Hide & Seek

‘Sorry I took so long to get here,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘So what’s the verdict?’

‘Overdose,’ the doctor said blandly. ‘Heroin.’ He shook a tiny polythene envelope at Rebus. ‘The contents of this sachet, if I’m not mistaken. There’s another full one in his right hand.’ Rebus shone his torch towards where a lifeless hand was half clutching a small packet of white powder.

‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I thought everyone chased the dragon these days instead of injecting.’

The doctor looked up at him at last.

‘That’s a very naive view, Inspector. Go talk to the Royal Infirmary. They’ll tell you how many intravenous abusers there are in Edinburgh. It probably runs into hundreds. That’s why we’re the AIDS capital of Britain.’

‘Aye, we take pride in our records, don’t we? Heart disease, false teeth, and now AIDS.’

The doctor smiled. ‘Something you might be interested in,’ he said. ‘There’s bruising on the body. Not very distinct in this light, but it’s there.’

Rebus squatted down and shone the torch over the torso again. Yes, there was bruising all right. A lot of bruising.

‘Mainly to the ribs,’ the doctor continued. ‘But also some to the face.’

‘Maybe he fell,’ Rebus suggested.

‘Maybe,’ said the doctor.

‘Sir?’ This from one of the constables, his eyes and voice keen. Rebus turned to him.

‘Yes, son?’

‘Come and look at this.’

Rebus was only too glad of the excuse to move away from the doctor and his patient. The constable was leading him to the far wall, shining his torch against it as he went. Suddenly, Rebus saw why.

On the wall was a drawing. A five-pointed star,

encompassed by two concentric circles, the largest of them some five feet in diameter. The whole had been well drawn, the lines of the star straight, the circles almost exact. The rest of the wall was bare.

‘What do you think, sir?’ asked the constable.

‘Well, it’s not just your usual graffiti, that’s for sure.’

‘Witchcraft?’

‘Or astrology. A lot of druggies go in for all sorts of mysticism and hoodoo. It goes with the territory.’

‘The candles….’

‘Let’s not jump to conclusions, son. You’ll never make CID that way. Tell me, why are we all carrying torches?’

‘Because the electric’s been cut off.’

‘Right. Ergo, the need for candles.’

‘If you say so, sir.’

‘I do say so, son. Who found the body?’

‘I did, sir. There was a telephone call, female, anonymous, probably one of the other squatters. They seem to have cleared out in a hurry.’

‘So there was nobody else here when you arrived?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Any idea yet who he is?’ Rebus nodded the torch towards the corpse.

‘No, sir. And the other houses are all squats, too, so I doubt we’ll get anything out of them.’

‘On the contrary. If anyone knows the identity of the deceased, they’re the very people. Take your friend and knock on a few doors. But be casual, make sure they don’t think you’re about to evict them or anything.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The constable seemed dubious about the whole venture. For one thing, he was sure to get an amount of hassle. For another, it was still raining hard.

‘On you go,’ Rebus chided, but gently. The constable shuffled off, collecting his companion on the way.

Rebus approached the photographer.

‘You’re taking a lot of snaps,’ he said.

‘I need to in this light, to make sure at least a few come out.’

‘Bit quick off the mark in getting here, weren’t you?’

‘Superintendent Watson’s orders. He wants pictures of any drugs-related incidents. Part of his campaign.’

‘That’s a bit gruesome, isn’t it?’ Rebus knew the new Chief Superintendent, had met him. Full of social awareness and community involvement. Full of good ideas, and lacking only the manpower to implement them. Rebus had an idea.

‘Listen, while you’re here, take one or two of that far wall, will you?’

‘No problem.’

‘Thanks.’ Rebus turned to the doctor. ‘How soon will we know what’s in that full packet?’

‘Later on today, maybe tomorrow morning at the latest.’

Rebus nodded to himself. What was his interest? Maybe it was the dreariness of the day, or the atmosphere in this house, or the positioning of the body. All he knew was that he felt something. And if it turned out to be just a damp ache in his bones, well, fair enough. He left the room and made a tour of the rest of the house.

The real horror was in the bathroom.

The toilet must have blocked up weeks before. A plunger lay on the floor, so some cursory attempt had been made to unblock it, but to no avail. Instead, the small, splattered sink had become a urinal, while the bath had become a dumping ground for solids, upon which crawled a dozen large and jet-black flies. The bath had also become a skip, filled with bags of refuse, bits of wood. .. . Rebus didn’t stick around, pulling the door tight shut behind him. He didn’t envy the council workmen who would eventually have to come and fight the good fight against all this decay.

One bedroom was completely empty, but the other