indicated that a flight was leaving the airport. Rebus watched the passenger jet rise skywards, not half a mile away, then turned his attention back to the house. The gravel extended almost all the way to the front door, meaning approaching vehicles were bound to be heard. Same went for intruders on foot. But then he’d no idea of the layout to the rear – and housebreakers seldom used the front door.
A scene-of-crime van was parked next to four cars. Rebus guessed that the newish Land Rover probably belonged, while the others were just visiting. He ran a finger down the side of Clarke’s Astra as he moved past it to the gaping front door. The wood-panelled hall reminded him of what they’d tried to do at the Sheriff Court, but this was the real thing. The suit of armour at the foot of the winding staircase was probably intended to show that the owner had a sense of humour. A vase had tumbled from its occasional table and now lay shattered on the parquet floor. There were muted voices in the sitting room and Rebus followed them until he was told to stop. A young woman in white overalls handed him a pair of elasticated paper shoes and warned him not to touch anything. Clarke stepped towards him. She was also in overalls and paper shoes, and was looking solemn. Video was being shot, photos snapped, surfaces dusted for prints.
‘He was found on the floor in here,’ she explained. ‘His private secretary was worried when he couldn’t be roused this morning. There was an eight-thirty meeting waiting for him. Usual driver had turned up but found the door locked and no sign of life.’ She saw his look. ‘They came in through the back – French doors with one pane punched out. Maybe they thought the house looked empty . . .’
Rebus scanned the room. Expensive flat-screen TV untouched. Paperwork strewn across the floor. A Persian rug rucked up.
‘So what did they take?’ he asked.
‘Laptop, we think, plus both his mobile phones. Drawers have been opened in the bedroom – could be some jewellery’s missing.’
‘The wife?’
‘Is on her way back from Glasgow. She stayed there last night so she could take some clients to dinner and then see them again this morning.’
‘Clients?’
‘She’s a lawyer – American by birth.’ Clarke pointed out a framed photo of the couple. It had been knocked flat and now lay on top of the baby grand piano. Wedding day: low-cut off-white dress for her, traditional Highland outfit for her beaming partner.
‘Has anyone told the son?’
‘Left a message on his phone asking him to call back.’
‘He might not, if he thinks it’s about the crash.’
‘I stressed that it isn’t.’
Rebus saw another photo – it showed McCuskey’s wife on horseback. She was dressed informally – jeans and a checked shirt, and no headwear of any kind.
‘What do the medics say?’
‘He was either coshed or hit his head on something when they tried to grab him. Lump like an ostrich egg on the back of his skull and they’re worried about internal bleeding.’
‘So there could be some damage?’
Clarke nodded slowly.
‘If they came on foot, that would explain why they didn’t take much. On the other hand . . .’
‘We’re hiking distance from civilisation.’
‘So there might well have been a car waiting.’
‘I’ve got uniforms scouring the perimeter.’
‘How long before you talk to the media?’
‘Won’t be me – Page is on his way.’
‘Stopping off en route for a haircut and a new suit?’ She couldn’t help but smile. ‘Politicians are going to want a briefing,’ Rebus warned her. ‘This is one of their own, remember.’
‘I’ve already had the First Minister’s office on the phone. He wants to visit the hospital, plus they’re sending someone to check we’re being thorough.’
‘Is there anything on the laptop the government wouldn’t want getting out?’
‘They’re going to come back to me about that.’
‘He was the Justice Minister,
A scene-of-crime van was parked next to four cars. Rebus guessed that the newish Land Rover probably belonged, while the others were just visiting. He ran a finger down the side of Clarke’s Astra as he moved past it to the gaping front door. The wood-panelled hall reminded him of what they’d tried to do at the Sheriff Court, but this was the real thing. The suit of armour at the foot of the winding staircase was probably intended to show that the owner had a sense of humour. A vase had tumbled from its occasional table and now lay shattered on the parquet floor. There were muted voices in the sitting room and Rebus followed them until he was told to stop. A young woman in white overalls handed him a pair of elasticated paper shoes and warned him not to touch anything. Clarke stepped towards him. She was also in overalls and paper shoes, and was looking solemn. Video was being shot, photos snapped, surfaces dusted for prints.
‘He was found on the floor in here,’ she explained. ‘His private secretary was worried when he couldn’t be roused this morning. There was an eight-thirty meeting waiting for him. Usual driver had turned up but found the door locked and no sign of life.’ She saw his look. ‘They came in through the back – French doors with one pane punched out. Maybe they thought the house looked empty . . .’
Rebus scanned the room. Expensive flat-screen TV untouched. Paperwork strewn across the floor. A Persian rug rucked up.
‘So what did they take?’ he asked.
‘Laptop, we think, plus both his mobile phones. Drawers have been opened in the bedroom – could be some jewellery’s missing.’
‘The wife?’
‘Is on her way back from Glasgow. She stayed there last night so she could take some clients to dinner and then see them again this morning.’
‘Clients?’
‘She’s a lawyer – American by birth.’ Clarke pointed out a framed photo of the couple. It had been knocked flat and now lay on top of the baby grand piano. Wedding day: low-cut off-white dress for her, traditional Highland outfit for her beaming partner.
‘Has anyone told the son?’
‘Left a message on his phone asking him to call back.’
‘He might not, if he thinks it’s about the crash.’
‘I stressed that it isn’t.’
Rebus saw another photo – it showed McCuskey’s wife on horseback. She was dressed informally – jeans and a checked shirt, and no headwear of any kind.
‘What do the medics say?’
‘He was either coshed or hit his head on something when they tried to grab him. Lump like an ostrich egg on the back of his skull and they’re worried about internal bleeding.’
‘So there could be some damage?’
Clarke nodded slowly.
‘If they came on foot, that would explain why they didn’t take much. On the other hand . . .’
‘We’re hiking distance from civilisation.’
‘So there might well have been a car waiting.’
‘I’ve got uniforms scouring the perimeter.’
‘How long before you talk to the media?’
‘Won’t be me – Page is on his way.’
‘Stopping off en route for a haircut and a new suit?’ She couldn’t help but smile. ‘Politicians are going to want a briefing,’ Rebus warned her. ‘This is one of their own, remember.’
‘I’ve already had the First Minister’s office on the phone. He wants to visit the hospital, plus they’re sending someone to check we’re being thorough.’
‘Is there anything on the laptop the government wouldn’t want getting out?’
‘They’re going to come back to me about that.’
‘He was the Justice Minister,
Similar Books
