Read Saints of the Shadow Bible (Rebus) for Free Online Page B

searching the folder, pulling out another photo. ‘Then there’s this.’
    ‘Yes?’ McCuskey’s eyes had narrowed in apparent concentration.
    ‘It’s one of her boots, found lying in the passenger-side footwell. Any notion how it might have ended up there?’
    McCuskey gave a little pout, shaking his head.
    ‘See, the obvious conclusion – obvious to us, that is – is that Jessica wasn’t alone in the vehicle. She was the passenger. And after the smash, the driver hauled her across so it would look like her fault. Then he scarpered.’
    McCuskey’s eyes met Clarke’s. ‘And you think that was me?’
    ‘Well, was it?’
    ‘What does Jessica say?’ When this received no answer, McCuskey barked out a short laugh. ‘I went to see her last night. If I’d run off and left her, would she have been so happy to see me? Would there have been tears in her eyes when we kissed?’
    ‘How did you twist your ankle, Forbes?’ The question had come from Rebus. McCuskey turned his attention towards him.
    ‘I told you – I just got one of the steps wrong on Jessica’s stairwell.’
    ‘Seen a doctor about it?’
    ‘It’ll be fine.’
    ‘Any other bruises or aches and pains?’
    ‘I wasn’t in the car with her. I don’t even drive.’
    ‘You don’t drive?’ Clarke couldn’t help glancing in Rebus’s direction as McCuskey shook his head in confirmation.
    ‘Do your parents know you’re here?’ Rebus asked into the silence. ‘No.’
    ‘Haven’t you told them about Jessica?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘How about her father – do you get on with him?’
    ‘Only met him last night.’
    ‘He has a bit of a rep. You should google him, that’s what I did.’ Rebus had taken a few steps towards the table. ‘Not the sort of character you’d want to cross.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘An investor in one of his companies started bad-mouthing him. Ended up in intensive care. Afterwards, he kept tight-lipped about who’d thumped him. And that’s just one of the stories.’ Rebus paused. ‘Which is why it’s a shame I let slip our little theory – the one about you being responsible.’
    ‘What?’ For the first time since entering the room, McCuskey looked nervous. Clarke was studying Rebus, trying to work out if he was telling the truth or bluffing. When he looked at her, his face didn’t change. Truth, then.
    ‘You have to tell him you’re wrong,’ McCuskey was saying. ‘You’ve spoken to Jessica and me – why would we lie?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Rebus said. ‘But something like this . . . it starts small but it can snowball, gathering up all kinds of crap as it rolls downhill.’
    ‘I can’t confess to something I didn’t do.’
    ‘Quite right,’ Clarke said, gathering together the photographs. ‘So that seems to be that. We just need an address for you, and you can be on your way.’
    McCuskey stared at her. ‘And then what?’
    Clarke shrugged, closing the folder. ‘If we need to talk again, we’ll let you know.’ She handed him a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen. ‘Address, please.’ As he wrote, she asked if he was a student. He nodded. ‘Which subject?’
    ‘Art history.’
    ‘Same as Jessica and her flatmate.’
    ‘We’re all in second year.’
    ‘Is that how you met?’
    ‘At a party.’ He had finished writing. The details were just about legible.
    ‘Arden Street?’ she checked.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘That’s in Marchmont, isn’t it?’
    McCuskey nodded. Clarke and Rebus shared a look: same street as Rebus’s flat. He glanced at the tenement number: about six doors up from him on the other side of the road.
    ‘Thanks again for coming in,’ Clarke was saying, rising to her feet. McCuskey shook hands with both detectives and a uniform was summoned to show him out.
    ‘Well?’ Clarke asked, once he had gone.
    ‘Girlfriend’s covering for him.’
    ‘He’s got a point, though – why would she do that?’
    ‘Could be she’s the forgiving type. He goes to her bedside, whispers a