All The Sinners Saints
A Rebus Story
The little house-shaped casket was the first thing any visitor to the Museum of Scotland saw on their entry. It was almost older than the very clean-hewn sandstone blocks of which the new turret consisted, forming a slick modern gateway to Edinburgh's historical treasure house.
"Why pinch something so small then, apart from the fact it's portable?" asked Detective Sergeant Siobhan Clarke of Detective Inspector John Rebus as they drove up Nicholson Street on their way to the museum to investigate last night's burglary in Rebus' trusty Saab.
"Why, Siobhan? Do you know what the Breacbennach is?" Rebus retorted.
She sighed. She didn't like it when her boss answered her questions with a further question. "No, enlighten me. History was never my favourite subject," Siobhan stated, keeping her eyes on the road, knowing Rebus' dislike for red traffic lights.
Rebus grinned. "Call yourself a detective? At least this is one thing I do know, and not something Jean told me," he began, referring to Jean Burchill, his current partner who was a curator at the museum.
"The Breacbennach is the shrine that holds the relics of St. Columba, or Columcille if you want the Gaelic. It's also known as the Monymusk Requiliary, features on the old Clydesdale Bank £20 note and dates back to the 7th or 8th century. Legend has it that Robert the Bruce carried it with him into battle at Bannockburn as surety of Divine intervention on his side. That, my dear Siobhan, is what some illiterate ned has nicked and hopefully left plenty of forensic evidence for our lab boys to track them down." Rebus looked to see if his colleague was impressed, but there was no change in Siobhan's expression.
"Ok, so it's a religious artefact, the thief might have known that too. So they smashed the cabinet, grabbed the requiliary and legged it across Greyfriars' churchyard?" she glanced down at the phone message which had been reported from one of the occupants of the flats overlooking the museum in the early hours of that morning. "The person who called it in said they saw someone running in that direction."
"Aye, you'd be running too, just to get away fae the noise of the alarms. Bit of bravado maybe. Nae self-respecting thief I know would hit something that well-wired and just across the road from the Crown Office. Not a very bright thief, that's my guess."
"Anything to get out of the office of a morning." Siobhan added. She tired of the snide remarks from her male colleagues that insinuated something other than a professional relationship between herself and Rebus.
Rebus did what men always do; shut off, ignored anything that didn't bear on his work or that might prevent him enjoying the occasional moment of sanctuary in the Ox, the Oxford Bar, his favourite pub, where the staff and regulars really didn't care about his private life.
When they reached the Museum of Scotland, and Rebus had flashed his ID at the uniformed officers on duty at the security tape, he parked just down from the entrance. A couple of journalists he knew by sight were hanging about outside like vultures awaiting titbits. One was from the BBC.
"Anything to tell us about this case, Inspector Rebus?" the tv man asked, his tape recorder at the ready.
"Gie's a chance, gentlemen, we've only just arrived. I'm sure D.S. Clarke will fill you in on the details once we've established what happened," Rebus said politely, tapping Siobhan's arm.
Oh yeah, right, boss, she thought, thanks a bunch!
Inside, two forensics officers were checking the remains of the glass casing that lay in thick shards all around the floor. One was taking photographs of the platform the relic had stood on.
"Any prints yet?" Siobhan asked before Rebus could speak. He was taking a look around at the location of the security cameras, and, more than likely, to see if Jean was popping down to say hello.
"Oh, hi Siobhan," said the forensic cameraman, D.C. Andy Deuchar, "Not really, maybe some evidence of abrasions on the larger shards of glass, probably wearing gloves. But this is safety glass you see, its coated with a special resin so it doesn't shatter, only comes apart in bits like the old wired glass. I should be able to get something. Must have taken a sledgehammer to it though, takes a bit of brute force to break something like this."
"That's a bit stupid, isn't it, won't the thief have damaged the relic?" she asked.
"Nah, from the bits I reckon the impact was below the top of the plinth here," he indicated, "We may manage to do some reconstruction back at the lab."
"Good-oh," chimed in Rebus. "He would have been caught on camera then?" he continued.
"Aye, the security team say that the floodlights come on if the alarm's tripped. They're bringing down the tape soon, I'll pass it on before you leave," Andy explained.
One of the constables who had been standing just inside the doors now joined them.
"'Scuse me, Inspector, but this is Dr Ross Maitland, the curator for the Scottish Medieval collection. He wants to pass on exact details of the missing item," the young officer said, introducing a rather small and thin man with reddish hair, freckles and green eyes. He was probably about Siobhan's age, yet he was dressed like a reject from the 1970s Open University programmes; tweed jacket with leather elbow pads, green cords, brown leather loafters, a pale yellow shirt, dark red waistcoat which matched the red strip in the tweed and what looked like a school or college tie, loosely knotted. Dr Maitland was the archetype that Jean joked about, but she never said they really existed!
"Good morning Dr Maitland, I'm Detective Inspector Rebus, and this is my colleague from St Leonard's, Detective Sergeant Clarke, how can we help?" Rebus said gruffly.
"Ah yes, John Rebus, Jean's latest squeeze, your reputation precedes you," the academic smiled knowingly.
"Don't let that put you off, he's good at his job," Siobhan commented, shaking the doctor's proffered hand.
"I was merely teasing, Sgt. Clarke, Jean has nothing but praise for you, Inspector, that is when she can be persuaded to tell us anything about you, she's very possessive of you, it would appear. I'm sorry, I'm being presumptuous and rambling, this is a bad business, one of Scotland's premiere religious treasures is missing. I hope it's going to be a case of tracking the thief from the security video. Here, I have a photograph of the Breacbennach," Dr Maitland said, handing a large postcard to Rebus which showed the relic from all angles.
Rebus looked a little flushed at these overly-frank references to his girlfriend, especially with Siobhan present. He said nothing and inspected the postcard.
"Thanks Dr Maitland, this'll be helpful. So can you tell us when you found out the crime had occurred?" Rebus asked, getting the conversation back to business.
Ross Maitland sighed, looked at his watch and thought for a moment. "Well, I'm a keyholder, being in charge a collection you see, so as soon as the alarm went off, I would have been called at home, especially this week as I'm rota-ed on-call should an emergency arise. That would have been about half past three this morning, I think. I live in Lothian Rd, so it isn't far to walk, and I reached here in about 20 minutes."
"You walked?" Rebus was amazed, - himself fast losing any will or ability to chase villains on foot.
"Yes, I don't drive. There's no point in the city. The traffic is so horrendous anyway, there's not much point. So when I arrived, security were here, and some police officers. The cabinet was smashed and the Breacbennach was gone. Heart-stopping moment, I can tell you!" Dr Maitland explained.
"We had a report that someone was seen running in the direction of Greyfriars' kirkyard, so its possible they hid there, or escaped down the Cowgate. They may even have passed you, if you came via the Grassmarket." Siobhan suggested.
"Oh dear, well better that than the Covenanters' Prison, I wouldn't fancy anyone's chances there after dark, it's a well-documented site of supernatural activity." Dr Maitland explained.
Rebus did not smile, though Siobhan and Andy exchanged an incredulous glance. "Hmm, nothing like Divine retribution," Rebus mused aloud. "On the subject of the supernatural, Dr Maitland, is there a curse or superstition attached to the Breacbennach? It being a saintly relic and all that."
"Funny you should ask, Inspector Rebus, but there is an old rubric which is written on a piece of vellum that was found inside the shrine itself. It's not so much a curse as an invocation to God to bring victory to the army in possession of it. Columba was descended from the High Kings of old Celtic Ireland, the Ùi Nèill or Clan Neill, and after many were converted to Christianity, they would call on the Almighty for victory rather than the old gods, Lugh the Long-handed or the Daghda. William the Lion and Robert the Bruce were both recorded as having the Abbot of Arbroath carry the requiliary before the army." Ross explained.
Siobhan was impressed. So Rebus hadn't been showing off, he did know something. "What does it say?" she asked.
"Christ be with me,
Christ within me,
Christ behind me,
Christ before me,
Christ beside me,
Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ my sword and shield to fight,
Christ the Victor against the sinner," It's often called "The Breastplate of Saint Columba", as some like to believe he wrote it himself. Rather enigmatic, than cursing, wouldn't you say, Inspector?" Ross queried, turning back to Rebus.
