The Chief Inspector was almost sober — and very ready to go home. He’d already been talked to by the Crime Squad. They’d said they’d have more questions for him tomorrow, all to do with Ludovic Lumsden. Grogan listened with growing impatience, then asked what evidence there was. Rebus shrugged. They could place Slocum’s car near the scene of the murder, and at a curious hour of the morning. But they couldn’t do more than that. Maybe forensics would throw up some connection, but they both guessed Bible John was too smart to allow that to happen. Then there was the story outlined in Lawson Geddes’ letter — a dead man’s tale — and the photo from Borneo. But that meant nothing without a confession from Ryan Slocum that he’d once been Ray Sloane, had lived in Glasgow in the late sixties and had been — and still was — Bible John.
But Ryan Slocum had disappeared.
They contacted Dyce Airport, but there was no record of his having taken a plane out of there, and no taxi or car rental company would admit seeing him. Had he already left the country? What had he done with the trunk? Was he lying low in some hotel nearby, waiting for the fuss to die?
Grogan said they’d make enquiries, put out an alert to ports and airports. He didn’t see what else they could do. They’d send someone out to talk with Mrs Slocum, maybe go through the house with a fine-toothed comb... Tomorrow maybe, or the day after. Grogan didn’t sound too enthusiastic. He’d found his serial killer for today, and had little inclination to go chasing ghosts.
Rebus found Jack in the canteen, drinking tea and eating chips and beans.
‘Where did you get to?’
Rebus sat down beside him. ‘Thought maybe I was cramping your style.’
Jack shook his head. ‘Tell you what though, I nearly asked her back to that hotel.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
Jack shrugged. ‘She told me she could never trust a man who didn’t drink. Do you feel like heading back?’
‘Why not?’
‘John, where did you get to?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way back. It might help keep you awake...’
36
Next morning, after a few hours’ sleep on the chair, Rebus telephoned Brian Holmes. He wanted to know how he was doing, and whether Ancram’s threats had evaporated in the light of Lawson Geddes’ letter. The call was answered quickly.
‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice: Nell’s. Softly, Rebus put the receiver down. So she was back. Did that mean she’d come to terms with Brian’s work? Or had he promised to give it up? Rebus was sure to find out later.
Jack wandered through. He reckoned his job of ‘minder’ was finished, but had stayed the night anyway — too tired to contemplate the miles home to Falkirk.
‘Thank God it’s the weekend,’ he said, rubbing both hands through his hair. ‘Any plans?’
‘I thought I might nip down to Fettes, see what the score is with Ancram.’
‘Good idea, I’ll come with you.’
‘You don’t need to.’
‘But I want to.’
They took Rebus’s car for a change. But when they got to Fettes, Ancram’s office was bare, no sign of it ever having been occupied. Rebus telephoned Govan, and was put through.
‘Is that it finished?’ he asked.
‘I’ll write up my report,’ Ancram said. ‘No doubt your boss will want to discuss it with you.’
‘What about Brian Holmes?’
‘It’ll all be in the report.’
Rebus waited. ‘All of it?’
‘Tell me something, Rebus, are you clever or just spawny?’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘You’ve really mucked things up. If we’d gone ahead against Uncle Joe, we could have had the mole.’
‘You’ll have Uncle Joe instead.’ Ancram grunted a response. ‘You know who the mole is?’
‘I have a hunch. Lennox, you met him that day in The Lobby.’ DS Andy Lennox: freckles and ginger curls. ‘Thing is, I’ve no hard evidence.’
Same old problem. In law, knowing was not enough. Scots law was stricter stilclass="underline" there must needs be corroboration.
‘Maybe next time, eh?’ Rebus offered, putting down the phone.
They drove back to the flat so Jack could pick up his car, but then he had to climb the stairs with Rebus, having forgotten some of his kit.
‘Are you ever going to leave me alone?’ Rebus asked.
Jack laughed. ‘Starting any minute.’
‘Well, while you’re here you can help me shift the stuff back into the living room.’
It didn’t take long. The last thing Rebus did was hook the fishing-boat back on the wall.
‘So what now?’ Jack asked.
‘I suppose I could see about getting this tooth fixed. And I said I’d meet up with Gill.’
‘Business or pleasure?’
‘Strictly off-duty.’
‘A fiver says you end up talking shop.’
Rebus smiled. ‘Five says you’re on. What about you?’
‘Ach, I thought while I’m in town I might check out the local AA, see if there’s a meeting. It’s been too long.’ Rebus nodded. ‘Want to tag along?’
Rebus looked up, nodded. ‘Why not?’ he said.
‘The other thing we could do is keep on with the decorating.’
Rebus wrinkled his nose. ‘The mood’s passed.’
‘You’re not going to sell?’ Rebus shook his head. ‘No cottage by the sea?’
‘I think I’ll settle for where I am, Jack. It seems to suit me.’
‘And where’s that exactly?’
Rebus considered his answer. ‘Somewhere north of hell.’
He got back from his Sunday walk with Gill Templer and stuck a fiver in an envelope, addressed it to Jack Morton. Gill and he had talked about the Toals and the Americans, about how they’d go down on the strength of the tape. Rebus’s word might not be enough to convict Hayden Fletcher of conspiracy to murder, but he’d have a damned good go. Fletcher was being brought south for questioning. Rebus had a busy week ahead. His telephone rang as he was tidying the living room.
‘John?’ the voice said. ‘It’s Brian.’
‘Everything all right?’
‘Fine.’ But Brian’s voice was hollow. ‘I just thought I’d... the thing is... I’m putting in my papers.’ A pause. ‘Isn’t that what they say?’
‘Jesus, Brian...’
‘Thing is, I’ve tried to learn from you, but I’m not sure you were the right choice. A bit too intense maybe, eh? See, whatever it is you’ve got, John, I just don’t have it.’ A longer pause. ‘And I’m not sure I even want it, to be honest.’
‘You don’t have to be like me to be a good copper, Brian. Some would say you should strive to be what I’m not.’
‘Well... I’ve tried both sides of the fence, hell, I’ve even tried sitting on the fence. No good, any of it.’
‘I’m sorry, Brian.’
‘Catch you later, eh?’
‘Sure thing, son. Take care.’
He sat down in his chair, stared out of the window. A bright summer’s afternoon, a good time to go for a walk through the Meadows. Only Rebus had just come back from a walk. Did he really want another? His phone rang again and he let the machine take it. He waited for a message, but all he could hear was static crackle, background hiss. There was someone there; they hadn’t broken the connection. But they weren’t about to leave a message. Rebus placed a hand on the receiver, paused, then lifted it.
‘Hello?’
He heard the other receiver being dropped into its cradle, then the hum of the open line. He stood for a moment, then replaced the receiver and walked into the kitchen, pulled open the cupboard and lifted out the newspapers and cuttings. Dumped the whole lot of them into the bin. Grabbed his jacket and took that walk.