‘Not a break-in or something?’ The man sighed. A break-in meant he’d have to get dressed and go down there.
‘No, sir, I just need some information on one of your employees.’
‘Can’t it wait till morning?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘Who is it anyway?’
‘Ryan Slocum.’
‘Ryan? What’s wrong?’
‘A serious illness, sir.’ Rebus had used the lie before. ‘An elderly relative. They need Mr Slocum’s permission to operate.’
‘Good God.’
‘That’s why it’s urgent.’
‘Yes, I see, I see.’ It always worked: grandmas in peril. ‘Well, it’s not every employee whose address I know off the top of my head.’
‘But you know Mr Slocum’s?’
‘Been to dinner there a few times.’
‘He’s married?’ Enter a spouse into the equation. Rebus hadn’t imagined Bible John married.
‘Wife’s name’s Una, lovely couple.’
‘And the address, sir?’
‘Well, it’s the phone number you’ll be wanting?’
‘Both actually. That way, if no one’s home, we can send someone round to wait.’
Rebus copied the details into his notebook, thanked the man and put down the phone.
‘Any idea how to get to Springview?’ he asked the guard.
35
Springview was a modern development on the coast road south of town. Rebus parked outside Three Rankeillor Close, shut off the engine, and took a good long look at the house. There was a landscaped garden to the front — clipped lawn, rockery, shrubs and flower beds. No fence or hedge separated the garden from the pavement in front. The other properties were the same.
The house itself was a newish two-storey with gabled roof. To the right of the house was an integral garage. There was an alarm box above one of the bedroom windows. A light was on behind the living-room curtains. The car parked on the gravel driveway was a white Peugeot 106.
‘Now or never, John,’ Rebus told himself, taking a deep breath as he got out of the car. He walked up to the front door and rang the bell, then stepped back off the doorstep. If Ryan Slocum himself answered, Rebus wanted a bit of distance. He remembered his army training — unarmed combat — and an old maxim: shoot first, ask questions later. Something he should have remembered when he’d gone to Burke’s Club.
A woman’s voice came through the door. ‘Yes? What is it?’
Rebus realised he was being watched through a spy-hole. He stepped back up on to the doorstep, so she could get a close look. ‘Mrs Slocum?’ Holding his warrant card up in front of him. ‘CID, madam.’
The door was flung open. A small, slender woman stood there, black cusps beneath her eyes, her hair short and dark and untidy.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, ‘what’s happened?’ Her accent was American.
‘Nothing, madam.’ Relief washed over her face. ‘Why should there be?’
‘Ryan,’ she said, sniffing back tears. ‘I don’t know where he is.’ She sought a handkerchief, realised the box was back in the living room, and told Rebus he’d better come in. He followed her into the large, well-furnished room, and while she was pulling out paper hankies took the opportunity to open the curtains a little. If a blue BMW turned up, he wanted to know about it.
‘Working late maybe?’ he said, already knowing the answer.
‘I tried his office.’
‘Yes, but he’s a sales manager, could he be entertaining a client?’
‘He always phones, he’s very dutiful that way.’
Dutifuclass="underline" odd choice of word. The room looked the sort that got cleaned before it was ever dirty; Una Slocum looked like the cleaner. Her hands twitched with the bundle of tissues, her whole face drawn with tension.
‘Try to calm down, Mrs Slocum. Is there anything you could take?’ He’d bet she had a doctor’s prescription somewhere in the house.
‘In the bathroom, but I don’t want any. They make me dopey.’
Towards the far end of the room, a large mahogany dining table and six straight-backed chairs sat in front of a trio of wall units. China dolls behind glass, bathed by recessed lighting. Some silverware. No family photographs...
‘Maybe a friend who could...?’
Una Slocum sat down, got up again, remembering she had a guest. ‘Some tea, Mr...?’
‘Rebus, Inspector Rebus. Tea would be great.’
Give her something to do, keep her mind busy. The kitchen was only slightly smaller than the living room. Rebus peered out into the back garden. It looked enclosed, no easy way for Ryan Slocum to sneak up on the house. Rebus’s ears were primed for car noises...
‘He’s gone,’ she said, stopping suddenly in the middle of the floor with the kettle in one hand, teapot in the other.
‘What makes you say that, Mrs Slocum?’
‘A suitcase, some clothes... they’re gone.’
‘Business, maybe? Something at the last minute?’
She shook her head. ‘He’d have left a note or something, a message on the machine.’
‘You’ve checked?’
She nodded. ‘I was in Aberdeen all day, shopping, walking around. When I got back, the house felt different somehow, emptier. I think I knew right off.’
‘Has he said anything about leaving?’
‘No.’ The ghost of a smile. ‘But a wife gets to know, Inspector. Another woman.’
‘A woman?’
Una Slocum nodded. ‘Isn’t it always? He’s been so... I don’t know, just different lately. Short-tempered, distracted... spending time away from home when I knew he’d no business meetings.’ She was still nodding, confirming it to herself. ‘He’s gone.’
‘And you’ve no idea where he could be?’
She shook her head. ‘Wherever she is, that’s all.’
Rebus walked back through to the living room, checked the window: no BMW. A hand touched his arm, and he spun. It was Una Slocum.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘I nearly died.’
‘Ryan always complains I never make any noise. It’s the carpet.’
Half-inch Wilton, yards of it.
‘Have you any children, Mrs Slocum?’
She shook her head. ‘I think Ryan would have liked a son. Maybe that was the problem...’
‘How long have you been married?’
‘A long time, fifteen years, nearer sixteen.’
‘Where did you meet?’
She smiled, drifting back. ‘Galveston, Texas. Ryan was an engineer, I was a secretary in the same company. He’d emigrated from Scotland some time before. I could tell he missed home, I always knew we’d end up coming back.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Four and a half years.’ And no killings during that time, so maybe Bible John had come out of retirement for this one job... ‘Of course,’ Una Slocum said, ‘we go back now and then to see my folks. They’re in Miami. And Ryan goes over three or four times a year on business.’
Business. Rebus added a rider to his previous thought: or maybe not.
‘Is he a churchgoer, Mrs Slocum?’
She stared at him. ‘He was when we met. It tailed off, but he’s been attending again.’
Rebus nodded. ‘Any chance I could look around? He may have left a clue where he was headed.’
‘Well... I suppose that would be all right.’ The kettle came to the boil and clicked off. ‘I’ll make the tea.’ She turned to go, paused, turned back. ‘Inspector, what are you doing here?’
Rebus smiled. ‘A routine inquiry, Mrs Slocum, to do with your husband’s work.’
She nodded as though this explained everything, then walked silently back to the kitchen.