"Aye, more like something from the Crusades, though that was later."
"Indeed, the Breacbennach was crafted some time after Columba's death, during the rule of Abbot Adomnan, the saint's biographer, late 690s maybe," Ross agreed.
"So did it contain the saint's bones?" Siobhan asked as she examined the picture postcard.
"Well, we aren't sure. It may have contained ashes at one time, but saints tended to have their bodies, or at least their skeletons preserved, and considering some met their deaths as a result of martyrdom, they weren't always in one piece! No it's never been proved conclusively what the shrine contained, but was certainly meant to contain relics as it compares with requiliaries of the same period. Some said it contained the Cathach or Battler which was the illuminated Psalter Columba wrote, but a manuscript was much more likely to be contained in a book satchel, and we know it was too large, as the Cathach is now in the Royal Irish Academy in Dublin. It's a mystery, as is the fact the Breacbennach is covered in pagan Celtic ornamentation without a single religious symbol anywhere. I tend to believe the thief knew exactly what he or she was after." Ross grew troubled in countenance. The significance of the theft was finally sinking in.
"Well, wherever it turns up, then we'll know about it. You can't hid national treasures forever. Most thieves are arrogant, Dr Maitland, they can't help boasting of their exploits, so I'm sure they'll slip up very soon, and we'll have the Breacbennach back where it belongs," assured Rebus. "Our forensics team will find something to get us started," he continued, looking across at Andy and his partner, P.C. Buchanan.
"Certainly sir, no-one enters or leaves a room without leaving some kind of physical trace," Andy stated.
"Do you have an office we can talk in, Dr Maitland?" Siobhan asked.
"Yes, a bit pointless standing in a pile of broken glass, come this way," Maitland gestured to a door at the edge of the wall before the main ground floor exhibition.
The head curator's office was small and shoe-box like with one large lozenge-shaped window filling what would otherwise be a black hole, with daylight. Along one wall were several shelves filled with books and museum catalogues. Siobhan noticed some were quite old, leather-bound volumes, others shiny new history textbooks. In the corner beside the window was the desk, side on to allow more space on the windowsill for paperwork, knickknacks and a large ¾ full bottle of Highland Park. Rebus licked his lips with approval, can't be all bad then if he's a malt man.
Dr Maitland's desk was surprisingly tidy. There was an in-tray, an antique of a manual typewriter, a leather ink-blotter and a silver pencil tin as well as the obligatory telephone.
"Not got a computer then?" Siobhan observed.
"No, certainly not, what would I want with modern nonsense that could well be smarter than I am? No, I'm afraid I'm a technophobe, Sgt. Clarke, and I like it that way," Dr Maitland said proudly.
"Hear hear," muttered Rebus, loud enough for Siobhan to notice.
The tweeded academic offered two chairs as he took his seat behind his desk. The chair resembled a wooden throne; carved from solid, varnished oak in the Arts & Crafts style.
"I like that, Dr Maitland, where on earth did you get it?" Siobhan asked.
"Ah, my minister's throne? It was a reject from the old Tron Kirk in Hunter Square, you know, the one that's now the Tourist Office? Well, it was due for the bonfire, and my sister, who is an architectural technician was working on the site, spotted it, and rescued it on my behalf, knowing my penchant for Art Nouveau. It just exudes authority," Ross grinned.
Rebus frowned. He was not impressed. The old Presbyterian in him rose up and mused that chair is only for an honest man of the cloth, not a would-be eccentric like you!
Beginning in deadpan tone, Rebus said, "Tell us all you can about the artefact and anyone you may suspect of wanting to steal it." Siobhan took out her notebook to record the information.
Back in the car they had established the Breacbennach was 4½ by 4½ inches square, wood, clad in bronze and silver plate with enamel roundels bearing Celtic zoomorphic ornamentation. Dr Maitland had very little idea of anyone he knew personally who might want to steal it, perhaps only one rather mad Irish student who had been plaguing him with letters and phonecalls of late to complain that if the Stone of Destiny could be given back to Scotland, then surely everything relating to Columcille should be returned to Ireland or Iona at the very least. He very much doubted that this girl was daft enough or strong enough to come smashing up a toughened glass cabinet in the dead of night. They had her name anyway. Just before they had left, Andy Deuchar mentioned there was no sign of anyone breaking in, and that they had simply opened the fire exit door to make their escape. An inside job, or the thief had lain in wait till after closing time. If the latter was the case, mentioned Rebus, then it was much more likely to be premeditated than be an opportunist crime.
"Yes, that would add up," Siobhan agreed, as Rebus turned on the car stereo to get a blast of his new Stones' album, Forty Licks.
"You didn't like him did you?" she said, after a moment as Rebus turned down the volume slightly on Street Fighting Man.
"Was I that obvious?"
"Maybe not to him, but you were to me. You think he's a smart alec don't you?"
"Never liked academics. And he's worse, he's young and trying to seem old. Jings, old age disnae come itsel', why would anyone choose to lock themselves away in museums…" he stopped, remembering that's what Jean did. "And anyway, he didna seem unduly worried about something so important going missing."
Siobhan was surprised. But it was refreshing to know her boss was human. "I promise I won't breathe a word about your considered opinion," she smiled, catching his glance just before they cut into Rankeillor St to join St Leonard's St again. His brown eyes gleamed. "A gripe shared is a gripe halved, eh Siobhan?" he replied.
Siobhan was searching the SCRO database to check if their Irish student suspect had any previous dealings with the Lothian & Borders squad. Cliona Bridget McNeill, 22 years old, 5ft 3, long dark hair and green eyes. Third year of a Celtic Studies degree at Edinburgh University. Currently residing in Victoria Street in the Old Town. Not a considerable walk from the Museum either.
Siobhan drummed her pencil on the desk as she waited for the search to complete. Ah ha, here's something, she thought. Two warnings for excessive nuisance calls to Dr Ross Maitland at work and to his home, less than a month ago. And she's been caught with a spray can, graffiti-ing "Give Ireland Back to the Irish" on the advertising hoardings outside the new Scottish Parliament site. Naughty, naughty! And after being fined £100 for that, she had plastered Dr Maitland's boss's car with leaflets arguing for the return of all Irish treasures to Ireland, including the Breacbennach. Professor Blackadder had not been so blasé about it and had tried to have her suspended from university, which Dr Maitland had intervened to prevent, but the Professor had managed to get an interdict against Ms McNeill coming within a mile of the Museum or his staff.
Hmm, so Ross Maitland had actually stopped her getting thrown out of uni, interesting. Surely he would have wanted rid of her too? Siobhan decided to phone the girl's regent and ask.
The regent or tutor supervised individual students throughout their time at university with academic and domestic affairs. Cliona McNeill's tutor was a Dr Duncan MacLeod. When he answered Siobhan's call she detected a strong Highland accent. She explained she was just ensuring Cliona was abiding by the interdict.
"Och, I would hope so, I had a long chat wi' the lassie, and she's genuinely sorry, she's jist passionate about her country's history and got a bit carried away. I think she's also been a bit over-influenced by one of her lecturers in Irish Literature, who is a wee bit o' a drama queen. I've spoken to her too, and she assured me Cliona was jist indulging in high spirits."
"Could you give me that lecturer's name, Dr MacLeod, I may need to clarify matters with them at a later date?" Siobhan said.
"Aye, that's Dr Kate O'Halloran, she's a member o' the Celtic Department. Jist don't take her too seriously, she tends to get on her high horse at the least thing." Dr. MacLeod observed with a laugh in his voice.
"Mm, that's ok, I'm sure we can have a mature conversation," Siobhan said, suspecting chauvinism. "What I really wanted to ask you was what reason did Dr Maitland of the Museum of Scotland give for not suspending Cliona from her course? I'm surprised he intervened, that's all."
