“Anywhere else in the town that might put up visitors?” Siobhan asked.
McAllister scratched at his stubble, reminding Rebus that the shaving he himself had carried out this morning had been tentative at best.
“There’s a few,” McAllister admitted. “You said someone might come to talk to me about Lee…?”
“Did I?”
“Well, it’s just that nobody has.”
“Any idea why he did it?” Rebus asked abruptly. McAllister shook his head. “Then let’s concentrate on those addresses, shall we?”
“Addresses?”
“B and Bs, other hotels…”
McAllister understood. Siobhan took out her notebook, and he started reciting the names. After half a dozen, he shook his head to let them know he was finished. “Might be more,” he admitted with a shrug.
“Enough to be going on with,” Rebus said. “We’ll let you get back to the important work, Mr. McAllister.”
“Right… thanks.” McAllister made a little bow, and held the door open for Siobhan. Outside, she consulted her notebook.
“This could take all day.”
“If we want it to,” Rebus said. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer.”
She looked up in the direction of the hotel window, saw McAllister’s face there. He shrank back, turned away. “You could do a lot worse-just imagine, never having to pay for another drink in your life…”
“Something you’ve striven towards.”
“That’s a low blow. I pay my share.”
“If you say so.” She waved the notebook at him. “There’s an easier route, you know.”
“Name it.”
“Ask Bobby Hogan. He’s bound to know where they’re staying.”
Rebus shook his head. “Best keep Bobby out of it.”
“Why am I getting such a bad feeling about this?”
“Let’s get back in the car and you can start making those calls.”
Sliding into her seat, she turned to him. “A sixty-grand yacht-where did the money come from?”
“Drugs, obviously.”
“You think so?”
“I think it’s what we’re supposed to be thinking. Nothing we’ve learned about Herdman makes him look like a drug baron.”
“Except his magnetic attraction for bored teenagers.”
“Didn’t they teach you anything at college?”
“Such as?”
“Not jumping to conclusions.”
“I forgot-that’s your department.”
“Another one below the belt. Careful, or the referee will step in.”
She stared at him. “You know something, don’t you?”
He held her stare and shook his head slowly. “Not until you make those calls…”
13
They got lucky: the third address was a hotel just outside town, overlooking the Road Bridge. Its car park was blustery and deserted. Two telescopes were waiting forlornly for tourists. Rebus tried one but couldn’t see anything.
“You have to put money in,” Siobhan explained, indicating the coin slot. Rebus didn’t bother, made for reception instead.
“You should wait out here,” he warned her.
“And miss all the fun?” She followed him in, trying not to show how worried she was. He was on painkillers… and looking for trouble. A bad combination. She’d seen him cross the line before, but he’d always been in control. But with his hands still blistered and pink, and the Complaints about to investigate him for involvement in a possible murder… There was a member of the staff behind the reception desk.
“Good morning,” the woman said brightly.
Rebus already had his ID out. “Lothian and Borders Police,” he said. “You’ve got a woman named Whiteread staying here.”
Fingers clacked against a computer keyboard. “That’s right.”
Rebus leaned across the desk. “I need access to her room.”
The receptionist looked confused. “I’m not…”
“If you’re not in charge, can I speak with whoever is?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Or you could save us the trouble and just give me a key.”
The woman looked more flustered than ever. “I’ll have to find my supervisor.”
“You do that, then.” Rebus placed his hands behind his back, as though impatient. The receptionist picked up her phone, tried a couple of numbers, but didn’t find who she was looking for. The lift sounded, doors slid open. One of the cleaners got out, carrying a duster and a can of aerosol spray. The receptionist put down the phone.
“I’ll just have to find her.” Rebus sighed and checked his watch. Then stared at the receptionist’s back as she pushed open some swing doors and disappeared. He leaned over the desk again, this time pulling the computer screen around so he could see it.
“Room two-twelve,” he told Siobhan. “You staying here?”
She shook her head, followed him to the lift. He pushed the button for the second floor. The doors closed with a dry, rasping sound.
“What if Whiteread comes back?” Siobhan asked.
“She’s busy searching the yacht.” Rebus looked at her and smiled. A bell sounded and the doors shuddered open. As Rebus had hoped, the cleaning staff were still working this floor: a couple of their carts were parked in the corridor. Sheets and towels were piled up, waiting to be taken away for the laundry. He had his story ready: forgotten something… key down in Reception… any chance you could open the door for me? If that didn’t work, maybe a fiver or a tenner would. But his luck was in: the door to 212 stood wide open. The maid was in the bathroom. He put his head around the door.
“Had to pop back for something,” he told her. “Just you carry on.” Then he scanned the bedroom. The bed had been made. Personal items sat on the dressing table. Clothes hung in the narrow wardrobe. Whiteread’s suitcase was empty.
“She probably takes everything with her,” Siobhan whispered. “Keeps it in the car.”
Rebus paid her no heed. He checked beneath the bed, went through both clothes drawers, and slid open the drawer to the bedside table, revealing a Gideon Bible.
“Just like Rocky Raccoon,” he muttered to himself. Then he straightened up. There was nothing here. He’d seen nothing in the bathroom either, when he’d peered around its door. But now he was staring at another door… a connecting door. He tried the handle, and it opened, leading to another door, with no handle on Rebus’s side. Which didn’t matter: it was already open an inch. Rebus pushed it, and found himself in the next bedroom. Clothes strewn over both available chairs. Magazines on the bedside table. Ties and socks spilling from an oversized black nylon sports holdall.
“Simms’s room,” Rebus commented. And there on the dressing table, a brown manila file. Rebus turned it over, picked out the words CONFIDENTIAL and PERSONNEL. Picked out the name LEE HERDMAN. Simms’s idea of security: placing it facedown so no one would see what it was.
“You want to read it here?” Siobhan asked. Rebus shook his head: had to run to forty or fifty sheets.
“Reckon our receptionist would copy it for us?”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Siobhan lifted the file. “There was a sign in Reception for a business suite. I’m guessing they’ll have a photocopier.”
“Then let’s go.” But Siobhan was shaking her head.
“One of us stays here. Last thing we want is the cleaner disappearing, leaving the place locked tight behind her.”
Rebus saw the reasonableness of this, and nodded. So Siobhan took the file while Rebus made a cursory examination of Simms’s room. The mags were the usual men’s fare: FHM, Loaded, GQ. Nothing under the pillows or mattress. None of Simms’s clothes had made it as far as the chest of drawers, though a couple of shirts and suits hung in the wardrobe. Connecting doors… he didn’t know what, if anything, to read into that. Whiteread’s door had been kept closed, meaning Simms couldn’t get into her room. But Simms had left his own door an inch or two open… Inviting her to join him some night? In his bathroom: toothpaste and battery-operated toothbrush. He’d brought his own shampoo: anti-dandruff. Twin-blade razor and a can of shaving cream. Back in the bedroom, Rebus looked more closely at the black holdall. Five pairs of socks and underpants. Two shirts hanging up, two more on the chairs. Making five shirts in total. A week’s worth. Simms had packed for a week’s trip. Rebus was thoughtful. An ex-soldier goes on a killing spree, the army sends two investigators to make sure nothing links back to the killer’s past. Why send two people? And would they require a full week at the scene? What kind of people would you send? Psychologists maybe, to look into the killer’s state of mind. Neither Whiteread nor Simms struck him as having any experience of psychology, or any interest in Herdman’s state of mind.