Mortal Causes

'And you said The Grange didn't lead anywhere,' Clarke said, powering through the gears. True enough, it was the quickest route between St Leonard's and Morningside. It was just that as a policeman, Rebus had never had much cause to heed Morningside, that genteel backwater where old ladies in white face powder, like something out of a Restoration play, sat in tea shops and pondered aloud their next choice from the cake-stand.

Morningside wasn't exclusive the way Grange was. There were students in Morningside, living at the top of roadside tenements, and people on the dole, in rented flats housing too many bodies, keeping the rent down. But when you thought of Morningside you thought of old ladies and that peculiar pronunciation they had, like they'd all understudied Maggie Smith in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. The Glaswegians joked about it. They said Morningside people thought sex was what the coal came in. Rebus doubted there were coal fires in Morningside any longer, though there would certainly be some wood-burning stoves, brought in by the young professionals who probably outnumbered the old ladies these days, though they weren't nearly so conspicuous.

It was to serve these young professionals, as well as to cater for local businesses, that a thriving little computer shop had opened near the corner of Comiston Road and Morningside Drive.

'Can I help you?’ the male assistant asked, not looking up from his keyboard.

'Is Millie around?’

Rebus asked.

'Through the arch.’

'Thanks.’

There was a single step up to the arch, through which was another part of the shop, specialising in contract work and business packages. Rebus almost didn't recognise Millie, though there was no one else there. She was seated at a terminal, thinking about something, tapping her finger against her lips. It took her a second to place Rebus. She hit a key, the screen went blank, and she rose from her seat.

She was dressed in an immaculate combination of brilliant white skirt and bright yellow blouse, with a single string of crystals around her neck.

'I just can't shake you lot off, can I?’

She did not sound unhappy. Indeed, she seemed almost too pleased to see them, her smile immense. 'Can I fix you some coffee?’

'Not for me, thanks.’

Millie looked to Siobhan Clarke, who shook her head. 'Mind if I make some for myself?’

She went to the arch. 'Steve? Cuppa?’

'Wouldn't say no.’

She came back. 'No, but he might say please, just once.’

There was a cubby-hole at the back of the shop, leading to a toilet cubicle. In the cubbyhole sat a percolator, a packet of ground coffee, and several grim-looking mugs. Millie got to work. While she was occupied, Rebus asked his first question.

'Billy's mum tells us you were good enough to pack up all his stuff.'

'It's still sitting in his room, three bin liners. Not a lot to show for a life, is it?’

'What about his motorbike?’

She smiled. 'That thing. You could hardly call it a bike. A friend of his asked if he could have it. Billy's mum said she didn't mind.’

'You liked Billy?’

'I liked him a lot. He was genuine. You never got bullshit with Billy. If he didn't like you, he'd tell you to your face. I hear his dad's some kind of villain.’

'They didn't know one another.’

She slapped the coffee-maker. 'This thing takes ages. Is that what you want to ask me about, Billy's dad?’

'Just a few general questions. Before he died, did Billy seem worried about anything?’

'I've been asked already, more than once.’

She looked at Clarke. 'You first, and then that big bastard with the voice like something caught in a mousetrap.’

Rebus smiled: it was a fair description of Ken Smylie. 'Billy was just the same as ever, that's all I can say.’

'Did he get along okay with Mr Murdock?’

'What sort of question is that? Christ, you're scraping the barrel if you think Murdock would've done anything to Billy.’

'You know what it's like in mixed flats though, where there's a couple plus one, jealousy can be a problem.’

An electric buzzer announced the arrival of a customer. They could hear Steve talking to someone.

'We've got to ask, Millie,' Clarke said soothingly.

'No you don't. It's just that you like asking!' So much for the good mood. Even Steve and the customer seemed to be listening. The coffee machine started dolloping boiled water into the filter.

'Look,' said Rebus, 'let's calm down, eh? If you like, we can come back. We could come to the flat 'It never ends, does it? What is this? Trying to get a confession out of me?’

She clasped her hands together. 'Yes, I killed him. It was me.’

Slfe held her hands out, wrists prominent. 'I've forgotten my cuff's,' Rebus said, smiling. Millie looked to Siobhan Clarke, who shrugged.

'Great, I can't even get myself arrested.’

She sloshed coffee into a mug. 'And I thought it was the easiest thing in the world.’

'Are we really so bad, Millie?’

She smiled, looked down at her mug. 'I suppose not, sorry about that.’

'You're under a lot of strain,' said Siobhan Clarke, 'we appreciate that. Maybe if we sit down, eh?’