"He said that his manager had overreacted, as Cliona's stunts were really directed at him personally, and it was only the fact Dr Maitland did not have his own car that she'd chosen to target the Professor's one, because she would have done it to his, if he had one. He said that he and Cliona had a little "flirtation", he called it, and now it was over she was simply acting the woman scorned. It was nothing to do with the museum at all, and Dr Maitland didn't want her to be hurt any further, so he suggested she abide by the interdict and nothing worse would happen, despite Professor Blackadder's ranting. So the lassie's jist love-struck, she's hardly a criminal."
"I see, well thanks very much for the information, Dr MacLeod, I'm sure she's probably got it all out of her system by now. That'll be all, thank you," Siobhan said, putting the phone down.
Rebus had just come in with a coffee. He had been feeling particularly generous and made one for her too, which he placed on the coaster by her computer monitor.
"You look bemused, d'ye get anything on our mad Irishwoman?" he asked, shifting papers aside on his own desk to sit on it.
"I'll say. It's beginning to sound more like a Barbara Cartland novel than an investigation." Siobhan commented and repeated the story Cliona's tutor had told her.
"Ok, let me get this straight, obsessive student has crush on Maitland and annoys him under the guise of being a history fanatic because she's influenced by some feminist lecturer. Maitland's boss, - whom Jean tells me is the original unrepentant Scrooge – doesn't take kindly to his motor being tampered with and threatens to boot her off her course. Maitland is sorry for her and suggests to his boss they ban her from the museum instead and sooks up to the University senate to get her off. Now we have a crime where the one artefact Ms McNeill mentions in her inflammatory pamphlet has been pinched. The odds that it's her aren't very high unless she really is psychotic and wants to teach her old flame a lesson and bring him down with her. See, I told you I didn't like his type. Now I get it, he's a ladies' man on the sly!" Rebus said.
Siobhan wondered if it was the father instinct in him that prompted that comment. After all, to her knowledge, Cliona was nearly the same age as Rebus' daughter Samantha.
"We need to talk to Cliona herself and this Dr O'Halloran and I'll soon tell you if either are psychotic or feminist; woman's intuition," she said, tapping her nose with her finger.
Rebus took a gulp of coffee. "Suddenly I feel outranked. Be careful, Sergeant, we've already got one Gill Templer, we dinna need another," he whispered, daring to take his female superior's name in vain. Siobhan shook her head, "Nah, I haven't got the cold-hearted ambition. I'd rather stay down here with…" she hesitated, realising she'd been about to say "with you," and changed her mind. Enough frank statements for today. "With the plebs."
Rebus smiled a secret smile. It was nice to know he wasn't the only maverick on the force. "Come away then, let's go and see the student. She might just be out of her bed by this time o' day," Rebus continued, looking at his watch, which read 10.50am.
When they reached Cliona's top floor flat, located above a shop selling 1950s and '60s memorabilia, the door had a large dreamcatcher ornament hanging from the door-knocker. A little card stuck over the nameplate bore the names of the flat's occupants in ornate Celtic script.
"Cliona McNeill, Annie McLynn, Fay Rafferty. Sounds like a right little Irish enclave," Siobhan observed, reading off the names.
"Hmm," Rebus muttered and pressed the doorbell, as the street door had already been open.
Voices emanated from within, then a small red-head dressed in jeans and a Celtic football shirt opened the door. She stared at both of them quizzically.
"Good morning, we're looking for Cliona, is she in?" Rebus asked.
"Depends whose calling," the girl asked with a strong Irish drawl.
"Police. D.I. Rebus and D.S. Clarke. We just want a word with her," he assured.
"Wait here, I'll see," said the girl and dashed back inside.
They could hear loud whispers and doors shutting. Then a dark-haired girl came to the door. She matched the description Siobhan had from the police database. She looked directly at Rebus with a sulky mouth and dark green eyes which he found he could not look away from.
"Miss Cliona McNeill? I'm D.I. John Rebus, and this is D.S. Siobhan Clarke, can we come in and talk to you?" he asked.
"Don't tell me the nutty professor's having a go again. I'm sick of it all," Cliona replied.
"No, but we do need to talk to you." Siobhan said.
"Alright," Cliona opened the door wider, "You'd better come into the kitchen, it's the only vaguely decent room in the house."
Rebus and Siobhan stepped over piles of shoes and bags littering the hallway, which was decorated with colourful sari silk, hiding the probable peeling plaster walls. The kitchen was better, it was painted in pale green, and all the dishes were clean, although stacked up on the worktop. The window sill was festooned with soap, washing up liquid bottles and washing powder boxes. The kitchen was narrow with a long table up against the opposite wall, which had a hatch through to what was presumably the lounge. There were four wall-mounted cupboards, two at either end on the side walls; three had the girls' names stencilled on each door. Cliona pulled some stools up to the table. Rebus and Siobhan sat down.
"Can you tell us where you were late last night, to early this morning?" Rebus asked.
"Considering I had a 9 o'clock lecture, I wasn't out for long. I went to the library about 6 and came back when it closed at 9.30pm. And it was the National Library I was in, so that's like five minutes from here. Me and Fay went round to a pub in the Grassmarket for one drink, we saw some guys we know, and chatted to them for a while, then we left them and came back about 11. I know it was that time, because I noticed the pub clock as we were going out. That was it. I got up at 8 and went over to university for 9. Satisfied?" she explained, her accent hardly as strong as her flatmate's.
"And I'm sure Fay and you male friends can back up your story, yes?" Siobhan asked, realising her boss was continuing to stare mesmerised at Cliona.
"Yes. Look, I have been a good girl. I've done what they asked me, I've kept away from the museum. I'm just a bit sick of being harassed by him and his minion!" Cliona commented.
"You're referring to Professor Blackadder and Dr Maitland?" Siobhan continued.
"To be sure," Cliona grinned at Rebus as she used the old Irish cliché.
"Did you know it was Dr Maitland who spoke up on your behalf to prevent you from being suspended?" Siobhan asked.
"No, that's rich coming from him. I suppose he can't get enough of me, eh? Maybe I should have an interdict out against him!" she retorted.
"That's interesting, so you wouldn't say there was any sort of romantic relationship between you and Dr Maitland then?" Siobhan asked, puzzled as the mystery unfolded further.
Cliona laughed. "In his dreams maybe. No, he's the one who wouldn't lay off me. I was targeting him on the return of the treasures to their place of origin, him being the medievalist, and then he turns it around and starts buying me flowers! I thought he was trying to soften me up so I would leave him alone, but then he appeared in the student union bar, then some of our locals on the Grassmarket. He tried it on a few times and then one night nearly scared me to death by following me home." She stopped, taking a deep breath.
Rebus' fatherly instincts were awakened again and he spoke. "Did he do anything to you?"
"He shoved me against the wall in the downstairs hallway and tried to snog me, scumbag! But I'm a hurley player, and saints be praised I had left my hurley stick lying at the bottom of the stair so I was able to grab it and wallop Ross with it. Letch, he knows fine he'll get nowhere now, and you tell me he's saying I'm the one whose pestering him? The man's mad!" she explained, showing the swinging motion of the stick with her hands.
Rebus half-smiled. "Hmm, that's very strange, Miss McNeill, my colleague was told by your university regent that Dr Maitland said that you two had a fling, and that your behaviour was just sour grapes, who do we believe?"
"Look, I don't know. You can judge me all you like, moony little Catholic girl, drunken student, whatever, but I didn't ask to get this," she said, lifting up her "Bagpuss" t-shirt to reveal bruises under her ribs which appeared like finger marks. They were still greenish-yellow, but obviously healing.
Siobhan leaned over to take a closer look. Yes that squared with someone grabbing her sides really roughly.
"Thanks Cliona. You know we have to ask awkward questions," she said.
"Aye well, if he comes near me again, I'll be up for murder," the Irish girl spat.
Rebus spotted the aforementioned hurley stick in the corner. It was a similar shape to a hockey stick, but the striking end was flatter and more shovel-shaped. He picked it up and had a close look at it.
"Where did you hit him?"
"Once in the knees, and once over the head. He squealed like a stuck pig!" Cliona retorted.
Rebus saw a hair sticking out of a slight splinter in the end of the hurley stick. It was reddish blonde. Hmm, Dr Maitland, somebody's been a naughty boy. "Is this the only one you have?"
