‘Jeanie,’ he said.
Nothing. He turned to Zoe. ‘She’s not responding. She can’t see me or something.’
Jeanie gradually got more agitated, then began making the same noise as before, a painful and confused whimpering. As she walked, the noise got louder and more frantic. She didn’t know where she was, kept bumping into things.
Zoe dug out her phone. ‘I’ll call my dad, he’ll know an emergency vet.’
She left the room, finger in her ear, Jeanie’s high wail getting stronger and louder.
As the door closed Jeanie slumped to the floor again, flopping on to her side and convulsing with her whole body. Her legs were jerking like she was sprinting along a beach after a ball. Her jaws were clacking together again and Billy grabbed a book from a bookshelf and darted over, prising her teeth apart and pushing the book in between. He pulled her body to his own and tried to hold her, comfort her. He felt the vibrations, the terrible force of it passing through his own body too, setting his nerves alight as he whispered in her ear and stroked her head, her back, down her sides. Her legs were flailing against him, thuds as her paws connected with his thighs.
And then it ended again. It was over, as if it had been switched off. Her body went limp in his arms and the book fell from her mouth as her jaw muscles loosened. She was still breathing frantically, a mix of slaver and blood dribbling from her mouth.
Zoe came back in. ‘Vet will be here as soon as possible.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Quarter of an hour.’
‘Jesus. She had another fit while you were phoning.’
Zoe knelt down and stroked Jeanie’s ears. ‘Poor girl.’
Jeanie jumped up again, wary of her surroundings, staggering on weak legs around the perimeter of the room.
‘Did they say what we should do?’
‘Just try to keep her comfortable and safe till they get here.’
‘God almighty.’
Jeanie had two more fits before the vet arrived, a small one followed by the biggest yet, several minutes of convulsions and thrashing, Billy trying to prevent her swallowing or biting her tongue, making sure she wasn’t near any heavy objects when quaking. He felt helpless and panic-stricken.
The vet was a thickset woman in her forties with short fair hair, and she carried a large medical case. Billy described Jeanie’s fits as well as he could. Jeanie was staggering around the room, weary and desperate, totally confused. She looked right through them as if in a trance. The vet coaxed her to sit then lie down, examined her eyes and mouth then opened her case and took out a large syringe and a vial of liquid.
‘You’ll need to hold her tightly,’ she said to Billy.
Billy stroked Jeanie’s neck. ‘What’s that?’
‘Phenobarbital, it’s an anticonvulsant. It’ll control the seizures. I need to give her a high dosage to begin with, to break the chain reaction of fits.’
She expertly sucked the clear liquid up into the needle, then pushed until there was no air left inside. She put the needle down and showed Billy how to hold the dog, with her body pressed into Billy’s, one hand across the head, the other holding the leg she was going to inject.
‘Now hold on tight, because she’ll flinch.’
Billy could feel the thin bone and sinew of Jeanie’s foreleg in his grip. He could feel her heartbeat thudding against his body. Her eyes were glassy.
The vet approached with the needle and pressed it against the skin. Jeanie’s leg kicked free of Billy’s grasp and the needle flew from the vet’s hand, past Billy’s face, and landed at Zoe’s feet.
The vet reached for the syringe. ‘I told you to hold on tight.’ She checked the tip of the needle again. ‘Now, have you got her?’
Billy nodded. He was scared of breaking her leg if she kicked too hard.
The vet pressed the needle against Jeanie’s leg. Billy felt the thrashing reaction from the dog, but held firm as the fluid got squeezed in, the vet whipping the needle out and quickly strapping a cotton pad against the leg.
Jeanie jumped up as Billy relaxed his grip. She backed away from the three of them, looked around her. Her tail was still pointing at the floor, but her head was raised a little, and she was actually looking at them, making eye contact. She wasn’t walking, just standing still. Billy felt sick. He wanted to explain to her. He couldn’t bear the idea that she thought he was responsible for all this.
The vet was already packing her bag up.
