Her eyes had grown fiery. “You are vile,” she said, voice trembling with rage.

“I prefer the phrase ‘hard but fair.’”

“What’s fair about this?”

“Look, I’ll make it easy for you. Forbes was the go-to guy for student drugs. My theory is a deal went bad that night and he totaled the car getting away. Then he kept on running, leaving Jessica in the lurch. Now I ask you: is that fair, do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.” She blinked a few times, as though having trouble bringing the immediate world into focus. Then she took a deep breath, composing herself. Rebus bided his time, knowing she was about to offer him something.

“Forbes gets the stuff from a bar.”

“In the city center?”

She shook her head. “It’s called the Gimlet. I think it’s in Gorgie or nearby.”

“Nearby,” Rebus agreed quietly. “Who’s his contact? The owner? A man named Darryl Christie?”

She was still shaking her head. “One of the doormen. Deano? A name like that.”

“Deano,” Rebus agreed.

“That’s as much as I know.”

“No whispered conversations between Forbes and Jessica since the crash? No muffled phone calls when she doesn’t know you’re listening?”

“Nothing,” Alice Bell said, her eyes drilling into his.

“Is she upstairs just now?”

Bell nodded. “On the phone to her father—talking about tomorrow’s funeral.”

“What about it?”

“Her father wanted to put in an appearance. Jessica’s persuading him otherwise. Apparently he called Forbes and accused him of nearly killing Jess. She’s worried he’d make a scene…” Her look hardened. “It was you who put the idea in his head.”

“We both know Forbes was driving that car, Alice.”

She had reached for the door handle, pushing it outwards. “You’re hacking your way through a lot of innocent lives, you know. And I sense you get a kick out of it, too.” She was on the pavement now. He watched her cross the street and enter her building. Once she was inside, he noticed she had left the passenger-side door wide open. No way he could reach that far. He would have to get out and walk around to close it. As payback went, it was petty but effective.

Rebus couldn’t help but admire her for it.

17

17

You Deano?”

“Who’s asking?”

It was eight p.m. and music was blaring from within the Gimlet. A chalkboard outside announced that it was 80s Night. The bouncer on the door wore a long black woolen coat and a black polo neck. His hands were in his coat pockets and his feet were splayed.

“Detective Sergeant Rebus,” Rebus said, flipping open his warrant card. “Is your boss indoors?”

“Not tonight.”

“Any idea where I can catch him?”

“No.”

Rebus pretended to be stymied, even going so far as to scratch his head.

“Looks like you’re out of luck,” the bouncer stated.