"No, that's my old one, which is maybe why it was at the bottom of the stair. I was probably going to bin it. I've a brand new one that I save for competitions and another newer one for practice."
"Ok, So we've established that Dr Maitland wasn't your favourite person, but can you tell us why you contacted him in the first place?" Rebus asked, the cogs beginning to turn in the direction of an idea.
"Well, my degree course at the moment is Celtic Civilisation, and we'd been discussing how many of the Irish Celtic treasures are in non-Irish museums. Dr. O'Halloran, that's our lecturer – she's dead cool, - she suggested we try to find out exactly what was where, and I decided to go to the museum for a look. The first thing I spotted when I walked in the door was the Breacbennach, Columcille's requiliary. I was so delighted to see it close up, but it was also tragic for it to be out of context, on its own, with no real explanation of how it's like other house or bell-shrines of its time. Dr O'Halloran said we should also find out how the museums had acquired their artefacts and what their policies were on display and conservation. That was when I first got in touch with Ross. He seemed very helpful, and then invited me to come again to the Museum so he could show me all the Celtic artefacts."
Rebus could see Cliona was enthusiastic about her subject. His dislike of Dr Ross Maitland was growing. A smart-alec academic flattering himself with Cliona's attention, which wasn't directed at him, but his knowledge. He'd manipulated the situation to his own advantage. But it still remained that the Breacbennach was missing, and neither one was admitting knowledge of its whereabouts.
"Did you know there was a burglary at the Museum last night?" Siobhan asked.
"No, did they get anything? I thought that place was wired up like a Christmas tree."
Rebus did not see any newspapers lying about, and the only music he could hear wasn't the radio, but The Cranberries' "Zombie". "They took the Breacbennach, does that surprise you?" he said.
"Yes, that's terrible, by St Anthony, why do that? You don't think…?" her voice trailed off. "I've told you where I was, and I don't sleepwalk, by my own namesake, St Bridget, I give my word that it wasn't me!"
Her face was flushed with anger. Siobhan could see her point; she'd just revealed a nasty secret and admitted assaulting Dr Maitland. She didn't need this on top.
"You see Dr O'Halloran, she'll tell you. I told her, she's the only one I really trusted outside of the flat. Both Annie and Fay remember the state I was in that night."
"We have every intention of talking to her, and we'll get to the bottom of this," Rebus said, trying to reassure her.
Cliona scowled. "You'd better, and I bet I can tell you which louse you'll find underneath the pile!"
The force with which she slammed the door caused the dreamcatcher to rattle and jangle about on its hook. Siobhan hoped that it was keeping Cliona's nightmares at bay.
"It wasn't her, that's not a woman scorned, it's a frightened girl acting tough," she observed.
"Still, gives her motive for nicking it, paying him back by showing him what she's capable of. If she smacked Maitland with that big stick, she could easily have smashed the glass cabinet. The forensics boys may find something to that effect." Rebus suggested.
"But she's a skinny little girl, do you seriously believe she has the strength?"
"Hurling is like hockey, isn't it? You don't need to be big to be a hockey player, some girls I remember at school were wee, but they were fast, they could dodge the big heifers and give 'em a massive whack round the ankles when the gym teacher wasn't looking. Appearances can be deceptive Siobhan, don't let your female sensibilities cloud your judgement." Rebus said.
"We'll see. If we're going to the university, I think we should call ahead, Dr O'Halloran could be teaching." Siobhan said, fizzing internally that Rebus could switch from gawping idiot to hard-nosed detective inside of five minutes.
They headed back to the car as Siobhan called the Celtic Department from her mobile phone. Rebus looked back at the museum's sandstone turret. Whoever saw the fleeing figure had said they went in the direction of Greyfriars. Visualising the streets, he wondered if it had been Dr Maitland; he could have cut through the churchyard to the gardens of Heriot's school and reached Lauriston Place which led in a direct line to Tolcross, not far from Lothian Road, and his home. Had it been Cliona, there was no point in her entering the churchyard, she could have run down Candlemaker's Row into Grassmarket and home to Victoria Street. Anyone else, and he would have guessed they were making for Haymarket Station and hoping for an early taxi, or had parked their car in the station car park. Either way, Rebus couldn't rule out his two main suspects. He could find it in his heart to excuse the dark, Irish beauty, but a crime's a crime. And many a one had passion or revenge as a motive behind it.
"She's not in Edinburgh, would you believe it?" Siobhan called, breaking his revere.
"Who?"
"Dr O'Halloran, she's gone to Belfast for a conference. She's presenting a paper, won't be back till Thursday, convenient eh?" she quipped.
"Another possible suspect? If she was there just this morning, she could have stolen the requiliary and scarpered to the airport, maybe?" Rebus suggested.
"Maybe. Did you get the security video from Andy?" Siobhan asked.
"Aye, I gave it you to put in your handbag, let's get back and have a look."
Siobhan unzipped her large shoulder bag and saw the tape inside. "Just what I was going to say, boss."
The footage was grainy but reasonably good. The time stamp on the screen showed 3.05 am when there was movement from the upper left. This tape had been taken from the main camera which pointed directly to the cabinet.
"Maitland's office is up to the left of the new entrance, " Rebus commented.
A figure, all in black, with a hooded top and trainers – which were only obvious by the auxiliary lighting picking up the silver logo on the shoe – stepped slowly towards the cabinet.
"Look at that, they've got something shaped like a hockey stick," Siobhan pointed excitedly.
"We'll see more when the lights come on." Rebus said.
The figure in black was quite small in build and stature. From the angle however, it was impossible to tell if they were male or female. Rebus thought Maitland was about 5ft 6, Cliona was smaller.
Suddenly the figure lifted their weapon and hit the cabinet in the manner of a golf swing. Striking it several times before the glass cracked and started coming apart, the thief then kicked the big shards until there was sufficient room to lift the Breacbennach off its plinth. They wrapped the artefact in a handkerchief, and hid it inside their clothing. They pushed the remains of the cabinet to the floor and bolted towards the fire exit on the right.
Rebus rewound the tape and froze it on the frame where the thief was wrapping up the Breacbennach. "What do you think? Maitland or Cliona?" he looked at Siobhan. She looked at the scene. "We need somebody from Andy's team to enlarge it. They've got video-editing software or something like that. But it could be either. I doubt Maitland possesses flashy trainers like that, they look a bit girly. But that swing, someone's been on the fairway. Maybe they also knew the weakest point of the glass, made it easier to break." She suggested.
"Ach, technology! I prefer old-fashioned detective work. You go and see if Andy's back. I've got an idea." Rebus waved her out of the room and picked up the telephone receiver.
"Hello, Royal Infirmary, Lauriston Terrace?" the voice answered when Rebus had dialled the number.
"This is Detective Inspector Rebus of St Leonard's CID, can you put me through to whoever's in charge of your Casualty department?"
"Certainly sir, what is it regarding?"
"I'd like to know if a Ross Maitland was admitted a few weeks ago. It's in connection with an enquiry."
"I'm putting you through to Staff Sister Watson, she runs the night shift."
Then a crisp, Cramond-style accent addressed him, "Yes, how can I help you, Inspector Rebus?"
"Hello, Sister, can you check your records to see if a Ross Maitland was admitted for a head injury in the last few weeks." Rebus imagined a strict-looking woman with her hair in a bun and a pinched face.
"Just a moment, I'll check for you," the sharp sounding nurse said.
Rebus could hear various noises in the background; trolleys, bottles clattering, voices raised. Only a few minutes passed and she was back.
"A Mr. Ross Alexander Maitland came into the Accident & Emergency a fortnight ago complaining of a head wound. He said he'd been attacked outside a public house. There was no broken skin, but he had a large protrusion and bruising on the rear of his skull. He was given Ibuprofen and an ice pack to put on the injury. That was the evening of Saturday 12th April at about 11.30pm."
"Thanks a million, Sister, that'll suit me fine."
"Glad to be of service, Inspector."
"Oh, one other thing, what do you think cause the injury?"
