station.’
Cordover turned away from Rebus, walked slowly towards the jury. ‘You were part of the investigating team?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘For how long?’
‘Just over a week, sir.’
Cordover turned to Rebus. ‘How long did the investigation last in total, Inspector?’
‘A matter of some months, I believe.’
‘Some months, yes …’ Cordover went as if to check his notes. Rebus noticed a woman seated on a chair near the door. She was a CID detective called Jane Barbour. Though she sat with arms folded and legs crossed, she looked as tense as Rebus felt. Normally, she worked out of Fettes, but halfway through Shiellion she’d been put incharge: after Rebus’s time; he hadn’t had any dealings with her.
‘Eight and a half months,’ Cordover was saying. ‘A decent period of gestation.’ He smiled coldly at Rebus, who said nothing. He was wondering where this was leading; knew now that the defence had some bloody good reason for bringing him here. Only he didn’t yet know what.
‘Were you pulled from the inquiry, Inspector Rebus?’ Asked casually, as if to satisfy curiosity only.
‘Pulled? No, sir. Something else came up—’
‘And someone was needed to deal with it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why you, do you think?’
‘I’ve no idea, sir.’
‘No?’ Cordover sounded surprised. He turned towards the jury. ‘You’ve no idea why you were pulled from that inquiry after just one—’
The prosecution counsel was on his feet, arms spread. ‘The detective inspector has already stated that the word “pulled” is an inaccuracy, Your Honour.’
‘Well then,’ Cordover went on quickly, ‘let’s say you were transferred . Would that be more accurate, Inspector?’
Rebus just shrugged, unwilling to agree to anything. Cordover was persistent.
‘Yes or no will do.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yes, you were transferred from a major inquiry after one week?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you’ve no idea why?’
‘Because I was needed elsewhere, sir.’ Rebus was trying not to look towards the fiscal-depute: any glance in that direction would have Cordover scenting blood, scenting someone who needed rescuing. Jane Barbour was shifting in her seat, still with arms folded.
‘You were needed elsewhere,’ Cordover repeated in aflat tone of voice. He returned to his notes. ‘How’s your disciplinary record, Inspector?’
The fiscal-depute was on his feet. ‘Inspector Rebus is not on trial here, Your Honour. He has come to give evidence, and so far I can’t see any point to the—’
‘I withdraw the remark, Your Honour,’ Cordover said airily. He smiled at Rebus, approached again. ‘You conducted how many interviews with Mr Ince?’
‘Two sessions over a single day.’
‘Did they go well?’ Rebus looked blank. ‘Did my client co-operate?’
‘His answers were deliberately obtuse, sir.’
‘“Deliberately”? Are you some kind of expert, Inspector?’
Rebus fixed his eyes on the advocate. ‘I can tell when someone’s being evasive.’
‘Really?’ Cordover was making for the jury again. Rebus wondered how many miles of floor he covered in a day. ‘My client is of the opinion that you were “a threatening presence” – his words, not mine.’
‘The interviews were recorded, sir.’
‘Indeed they were. And videotaped, too. I’ve watched them several times, and I think you’d have to agree that your method of questioning is aggressive .’
‘No, sir.’
‘No?’ Cordover raised his eyebrows. ‘My client was obviously terrified of you.’
‘The interviews followed every procedure, sir.’
‘Oh, yes, yes,’ Cordover said dismissively, ‘but let’s be honest here, Inspector.’ He was in front of Rebus now, close enough to hit. ‘There are ways and ways, aren’t there? Body language, gestures, ways of phrasing a question or statement. You may or may not be expert at divinating obtuse answers, but you’re certainly a ruthless questioner.’
The judge
Cordover turned away from Rebus, walked slowly towards the jury. ‘You were part of the investigating team?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘For how long?’
‘Just over a week, sir.’
Cordover turned to Rebus. ‘How long did the investigation last in total, Inspector?’
‘A matter of some months, I believe.’
‘Some months, yes …’ Cordover went as if to check his notes. Rebus noticed a woman seated on a chair near the door. She was a CID detective called Jane Barbour. Though she sat with arms folded and legs crossed, she looked as tense as Rebus felt. Normally, she worked out of Fettes, but halfway through Shiellion she’d been put incharge: after Rebus’s time; he hadn’t had any dealings with her.
‘Eight and a half months,’ Cordover was saying. ‘A decent period of gestation.’ He smiled coldly at Rebus, who said nothing. He was wondering where this was leading; knew now that the defence had some bloody good reason for bringing him here. Only he didn’t yet know what.
‘Were you pulled from the inquiry, Inspector Rebus?’ Asked casually, as if to satisfy curiosity only.
‘Pulled? No, sir. Something else came up—’
‘And someone was needed to deal with it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why you, do you think?’
‘I’ve no idea, sir.’
‘No?’ Cordover sounded surprised. He turned towards the jury. ‘You’ve no idea why you were pulled from that inquiry after just one—’
The prosecution counsel was on his feet, arms spread. ‘The detective inspector has already stated that the word “pulled” is an inaccuracy, Your Honour.’
‘Well then,’ Cordover went on quickly, ‘let’s say you were transferred . Would that be more accurate, Inspector?’
Rebus just shrugged, unwilling to agree to anything. Cordover was persistent.
‘Yes or no will do.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Yes, you were transferred from a major inquiry after one week?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you’ve no idea why?’
‘Because I was needed elsewhere, sir.’ Rebus was trying not to look towards the fiscal-depute: any glance in that direction would have Cordover scenting blood, scenting someone who needed rescuing. Jane Barbour was shifting in her seat, still with arms folded.
‘You were needed elsewhere,’ Cordover repeated in aflat tone of voice. He returned to his notes. ‘How’s your disciplinary record, Inspector?’
The fiscal-depute was on his feet. ‘Inspector Rebus is not on trial here, Your Honour. He has come to give evidence, and so far I can’t see any point to the—’
‘I withdraw the remark, Your Honour,’ Cordover said airily. He smiled at Rebus, approached again. ‘You conducted how many interviews with Mr Ince?’
‘Two sessions over a single day.’
‘Did they go well?’ Rebus looked blank. ‘Did my client co-operate?’
‘His answers were deliberately obtuse, sir.’
‘“Deliberately”? Are you some kind of expert, Inspector?’
Rebus fixed his eyes on the advocate. ‘I can tell when someone’s being evasive.’
‘Really?’ Cordover was making for the jury again. Rebus wondered how many miles of floor he covered in a day. ‘My client is of the opinion that you were “a threatening presence” – his words, not mine.’
‘The interviews were recorded, sir.’
‘Indeed they were. And videotaped, too. I’ve watched them several times, and I think you’d have to agree that your method of questioning is aggressive .’
‘No, sir.’
‘No?’ Cordover raised his eyebrows. ‘My client was obviously terrified of you.’
‘The interviews followed every procedure, sir.’
‘Oh, yes, yes,’ Cordover said dismissively, ‘but let’s be honest here, Inspector.’ He was in front of Rebus now, close enough to hit. ‘There are ways and ways, aren’t there? Body language, gestures, ways of phrasing a question or statement. You may or may not be expert at divinating obtuse answers, but you’re certainly a ruthless questioner.’
The judge
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