‘She should fall asleep in the next ten minutes, it was a substantial dose. She might be out for up to twelve hours. Keep an eye on her, check she’s still breathing and her heart rate is fine. If there are any more fits or seizures, give me a call immediately.’
She handed a card to Billy. He took it without taking his eyes off Jeanie. The dog was sniffing the air, as if sensing the electrical currents out there.
The vet scribbled in a pad. ‘Here’s a prescription. It’s phenobarbital pills. You’ll need to give her three a day. Your dog is epileptic.’
‘Epileptic?’
‘It’s quite common, especially amongst pedigree dogs due to inbreeding. It mostly affects intelligent breeds like collies. It shouldn’t be life-threatening, but you’ll need to manage the condition for the rest of her life. We can monitor dosages and so forth once things have settled down. These pills have a very high rate of efficacy at controlling seizures, so she has a good chance of a long and happy life.’
Billy nodded dumbly as the vet handed the prescription to him.
‘You’ll get a leaflet with the pills detailing possible side effects. Look out for drowsiness and lack of co-ordination, especially in the first few weeks, although that should wear off as she becomes used to the medication. There is a longer-term risk of liver damage, but that’s nothing to worry about at the moment.’
Billy’s head pulsed and he felt dizzy. The vet got up to leave, but Billy stayed on the floor, the prescription limp in his hand. Jeanie came over towards him warily, sniffing the piece of paper as if it might be food.
Zoe saw the vet out.
Billy reached out for Jeanie. ‘Come here.’
She leaned in and let herself be held. Billy pulled her close and buried his face in her fur, sucking up the smell of her.
20
Jeanie slept all morning and half the afternoon. Zoe got her prescription then headed to the office. Charlie was out already on a split shift. Billy switched his phone off and stayed in the darkened room with the dog, watching her chest swell with every breath, soaking up the feral smell from her body.
When she finally came round he sandwiched a pill between two dog chocolates and gave it to her. She didn’t seem lethargic or confused. He wondered if she had any memory of the previous night. He fed her and gave her some water, then took her out.
The sun was still beating down on everything, bleaching the world. This weather couldn’t last, not in Scotland. He headed up the Radical Road; it was like a scab that needed picking.
From up high, the heat made the Pentlands fuzzy in the distance. A low haze meant he couldn’t see the Bridges. He kept his eye on Jeanie the whole time. She seemed fine. He thought about what was going on in her brain in the fizzling synapses, the surges of rogue energy. He’d spent a while earlier looking up epilepsy in dogs, but no amount of clinical blurb on the Internet could equate to the horror of watching his dog helpless and writhing on the floor.
He sucked in a deep breath and looked down. Queen’s Drive was open again, cars blurring up and down past the small clump of trees.
He took out his phone, but didn’t switch it on. He looked at his hands. Barbed-wire cuts, gorse-bush scars, nettle stings and now dog bites. They were fucked-up maps of his life. If only he could decode the information in those scabs and sores, maybe he could find a way out of this.
He switched his phone on. Three messages. Zoe asking after Jeanie. Charlie saying that Jamie Mackie had discharged himself post-op against the surgeon’s wishes. Ros
e asking where he was, and telling him that the Whitehouses were having a memorial service for Frank tomorrow morning at Greyfriars Kirk.
Greyfriars, Jesus, just about the most distinguished church in the city. The preserve of politicians and public figures. That’s what a life of crime got you, the most respectable send-off imaginable.
He stared at his phone. No message from Adele. His fingers moved over the keys until he heard the tone. Three rings then she picked up.
‘Billy.’ She was whispering.
‘Hey there.’
‘It’s not a good time.’
‘Why not?’
‘Wait a second.’
He heard footsteps, muffled voices, more footsteps. He imagined Dean and Adele together, her olive skin against his pasty flesh.
‘What is it?’ She sounded urgent, scared.
‘I wanted to speak to you.’
‘Jesus, Billy, you can’t just call me up whenever you feel like it. Don’t you understand my situation here?’
‘What about my situation?’