"Not a beer bottle, something more like a cricket or baseball bat. There were some wooden splinters found in Maitland's hair. He fell foul of some criminal element I presume."
"Yes, quite," Rebus punched the air in triumph.
"Well, good day Inspector," Sister Watson said.
"And to you, thanks again, Sister."
So Cliona's story about his lecherous advances checked out. Rebus saw that the SCRO database was open on Siobhan's PC. He tried the names of Cliona's flatmates. Nothing. Then Maitland. Hmm, clean, they're either innocent or careful. He decided to go down to Forensics, whose office resided in the basement. That suited them, who were keen to uphold their mystical reputation as practitioners in the scientific black arts.
Pushing open the frosted glass door, Rebus saw Siobhan and Andy standing beside a light box on which the front panel of the cabinet from the museum had been loosely reconstructed.
"Ah, Inspector, you're just in time. I was telling Siobhan how the cabinet was broken at its weakest point. Someone knew what they were doing, cos it was meant to withstand a certain amount of pressure, but they've recently been upgraded as there's a bias towards the top of the cabinet in its strength."
"So why didn't the Museum have the upgraded cabinets?" Rebus asked, impressed.
"They did. But Professor Blackadder said there was a mistake in the order and the one for your requiliary wasn't due to be delivered until the end of the week."
"Hmm, and I bet I can guess who ordered the cabinets for their section, Dr Ross Maitland," Rebus mused aloud.
"Looking more like an inside job every minute," commented Siobhan. "We saw the thief was hiding in the vicinity of Maitland's office; they hit the cabinet at its weak spot and Cliona has witnesses to her whereabouts that night."
"Yes, and I now know Maitland went to the Royal Infirmary Casualty Dept. with his broken crown about a fortnight ago, when Cliona alleged he'd jumped her in the hallway. But both are saying they were tucked up in bed during the break-in. Either one could still have got into the Museum later than 11. Mind you, it makes more sense that Maitland or his accomplice could have waited in his office and crept out when it was late enough."
"Yeah, and Maitland was called by the Museum security at half past three, he said. We can check the exact time of the call, but that thief left the Museum at 3.15am, which would have to mean Maitland is a damn good sprinter to get home and answer the phone by 3.30 and get changed out of the flashy trainers. He says he's not into modern technology, so I doubt he'd have a mobile. Nah, someone else had to have been in the plan with him, someone close to both he and Cliona…like one of her flatmates? Maybe she didn't fancy Maitland, but the others could have. That Fay, who answered the door was pretty, and we haven't seen Annie. Could either have been Cliona's confidant but be going out with Maitland to spite her?"
"Girls will be girls," Andy added.
Rebus knew only too well, having been on the receiving end of a mad woman's jealousy. "It's possible. We've got to get a picture of that lecturer to rule her out, there's no previous for either of the flatmates, but what's that quote, someone can smile and smile and be a villain?" Rebus said.
"Ok, but Andy has some conflicting evidence," Siobhan held up her hand.
Rebus frowned. "Go on, you're the one who suggested the love triangle."
Andy opened the paper file he was putting all his analysis reports in, "Fragments of wood were found amongst the glass, but no prints. Fits with the hockey stick theory, but you said you can see that on the video. But there's these," Andy held up a pair of black leather gloves, small, like a ladies' pair. "These were found at the entrance to Greyfriars kirkyard by one of the constables. I've got skin remnants from them, and if I get a sample to compare with, I can tell you whose they are. The DNA gives us sex, approximate age, and some physical features. I need to send it to Howdenhall for analysis."
"That doesn't change anything, Cliona says she has three hurley sticks, and we saw the one she belted Maitland with. Do you want me to get the other two?" Rebus hissed.
Siobhan shook her head, "We need a warrant, and its those trainers I want to find. There's nothing we have strong enough to get one. And we really need to tread carefully now."
"I need to have a word with Dr Maitland about his relationship with Miss McNeill, considering what the infirmary told me," Rebus growled.
"Maybe not this minute, boss, let Andy look at the video. I'll get a picture of Dr O'Halloran for you." Siobhan said soothingly.
Rebus was annoyed. He was stuck. Thwarted by red tape and a lack of evidence. Right now he wanted to do a lot more than talk to Maitland. For once Siobhan was right, though, and they needed to find out a bit more about Cliona's flatmates.
"Well, I'll leave you to it, gotta have a breather for a bit," Rebus stated, turning on his heel and heading upstairs, out into the street and a nice slow walk to clear his head, in the direction of Young Street and his home from home, the Ox.
By the time he reached the pub, it was half past one. The lunchtime crowd were in, the bookies, the down-at-heel lawyers that didn't want to waste money on the wine bars, some students, and in the back he saw the two retired miners playing dominoes. Their faces were flushed with their occasional bouts of emphysemic coughing. Squirreled into the corner and taking up a whole table was the writer, who seemed to spend most of the daylight hours in the Ox, scribbling or reading old newspapers. Rebus admired his solid determination.
"The usual is it, Mr Rebus?" the blonde barmaid asked.
"Aye, a half and hauf," he replied, squeezing the bridge of his nose as if trying to remove the stress pain in his head.
Momentarily he was able to take a sip from the dram and feel the warming sensation of the whisky drench the back of his throat. Ah, that was better. He could think now.
He absent-mindedly shifted three beer mats in front of him and considered the suspects involved in the theft from the museum; one, the smarmy academic who'd been clever enough to be tucked up in bed when the crime was underway. He doubted Maitland was as stupid or cocky to steal the Breacbennach himself, and those shiny trainers belonged to someone younger, probably of the opposite sex.
Two, the hurley-stick wielding Cliona who'd clouted Maitland for his unwanted attentions and now hated his guts. Could she still have sneaked out of her flat and found some way of getting into the Museum without tripping the alarm; maybe she knew about the shoddy cabinet and wanted to teach him the ultimate lesson, enough to get him sacked?
Three, a yet unknown female, possibly Fay or Annie, Cliona's flatmates, who was Maitland's accomplice, and whom he'd let hide in his office after closing time and had borrowed Cliona's gloves and stick to put the blame on her after all her ranting about returning treasures to their rightful place of origin. He knew both Andy and Siobhan though the thief was female. All this speculating was getting them nowhere however. Rebus wanted to have a nose around Maitland's place, he was sure he'd find something, if not the missing treasure. Maybe Maitland didn't think that the inscription he read out to them would cause any harm to befall him? Rebus smiled, it didn't do to incur Divine wrath, and that's exactly what he would be doing if the little house shrine didn't return soon to the relative safety of a display case.
He drank the lager and looked round at the students. Two boys, two girls. He paid particular attention to their footwear. The boys both had on Dr Martens' boots, one of the girls, sandals on her bare feet with immaculately varnished toenails. The other was wearing trainers. They were Nike with that same silver curved symbol as he'd seen on the security video. The shoes themselves were bright pink with silver grey trim and laces. Any number of lassies would have that type of shoe, but still they looked new.
"Lesley?" he called to the barmaid who had served him. "See them trainers that girl's wearing over there, are they a new variety?"
"If I didn't know you were a policeman I'd question your interest in feminine footwear. But I take it this is a professional enquiry?"
"Aye, what do you take me for?"
Lesley smirked, "Sorry, let me see," she leaned over the bar to get a closer view. "Aye, those are brand new, the latest Nike ladies' trainers. My little sister has been pestering my Mum to buy her them. Apparently J-Lo or somebody like that wore them on telly, now everyone's after them, but I've bought sis a pair as a surprise, £45 out of Intersport down Princes Street."
"Whit? I've never paid that much for shoes in my life, and who's J-Lo may I ask? Jings hen, you're making me feel old." Rebus retorted.
"Jennifer Lopez, she's a pop singer and a film star. You haven't seen Sammy lately to keep you up-to-date, have you? Well, that's it, lots o' money jist to be fashionable." Lesley explained.
Rebus sighed. He remembered the cream wool coat he'd bought his daughter the day of her accident. It was the last thing he'd given her since. He cast the dark thought out of his mind and though again about Cliona and her flatmates. Most students had part-time jobs, it wouldn't be difficult for them to afford such glamorous footwear.
