‘Based up here. One of their employees took a flight out of an Edinburgh tenement.’
‘Jumped?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘There were others on the scene, one of them’s a known villain called Anthony Ellis Kane. I’ve had word he’s working up here.’
Lumsden nodded. ‘Yes, I heard Edinburgh CID were asking about that name. Doesn’t mean a thing to me, sorry. Normally, we’d assign the Oil Liaison Officer to look after you, but he’s on holiday and I’m filling in, which makes me your guide for the duration.’ Lumsden smiled. ‘Welcome to Silver City.’
Silver for the River Dee which ran through it. Silver for the colour of the buildings in sunlight — grey granite transformed into shimmering light. Silver for the money the oil boom had brought. Lumsden explained as Rebus drove them back down on to Union Street.
‘Another myth about Aberdeen,’ he said, ‘is that the folk are mean. Wait till you see Union Street on a Saturday afternoon. It must be the busiest shopping street in Britain.’
Lumsden wore a blue blazer with shiny brass buttons, grey trousers, black slip-on shoes. His shirt was an elegant blue and white stripe, his tie salmon-pink. The clothes made him look like the secretary of some exclusive golf club, but the face and body told another story. He was six feet two, wiry, with cropped fair hair emphasising a widow’s peak. His eyes weren’t so much red-rimmed as chlorinated, the irises a piercing blue. No wedding ring. He could have been anywhere between thirty and forty years old. Rebus couldn’t quite place the accent.
‘English?’ he asked.
‘From Gillingham originally,’ Lumsden acknowledged. ‘The family moved around a bit. My dad was in the forces. You did well to spot the accent, most people think I’m a Borderer.’
They were driving to a hotel, Rebus having declared that he’d probably be staying at least the one night, maybe more.
‘No problem,’ Lumsden had said. ‘I know just the place.’
The hotel was on Union Terrace, overlooking the gardens, and Lumsden told him to park outside the entrance. He took a piece of card from his pocket and pressed it to the inside of the windscreen. It stated OFFICIAL GRAMPIAN POLICE BUSINESS. Rebus got his case out of the boot, but Lumsden insisted on carrying it. And Lumsden took care of the details at reception. A porter took the case upstairs, Rebus following.
‘Just make sure you like the room,’ Lumsden told him. ‘And I’ll see you in the bar.’
The room was on the first floor. It had the tallest windows Rebus had ever seen, and gave him a view down on to the gardens. The room was baking hot. The porter closed the curtains.
‘It’s always like this when we get the sun,’ he explained. Rebus gave the rest of the room a once-over. It was probably the fanciest hotel room he’d ever been in. The porter was watching him.
‘What, no champagne?’
The porter didn’t get the joke, so Rebus shook his head and handed him a pound note. The porter explained how the in-house movies worked, told him about room service, the restaurant, and other facilities, then handed Rebus his key. Rebus followed the man back downstairs.
The bar was quiet, the lunchtime crowd having disappeared back to work, leaving their plates, bowls and glasses behind. Lumsden was perched on a stool at the bar, munching peanuts and watching MTV. There was a pint of beer in front of him.
‘Forgot to ask your tipple,’ he said as Rebus sat down next to him.
‘A pint of the same,’ Rebus told the barman.
‘How’s the room?’
‘A bit rich for my taste, to be honest.’
‘Don’t worry, Grampian CID will pick up the tab.’ He winked. ‘It’s a courtesy thing.’
‘I must visit more often.’
Lumsden smiled. ‘So tell me what you want to do while you’re here.’
Rebus glanced at the TV screen, saw the Stones hamming it up in their latest production. Jesus, they looked old. Stonehenge with a blues riff.
‘Talk to the oil company, maybe see if I can track down a couple of the deceased’s friends. Find out if there’s any sign of Tony El.’
‘Tony El?’
‘Anthony Ellis Kane.’ Rebus reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’
Lumsden shook his head twice: once to say he didn’t mind, and again to refuse Rebus’s offer of one.
‘Cheers,’ Rebus said, taking a mouthful of beer. He smacked his lips, it was OK. Beer was fine. But the row of optics kept trying to attract his attention. ‘So how’s the Johnny Bible case going?’
Lumsden scooped more peanuts into his mouth. ‘It isn’t. Dead slow to stop. Are you attached to the Edinburgh side?’
‘Only by association. I’ve interviewed a few nutters.’
Lumsden nodded. ‘Me, too. I’d like to throttle some of them. I had to interview some of our RPOs, too.’ He made a face. RPOs: Registered Potential Offenders. These were the ‘usual suspects’, a list of known perverts, sex attackers, flashers and peepers. In a case like Johnny Bible, they all had to be interviewed, alibis provided and checked.
‘I hope you took a bath afterwards.’
‘Half a dozen at least.’
‘No new leads then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You think he’s local?’
Lumsden shrugged. ‘I don’t think anything: you need to keep an open mind. Why the interest?’
‘What?’
‘The interest in Johnny Bible.’
It was Rebus’s turn to shrug. They sat in silence for a moment, until Rebus thought of a question. ‘What does an Oil Liaison Officer do?’
‘Blunt answer: liaises with the oil industry. It’s a major player up here. The thing is, Grampian Police isn’t just a dry-land force — our beat includes the offshore installations. If there’s a theft on a platform, or a fight, or whatever, anything they bother to report, it’s down to us to investigate. You can end up flying three hours out to the middle of hell on a paraffin budgie.’
‘Paraffin budgie?’
‘Helicopter. Three hours out, chucking your guts up along the way, so you can investigate some minor complaint. Thank Christ we don’t usually get involved. It’s a real frontier out there, with frontier policing.’
One of the Glasgow uniforms had said the same about Uncle Joe’s estate.
‘You mean they police themselves?’
‘It’s a bit naughty, but effective. And if it saves me a six-hour round trip I won’t say I’m sorry.’
‘What about Aberdeen itself?’
‘Reasonably quiet, except at weekends. Union Street on a Saturday night can be like downtown Saigon. There are a lot of frustrated kids around. They’ve grown up with money and stories of money. Now they want their share, only it’s not there any more. Christ, that was quick.’ Rebus saw that he’d finished his pint; only the top inch was missing from Lumsden’s. ‘I like a man who’s not afraid to bevvy.’
‘I’ll get this one,’ Rebus said. The barman was standing ready. Lumsden didn’t want another, so Rebus ordered an abstemious half. First impressions and all that.
‘The room’s yours for as long as you need it,’ Lumsden said. ‘Don’t pay cash for that drink, charge it to the room. Meals aren’t included, but I can let you have a few addresses. Tell them you’re a cop, you’ll find the bill pretty reasonable.’
‘Tut tut,’ Rebus said.
Lumsden smiled again. ‘Some fellow officers I wouldn’t tell that to, but somehow I think we’re on the same wavelength. Am I right?’
‘You could be.’
‘I’m not often wrong. Who knows, my next posting could be Edinburgh. A friendly face is always an asset.’
‘Speaking of which, I don’t want my presence here broadcast.’
‘Oh?’