ll catch up soon.’
‘Night, Deb.’
And then she was gone. She lived less than a mile away, in a modern block where minimalism ruled. Her possessions were few because there was nowhere to keep them – no Edinburgh press or understairs cupboard, no nooks and crannies. Just clean lines that repelled the very notion of clutter. Her office at the mortuary was the same – no files were allowed to linger long on her desk.
Rebus thought again of the books he’d decided he couldn’t live without, even if he would never read them; the albums he played maybe once or twice a decade but still clung to; the boxes of case files that seemed a veritable part of him, like an extra limb. Why would he part with them when he had a spare bedroom no overnight guest ever graced? His only family consisted of his daughter and granddaughter, and they never opted to stay. That was why he had ditched the old bed and replaced it with a two-seater sofa, leaving space for more bookshelves, the suitcase he doubted he would ever use, and his second-best record player, the same one he’d had when dancing with Rhona that first night. It no longer worked but he reckoned he could find someone to fix it. He would put it on his list.
When he went into the kitchen to make a mug of tea, he examined the central heating timer. Mrs Mackay had left the instruction manual but it looked straightforward enough.
‘Heating bills are quite reasonable,’ she’d told him. But then she had always opted for another layer of wool rather than an extra degree on the thermostat. He wondered if her various cardigans, pullovers and shawls had accompanied her to Australia. He wouldn’t bet against it.
While the kettle boiled, he walked into the main bedroom. With the double bed, plus his old wardrobe and chest of drawers, floor space was limited. Siobhan had helped him make up the bed, only having to shift Brillo half a dozen times in the process.
‘Tell me he doesn’t sleep next to you,’ she’d said.
‘Of course not,’ Rebus had lied.
The dog was watching now from the hallway. Rebus checked his watch. ‘Soon enough,’ he said. ‘Just one more mug of tea and maybe another record, eh?’
He wondered how many times he would wake up in the night and not know the new route to the bathroom. Maybe he’d leave the hall light on.
‘Or stop drinking bloody tea,’ he muttered to himself, heading back into the kitchen.
iv
But it wasn’t his need to pee that woke him at 5 a.m. It was a call. He fumbled for both his phone and the bedside lamp, waking Brillo in the process. He couldn’t quite focus on the screen but pressed the phone to his ear anyway.
‘Dad?’ His daughter Samantha’s urgent voice.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, sitting up, growing more awake by the second.
‘Your landline – it’s been cut off.’
‘I meant to tell you about that … ’
‘About what?’
‘My landline’s not the reason you’re calling at this hour. Is it Carrie?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘What then? Are you all right?’
‘It’s Keith.’
Her partner; Carrie’s father. Rebus swallowed. ‘What’s happened?’ He listened as Samantha began to sob quietly. Her voice cracked when she spoke.