61

A fist on the near-side window woke him. It was growing light outside and he turned his head to see Kenny Magrath’s face inches from him. Magrath was opening the door of the Saab.

“What the hell do you think you’re up to?” the man snarled.

“Stopping you moving anything.”

“Moving what?”

“Evidence.”

“You’re off your damned head.”

“Seven in the morning—what else would you be doing here?”

“Picking up what I need,” Magrath explained. “Got a forty-minute drive ahead of me.” He stared at Rebus for a moment longer, then shook his head slowly and walked over to the padlock, digging in his pocket for the key. “Take a look,” he called out. “I won’t even ask for a search warrant, with you not being a cop and all.” The door was flung open; Magrath disappeared inside and switched on the light. Rebus got out of the car, stretching his spine while checking to left and right. Nobody else about. Not a single living soul. He walked to the doorway and stopped there. One wall consisted of homemade shelves filled with plastic tubs containing electrical parts: sockets, switches, fuses, junction boxes. A workbench stretched the length of the wall opposite, the one with the window above it. Either side of this window, tools hung from nails and hooks. There were broken appliances spread out on the bench, their components neatly arranged in what Rebus guessed was the order of dismantling. Magrath was stuffing packets of screws, washers and rawl plugs into his jacket.

“Getting a good butcher’s?” he asked. “Open the drawers if you like. And there are cardboard boxes and biscuit tins under the bench—you won’t want to miss those.”

“Look at me,” Rebus said quietly. Magrath turned his head towards him. “Have you heard the story of Dennis Nilsen?”

“Should I have?”

“They found human remains in the drains on his street. Moment he answered his door to CID, the detective knew.” Rebus paused. “That was in London, but when I saw you yesterday, the same thing happened. I know, Kenny. I saw it in your eyes. Bear that in mind.” He paused again. “So if you’re going to use that screwdriver, this might be your only chance…”

Magrath looked down at his hand, and the tool clenched in it. He placed it back on the surface of the bench, taking his time.

“I can see you’re methodical,” Rebus went on, eyes sweeping the garage. “You’re neat and you’re careful. Explains why you’ve stayed off the radar all these years—that and having a brother who’s tried his damnedest to keep an eye on you. But you’re on the radar now, Kenny. Dead center and with nothing else near you on the screen.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’re thinking about them right now—especially Annette McKie. She’s freshest in your mind. You’re feeling your fingers around her throat.”

“You’re mad.” Magrath looked around him, as if wondering if he’d forgotten anything. He pressed a hand to each of his bulging pockets, then moved towards Rebus. Rebus stepped back, so that Magrath could switch the light off and lock the door again.