‘What about your situation?’
Billy stared out over Edinburgh. The castle looked tiny from here, on its stumpy little throne. Below him, the bushes rustled in a light breeze.
‘Never mind.’
‘Look, I’m in the middle of something here.’
‘I bet.’
‘You have no idea.’
‘Are you sleeping with Dean?’ It felt as if someone else had asked it, but it was his voice all right.
‘Fuck off. How dare you ask me that.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Billy wondered what the hell he was doing. ‘I want to see you.’
‘Not today.’
‘Got your husband’s memorial to plan?’ He hated the way his voice sounded.
‘As it happens, yes.’
Billy looked at Jeanie. There was something different about her. She was staying closer to him, not venturing as far amongst the grass and gorse. She was clinging to him.
‘I have something to tell you.’
‘What?’
‘Detective Inspector Price has asked me to try and get the truth out of you about Dean’s alibi for the Mackie shooting.’
‘Oh yeah?’ A lightness crept back into Adele’s voice. Billy’s heart sang when he heard it.
‘Yeah.’
‘Pump me for information, is that the idea?’
They were flirting again.
‘Something like that.’
‘Isn’t that supposed to be his job?’
‘He was impressed with my Standard piece. Thought I could get inside you.’
‘Really?’
‘Under your skin.’
There was a pause on the line. ‘Maybe you can.’
There was noise in the background, a door banging.
‘I have to go. Maybe see you tomorrow at the memorial service.’
She hung up.
He looked down. Jeanie was sniffing at his shoes, circling his legs so closely that he could feel the warmth of her body through his trousers. He knelt and gave her a hug.
21
The graveyard was a jumble of ancient moss-green stones. Morning sunlight played through the crevices as mourners in designer black made their solemn way to the kirk. Despite the sun, a dankness hung amongst the graves, hundreds of years of history weighing down the air like mist. A handful of paparazzi lurked outside the church entrance, snapping at scowling faces. Two outside broadcast vans were parked further away, reporters preparing pieces for camera.
Billy walked alongside Rose. He had Jeanie on the new lead, and she trotted along close by his side.
‘I still can’t believe you brought that mutt,’ Rose said. ‘We’re working here.’
‘I didn’t want to leave her on her own.’
Rose shook her head. ‘The great crime reporter, with Greyfriars Bobby along for the ride.’
A minister in black robes came out and pleaded with the photographers and journos to move away from the entrance. They didn’t budge. The two thugs Billy recognised from the Whitehouse place came out and asked more forcefully. Everyone shuffled down the path and on to the grass.
A steady stream of mourners was still going in, the sound of camera clicks mingling with murmured conversation.
‘God, will you look at them,’ Rose said. ‘Councillors, businessmen, advocates. I never realised Frank Whitehouse had so much of the city in his pocket.’
‘Why would they care, now that he’s dead?’
‘Sucking up to Dean. There’s a power vacuum and the last thing these clowns want is any disruption to routine. They don’t want psychos like the Mackies in charge of things, so they’re showing solidarity with Dean, presuming he’s going to take over the mantle.’
Billy stroked Jeanie as Rose got her notebook out and began scribbling in shorthand. His phone beeped and he pulled it out. A message from Adele. Your name’s on the list, A x.
Billy turned to Rose. ‘You’ll never guess what.’
‘Pope’s a Catholic?’
‘I’ve got an invite for inside.’
Rose chuckled to herself. ‘From the merry widow?’
Billy nodded.
‘You’re some guy. I don’t want to know what you and her have been up to.’
‘It’s not like that. I’m just keeping her sweet, as instructed by your close friend PC Plod.’
Rose narrowed her eyes. ‘What does Little Miss Sunday Supplement make of you getting friendly with Adele Whitehouse?’
Billy looked at the people going inside. Well-fed men squeezed into expensive suits, showcase wives in tight black dresses.
‘Why should she mind? I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Really?’
Billy turned and held the lead out to her. ‘Hold this, I can’t take Jeanie inside.’