He would have to speak to the girls, all of them this time. Or at least find out which had jobs. He finished his drink and started on the long trudge to Victoria Street.
To Rebus' surprise, when he was in sight of the flat, there was Cliona, standing outside. She was just waving off a male friend.
"Hello again, Inspector, came to annoy me more?" she said, but lightly.
"I don't want to annoy you, certainly not, but there were a few things we didn't check with you this morning that I'd like to clear up." Rebus explained.
"Well, let's go to the West Port, the flat feels oppressive right now," she suggested, referring to a pub on the far corner of the Grassmarket. It was typical of most old-fashioned bars, like the Ox, but this one had a spruce and fresh painted interior, intended to appeal to the tourists.
They sat next to a lead-lined window and both drank lemonade. Rebus couldn't justify any more alcohol during the day.
"Have you or your flatmates got jobs?" he inquired.
"Mm-hm," she muttered, the glass to her lips, "I work at the university library on a Saturday. Fay works here, in the bar, at the weekend and a Thursday, and Annie is a lifeguard at the Commonwealth Pool."
"How often is she there?"
"She does a rota. Sometimes its all Saturday, others its all the weeknights. She takes the nursery-age swimming lessons sometimes. That's where she was last night. I saw her just before Fay and I went for a drink, that was about quarter to ten, maybe later. Well, I didn't so much as see her as hear her singing to her stereo in her room."
"Was she in when you came back?"
"I think so. We just thought she'd gone to bed, what on earth are you implying?" Cliona narrowed her brows in suspicion.
"Nothing. I just want to establish where you all were." Rebus defended.
Cliona took another drink of lemonade. He eyed her discreetly. No wonder Maitland fancied her, it was her eyes, dark green and mysterious. Pretty enough to make her flatmates jealous? Perhaps.
"Did Dr Maitland give you any impression after the night you attacked him that he was angry, that he might get back at you?"
"Nah, I haven't seen him. That's why I gave his boss a fright, with the leaflets on his car, just to show Ross we're quits. And didn't you tell me that he spoke to Dr MacLeod to stop me getting kicked out? I somehow don't think he's holding a grudge. It's a bit weird though, cos I was relieved there could be no more contact, but I had a nagging feeling it wasn't over. Annie said I was being too hard on him when I told her."
"You've seen her today then?"
"Yes, she was in a terrible state about her new trainers, only bought 'em last weekend and she's never had 'em off her feet, now they're all mucky. Silly girl," she said nonchalantly.
Greyfriars kirkyard came to mind. "They wouldn't be those silver and pink Nike ones, would they? That's the second person I've heard of with them."
"Yes, to be sure, how did you guess?" Cliona said with amazement.
"That's what being a detective is all about. But it was nice talking, time I was back at the station," Rebus said, getting to his feet. Cliona got up at the same time, finishing her drink and putting the glass down on the table.
"Well, its refreshing to know that not all policemen are bad, gotta dash myself, I've got an essay to write," she exclaimed. Rebus made a show of raking in his pockets until he was sure she was gone. Then he took out a hankie and wrapped up the glass she'd been using and put it in his inside jacket pocket. Now at least Andy could get his DNA comparison.
He called Siobhan on his mobile to tell her his news, "Check what hours if any Annie McLynn was working at the swimming pool last night. She's also got a pair of the flashy trainers, and if Andy's quick out at Howdenhall, we might just get our search warrant."
Both Rebus and Siobhan attempted to concentrate on their paperwork for the rest of the afternoon as they waited for the forensic results to be returned from Lothian & Borders main lab at Howdenhall.
Annie McLynn had indeed been working at the Commonwealth Pool the previous evening from 6pm until 9pm, as the staff confirmed. She had been boasting about her new trainers and spent most of her shift trying to avoid being splashed. Her boss said she'd "had a little word" with Annie, and told her to stick to the regulation style of footwear as the trainers were unsuitable. She had laughed then agreed saying she'd have her normal shoes on the next time. Siobhan also found out she had taken a bus up the road as usual; she had to cross Dalkeith Road and through to Newington Road to get a bus going in the right direction, that is, South Bridge, in order to get off at High Street or Chambers Street.
"And what famous landmark takes up the majority of Chambers Street?" Rebus asked, already knowing the answer.
"Makes sense doesn't it? Annie could have had her black gear stowed in her sports bag, got off and met Maitland and slipped in early enough so as not to arouse the suspicion of the security staff," Siobhan surmised, liking this new possibility.
"Sounds good to me, and Cliona never actually laid eyes on her. She could have just left a tape running in her stereo that would stop long before the girls came back from the pub. It was so late when she came back herself, they wouldn't have heard her. So where's the Breacbennach, and where's the missing hurley stick?" Rebus said, "Or the trainers for that matter."
By six o'clock Siobhan had gone out to get something to eat. Rebus was looking at the picture card Maitland had given him of the Breacbennach. Easy to carry, easier to hide. Where was it? Suddenly the phone buzzed into life. Rebus seized the receiver.
"D.I. Rebus?" he said.
"Hello sir, Andy Deuchar here, still at Howdenhall, but with a result on the gloves."
"Aye?" he asked, feeling a knot in his stomach.
"They belong to Cliona, it's her DNA, matches the saliva taken off the glass. There are grass fibres probably from where they were found in the churchyard. No glass particles, which I would have expected if she'd worn them while smashing the cabinet. But these are reasonable enough grounds to get a warrant to search the girls' flat, don't you think?"
Rebus hesitated. The gloves could have been left deliberately and stayed in Annie's pockets until she ran off. None of them even knew yet what she looked like, and it was only the story of the trainers that connected her to the museum. If he went there and found the other hurley stick, full of glass splinters, then the circumstantial evidence against Cliona was almost overwhelming. But isn't that what we're being made to think? "Ok, well done, Andy, can ye fax through the results here so I can get on? Cheers."
"Will do, sir," Andy replied.
Rebus looked at his watch, 6.10pm. Maybe Annie would be leaving Victoria Street to get the bus by now? And perhaps Dr Maitland would just be returning home? He noticed the fax coming through the machine on Siobhan's desk, so he removed the sheet and placed it on the in-tray. Just as he was about to dial the number on the mobile, she entered the office. "Come on, sergeant, time we went to do a little surveillance on Dr Maitland. He's got off scot free the entire day."
"Eh? Did Andy call back?" she asked, with an almost eaten sandwich in one hand.
"Aye, but never mind that just now, I'm testing a theory, your theory."
"Ooh, great, it's nice to know you have faith in me sometimes, boss," she said, gobbling the rest of the sandwich as they turned and went to the car park where the Saab was located.
Lothian Road wasn't really residential at all. It had quite a few cinemas, theatre and arts venues, some cocktail bars and the exclusive Caledonian Hotel at the corner joining Princes Street. The flats were mainly above shops and situated nearer the Tolcross, which was where Ross Maitland lived. It was also a wide road with minimal parking space. Most of the southerly traffic was going to Morningside or Rebus' own area of Marchmont.
They stopped the car beside the ABC cinema, just north of Maitland's flat. They spotted two figures exiting a doorway. First was a blonde female, about 5ft 2 or thereabouts, slim built, and wearing a tracksuit bearing the Edinburgh City Council logo on the back, then came the familiar shape of Ross Maitland in his tweed jacket still.
They were talking loudly, not arguing, but it was near the surface. She was agitated, swinging a plastic bag about, trying to direct his attention to the contents. Rebus wound down the car window. They could hear snatches of conversation.
"It'll be alright, Annie, just go to work and stay calm. You've done wonderfully so far, and once they connect the gloves to Cliona, then you can either put the relic in her room or hand it in as the shocked flatmate," Ross said soothingly, pulling her close to him, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Why can't I leave the clothes and trainers at yours? Surely all of us at the flat are under suspicion?" Annie whined.
"Because, that would be even more droll, wouldn't it? Now, come on, be brave."
"Whose being brave? You're the one who stopped her getting kicked out of uni. That would have been far easier than trying to blame this on her! Anyone would think you still fancied her and not me!" she retorted.