‘I’m not looking after her.’ Rose waved her notebook. ‘Some of us are here to work.’
‘Do you want me to get another exclusive with Adele or don’t you?’
‘Tie her up there.’ Rose pointed at a nearby disabled handrail. ‘And get some good colour for the piece while you’re inside, eh?’
Billy looped the lead around the rail then bent and ruffled Jeanie’s fur, comforting her. He sauntered up to the thugs at the church door and gave his name, smiling as they grudgingly moved aside for him.
He took a seat in the back pew and slunk down. He got a notebook out and started writing, just notes about the place, the people, the atmosphere. The grey stone columns, the wooden rafters, the stained glass and organ, the hubbub of expectation. None of this would get used in a Standard piece, but he wrote anyway to keep his hands busy. He’d been at it a couple of minutes when a hush spread through the congregation.
Dean, Adele and Ryan Whitehouse walked down the aisle to the front row. Ryan clutched Adele’s hand and looked intimidated. Adele had on the same large glasses she’d worn the first time Billy saw her. She was in a dark blouse and a figure-hugging black skirt, cut to just above the knee. She looked stunning. He couldn’t see a trace of emotion on her face. Dean walked beside her, eyes cold. Billy imagined being in Dean’s place, walking to the front of the church with this beautiful woman.
After they were settled in the front row, the minister made everyone rise. There were prayers and hymns, short speeches. Billy stared at the back of Adele’s head as she sat through it all, occasionally dipping to whisper in Ryan’s ear. Billy thought about Jeanie outside, about Zoe down in the office. He thought about Charlie in his doctor’s coat, and then pictured himself and Charlie in black ties and what were then their school shoes and uniforms. White shirts and black trousers weren’t the kind of thing you wore every day, so they’d had to return to dressing up like schoolboys for their mother’s funeral. There had been hymns and prayers that day, but Billy couldn’t remember any of it. No one made any speeches. He and Charlie weren’t up to it, neither was anyone else. The minister had spouted some platitudes, then they were out of there, the tiny
throng of people who knew their mum, colleagues and shop owners, precious few else. The minister wanted them out in a hurry, he had another funeral in five minutes. And that was it.
Billy realised the memorial was almost over. Dean was re-taking his seat after saying something, Billy had no idea what. They were about to rise again for a final hymn when Billy’s phone went off. Several people turned round and tutted under their breaths. He grabbed it from his pocket. Rose.
‘What?’
‘Get outside, now.’
Billy’s first thought was Jeanie. He bolted out of his seat, the echoing clatter making more heads turn. He ran for the door, vaguely aware of several more phones going off behind him. Dean’s two goons weren’t at the door any more. He ran out and spotted them ten yards ahead, standing over the body of a dog. A collie.
He looked at the handrail where he’d tied Jeanie up. Not there. Photographers and journalists swarmed all around, gathering around the dog’s body, jostling for position, cameras out and mobiles to ears.
He pushed through them to the dog. It was covered in blood from a gaping wound in its neck. He rushed to it and knelt down, pushed his hands into the bloody fur. He was overwhelmed with relief. It wasn’t Jeanie. White patch over one half of the face. Much thicker around the middle. A male, older. He let go of the body.
A voice behind him.
‘Jesus Christ, is that Rebus?’ It was Dean Whitehouse.
‘Looks like it,’ said one of his goons.
‘Is he dead?’
The goon nodded.
‘What the fuck happened?’
‘A car drove up. No plates. Toyota. Two guys in balaclavas threw the dog out of the passenger seat and fucked off.’
‘Holy shit. The fucking Mackies. Cunts. Get it out of here before the kid sees it.’
‘Uncle Dean, is that Rebus?’
Billy’s guts tensed at the sound of Ryan’s voice.
‘No, son,’ Dean said.
The two heavies pushed past Billy and lifted the dog by the legs.
Billy turned. Dozens of people were spilling out of the kirk, Adele and Ryan at the front of the pack.
‘It is.’ Ryan already had tears in his eyes. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
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