"Nonsense! She nearly killed me and I didn't report her, because if she goes down for this, then we've seen the last of her, right? Now off you go, you don't want to be late for work," Ross assured, kissing her intensely. Rebus looked away.
"Right, let's just deal with her first. She's the thief, but he's the brains. He can keep," Rebus said. They waited until Maitland had gone and slowly got out of the car. Annie was headed rapidly in the direction of Earl Grey Street. Siobhan and Rebus caught up behind her, then both of them stepped either side of her.
"Annie McLynn?" Siobhan asked.
The girl gasped and made to run, but Rebus had already a grip on her arm. She dropped the plastic bag she'd been carrying, and poking out were the pink trainers. Siobhan retrieved the bag from the pavement and took one out.
"These are pretty, new are they? Nike New Century, eh? It's what all Hollywood stars are wearing," she commented sweetly. "Pity you got them muddy."
"Ross is the one to blame, he's got the Requiliary, not me," Annie protested bitterly.
"Aye, we thought as much, but we've got you on camera nicking it, hen," Rebus stated gravely. "Get on the radio and get a squad car up here, I need back up if I'm going to bring in Maitland as well."
They took Annie back to the car. By this time she was in floods of tears. Rebus sat her in the back as Siobhan radioed in to St. Leonards.
"Annie, Maitland is a bad man, you were taken in," he tried to comfort her.
"But I'll go to prison! Cliona'll never forgive me, I was going to betray her, and what for, to play second fiddle to Ross Maitland's fantasy? I should have believed her about his creepy behaviour, but he was so nice to me, nothing like what she said. Didn't want to rush it, he said," she moaned.
Rebus touched her hand, "Some lessons are hard to learn, hen."
"That's a car on its way now sir, Brian Holmes and whoever else he can get, they shouldn't be long." Siobhan announced.
"Good, stay wi' the lassie until I pay a visit to Dr Maitland," Rebus ordered.
He buzzed Maitland's bell. Getting an answer he said he'd got a lead on the missing relic and wanted to talk to him. The door was unlocked and Rebus vaulted the stairs two at a time, guessing Maitland may have seen their meeting with Annie from his window. When he got to the door bearing Maitland's nameplate, he noticed it was off the latch and slightly ajar. Cautiously, he pushed it, keeping his body back on the landing as the door swung open..
"Dr Maitland? The door was open, a little lax in security at home, are we?" he called out facetiously. Silence. There was no-one in the immediate hallway. Then there was an almighty rumble and a crashing noise like a thunderclap and a loud groan. Rebus dashed into the flat and kicked open all the doors. "Maitland? Was that you? Are ye hurt, son?" Rebus yelled. The rooms he'd seen already were the bedroom, study and bathroom. He could smell a faint burning, like charred fat in a frying pan. "Maitland!" he yelled again.
No answer. He kicked open the door at the end of the hall, most likely the lounge. Being a Victorian style tenement much like Rebus' own in Arden Street, the room was large with a high ceiling, cornicing and a picture rail. The ceiling and wall above the rail was pristine white, the wallpaper itself a dark, rich red with a stylised gold Greek vase pattern. The fireplace and mantle dominated the room. Above the fake marble mantelpiece, was the classic Landseer stag painting. Two ornate wrought iron candlesticks stood at either side.
The smell of burning was now much stronger, almost sickening, like someone had been too vigorous in roasting a chicken. The sight that met Rebus' eyes was horrifying. A lesser man may have turned and made a rapid exit in the direction of the bathroom, but for the ex-military man, he could just about control the rising bile in this throat.
Ross Maitland was crumpled in the oddest position on his knees but with his back arched across the windowsill. Gripped tightly in his hands was the missing Breacbennach, its brazen plating gleaming intensely. The two "roof" flaps were gaping open. Rebus stepped closer and found the source of the charred smell.
Maitland's shirt was open a few buttons to reveal a dark, black scorch mark from his collarbone down across his heart where a blood-clotted open wound yawned like a scarlet maw. Maitland's skin was a deathly grey but his eyes were wide open, staring as if he'd seen the Angel of Death himself.
Rebus felt for a pulse on Maitland's neck, not expecting to find any movement. He didn't. Dead as a coffin nail, son Rebus said aloud. A strange cold feeling came over him. What on earth happened here? It looked as if Maitland had been burned by something, yet there was no-one and nothing to give him a clue. The window was in three sections, the two smaller side panes only opened from small half-lights at the top. The one to the upper left was open. Rebus looked out at the cloudy sky. This was April, it wasn't hot, could it really be…?
He knelt down and looked as closely as he dared at the requiliary without touching it or the body. He took a pen from his pocket and poked open the lids more. He couldn't see much apart from a cross incised into either inner surface. Rebus remembered the last line of the invocation Maitland had told them of at the very beginning. "Christ be my shield and sword to fight, Christ the victor against the stranger." "Looks like you've just become acquainted with the sword, son. I wouldna want to be where you are right now." He soliloquised.
With the puzzled look still on Rebus' face, he called Siobhan's mobile. "Eh, Siobhan, tell Brian to sort out an ambulance. Our suspect's snuffed it."
"What's that boss? Maitland's what?" Siobhan whispered so as not to let the sniffling occupant of the back seat hear.
"He's dead, I'm telling you. I don't know how, but I've got a good idea why, and I don't think it's murder either."
"Woah, suicide?"
"No. Let's call it Divine retribution, or else St Columba's come back from the grave. Just get an ambulance and the scene of the crime officers. Take Annie back to the station, I'll wait here." Rebus explained.
He stood over the greying corpse. The tune he heard in his head at that moment was another Stones' classic Sympathy for the Devil. This whole case was about deception. Maitland trying to appear the old eccentric academic, trying to paint Cliona as the mad woman scorned; Annie pretending to be the sympathetic friend, and yet the one supposed sinner in all of this, that was maybe the only saint was the dark-haired Celtic beauty, Cliona. "All the sinners saints, yep makes sense, Ross my lad, and you're no saint." He shook his head. Idiot, selfish chauvinistic idiot. Not a great epitaph, eh?
Stranger still was to come. Andy Deuchar and his colleagues reached the scene along with the ambulance men. They were as confused as Rebus.
"Any ideas?" Rebus asked
Brian Holmes and Andy looked at eachother. "You know what it looks like to me?" Brian began.
"Aye, I think I know what I'm going to hear, but tell me anyway."
"Like he's been struck by lightning."
Rebus laughed a little and looked at the ambulance men.
"He's right you know, Inspector. If a lightning bolt strikes the human body it goes to earth along the veins. It looks like the bolt came in across the neck and straight across the heart, giving it an electric shock and stopping it dead, literally. It may have come out through his fingers into that box he's holding. Shame really, it was the conductor for the current probably," one said.
Rebus was beaming. "That box happens to be a stolen relic, and we've got to return it to its rightful place," he explained, "Andy, you got gloves on?" he nodded. "Remove the requiliary and let me see."
Andy had to get one of the paramedics to help him prise open Maitland's fingers. They saw the tips of his fingers on his right hand were charred black. Andy held the Breacbennach up to the light and they all saw the melted imprint of Maitland's fingertips on the brass panel.
"That's where the current earthed, its amazing it didn't do a hell of a lot more damage." Andy observed.
"Look, there weren't any thunderstorms today, certainly no lightning. When I came I heard a bang and Maitland yell. I didn't see what happened to him, I doubt even Gill Templer could be convinced of a freak killer lightning bolt." Rebus warned them. "And get that requiliary back to the Museum of Scotland as soon as you're finished with it. That thing is cursed, no doubt."
Rebus got on the mobile again, this time to Professor Blackadder. "Hello, Professor Blackadder, I've got some good news for you," he said.
"Really? You've finally arrested that mad woman," the gruff professor retorted.
"No, better, I've got the Breacbennach."
"Excellent work, Inspector, and the thief?"
"In custody."
"Even better. Does Dr Maitland know of your success yet?"
"Eh, well, yes and no, I think you'd better come down to St Leonard's Police Station when you can. This is rather too queer a story to explain over the phone. But the Breacbennach will be back with you as soon as the forensic science team have finished examining it," Rebus told him.
"Hmm, very well," the professor said and put down the receiver.
When Rebus got back to St. Leonard's, Cliona was waiting for him. "Inspector Rebus, what by St. Bridget going on? Sgt. Clarke called me and said Annie was here, but no-one'll let me see her. What's she done?"
Rebus put his hand on her arm. "Come on, I'll take you to see her. She really needs your friendship right now."
He took her through to the interview room, poking his head around the door to see the WPC and Siobhan with a sniffling Annie.
"Got a visitor for her," Rebus said.
"Ok, Annie, we'll be back to talk to you soon." Siobhan said.
The blonde-haired girl rubbed her eyes and nodded. Cliona pushed past Rebus and flung her arms around Annie. "Oh, mo chridhe, dè tha ceàrr?" Cliona exclaimed soothingly. She carried on talking in Irish as they left the two girls in the room.
"I tried to get out of Brian what happened to Maitland, but he kept saying I wouldn't believe it, and what were you wittering on about Divine retribution for? Can you enlighten me?" Siobhan asked, dragging him back to the office.
"Tae be honest Siobhan, I don't think I can. I can tell you what I saw, and maybe Annie can explain why Maitland did it in the first place, but you'll just have to make up your own mind." Rebus said, enigmatically, raking in his desk drawer for a Mars bar he knew he'd left there recently.
"Try me," she continued, pulling her chair over to his desk.
"I saw a man with a gaping hole in his chest, and it smelled and looked to me as if he' d been struck by lightning. But how that happened on a cool day in the end of April, inside a house with only the smallest of windows open is more like a case for Sherlock Holmes." Rebus told her between bits of re-discovered chocolate bar. "And before you look at me like that, no, I never touched him. I heard him howl like a wounded animal, but I didn't see what or who killed him," he added after Siobhan narrowed her brows in disbelief.
"I'll see what the forensics and the pathologist say."
It was now 9pm. Rebus and Siobhan had talked to Annie, and she revealed unsurprisingly that yes, Maitland had fancied Cliona and pursued her. Their lecturer, Dr O'Halloran, had recommended the campaign of pestering to Cliona to get rid of him, but this had only caused more trouble for her. He had started hanging around the flat, and it was after the hurley stick incident that Annie had taken pity on him. She had been flattered by his gentlemanly attitude and dazzled by his intellect, the two had become thick as thieves, literally. He had all but turned Annie against her flatmate and it was she who came up with the idea of taking something from the Museum and blaming Cliona for it.
Maitland said he knew the very thing, the Breacbennach. One it was portable; two, he knew there was a weakness in the old cabinet and ordering the new one could easily be delayed and now, three, Cliona had associated herself with the artefact in her pamphlet. He had made it seem like a huge game to Annie and she, spellbound, had gone along with his intention to pinch it. Annie said he had never given any impression that he wasn't prepared to return the relic, only he wanted his own back for his hurt pride and dented skull.
On the night of the robbery, Annie had taken the bus from her work to Chambers Street, where Maitland was waiting for her. Because he was on call that night he thought security would not be suspicious if he was seen late at the Museum. They crept in and he had given her the spare key to his office so she could hide there until the early hours of the morning.
She had given him her own sportsbag with her work clothes and they agreed she'd go straight to his flat afterwards with the Breacbennach and leave it there. The rest happened almost as the security video showed it. Annie had taken one of Cliona's hurley sticks and a pair of her gloves to plant somewhere as evidence.
"But why wear those trainers that were so obvious?" Siobhan asked.
"I don't know, they were the only ones I had with me. I was showing them off at work and then left my work trainers in my locker at the pool, so I'd remember to wear them next time and not get more hassle from my boss. I didn't think the camera would pick that up. The idea was that Cliona and I are of similar height so if there was enough to make everyone think it had to be her, then they would see her on the video tape, not me," tears began to fall down her cheeks again.
Rebus gave her a box of tissues that had already been on the desk. "Where's the other hurley stick?" he asked gently.
"Somewhere in Greyfriars Kirkyard. I dropped the gloves and I chucked it away. I don't know where it is. Cliona's been so good you know, she says she doesn't blame me at all, says Ross was such a total charmer it wasn't my fault I fell for him." She stopped and wept bitterly again.
"He won't be upsetting you or your friends again," said Siobhan
Rebus looked at her and shook his head. Not the right time to tell Annie of Maitland's fate.
"But, you need to speak to a solicitor, there's a lot to sort out. Siobhan and I will do everything we can to help you," he said to her. "WPC Anderson will look after you now."
Siobhan sighed as she and Rebus had reached the mortuary at the Cowgate. Dr. Curt was on duty. He had just finished the post-mortem on Ross Maitland. Dr Curt pulled back the sheet from the body to explain the chest injury. "I haven't had one of these for a while, Inspector, lightning strike, eh? You been conversing with the Almighty now to catch your villains?" he said with his characteristic dry sarcasm.
"What? Is that what killed him, doctor?" Siobhan asked.
"Certainly. The charred scorched skin, the puncture wound from the electric current. It short-circuited his heart. He was a perfectly healthy specimen apart from one fried major organ, Sgt. Clarke," the doctor replied, pointing a gloved finger to the blackened streak across Maitland's chest.
"So what's your verdict?" Rebus was almost afraid to hear what crack Dr Curt would come out with next.
"Act of God, Inspector." He smiled, pulling the sheet back over the corpse.
"Don't think my boss'll buy it, but it that's what you're putting in your report, then thanks for your efforts, doc," Rebus said. "Come on, Siobhan, back to the station, we've got to try and explain this to Cliona and Professor Blackadder."
The professor was quite annoyed to find out the truth about his employee, but was glad to have the treasure back. Cliona was able to explain herself to him and smooth things over.
"I wouldn't really steal something so precious, and hey, if everyone really had to give back things to whom they belonged, there wouldn't be any major museums left!" Cliona said brightly, dazzling the cantankerous old academic with her green eyes.
"Perhaps you and Dr O'Halloran could help us with improving the context of our displays. Work together inside of against one another?" he suggested.
"Thank you, that would be lovely, that's a feather in the cap for the McNeills," Cliona replied.
Rebus felt as if a lightbulb had lit up his brain. McNeill? The Ùi Nèill, the High Kings of Ireland, St. Columba's clan? Yes now it made sense. Cliona was a descendant of those ruling warriors somewhere back in time. Columba's invocation invited judgement on any stranger to the McNeills by the Almighty. Maitland really had picked the wrong girl to trifle with.
"Thanks be to St. Bridget and St. Colmcille, eh?" Cliona said to Rebus, "And to you, Inspector, for finding out the truth," she continued, and gave him the lightest of kisses on the cheek. Siobhan stifled a laugh as Rebus blushed involuntarily. "Yes, er, fine," he muttered.
EPILOGUE
As Siobhan got her coat to go home, Rebus had written down the relevant parts of Dr Curt's report to add to his own.
"You going home, sir? It's a bit late now to start any paperwork. Jean not at home just now?" she asked.
"She's in London, visiting some of her mates at the V&A. She'll be back in a couple of days. But yer right, my brain may just melt if I dinna get some liquid refreshment soon, why are you going for a pint before you go home?"
Siobhan was standing at the door. She looked back at him. "Well, the Maltings is just across the road. I don't know about you, but I really need to mellow out a bit after the weird day we've had."
"Aye, ok, just one mind," he agreed, putting the notes he'd made on top of the in-tray, and draping his coat over his arm. They crossed St. Leonards Street to the Maltings, which tended to be favoured by police personnel going off duty.
They stayed at the bar so as not to be tempted into sitting down and blethering all night. Rebus closed his eyes in relief, sipping from his pint of Calder's.
"What did Dr. Curt mean about you "conversing with the Almighty"?" Siobhan asked.
Rebus grinned. "He meant did I pray for Maitland to be struck down with a Divine thunderbolt. It's just so crazy how he met his end, but I don't think it was me. Not my invocation, but St. Columba's one." He said, mysteriously. "All the sinners, saints, eh? I'm not so sure, but that's between her and the Big Man."
********THE END********
©Fiona-Jane Brown