‘I’m advising you for your own good.’
‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.’
‘Christ, Rebus, I begin to see why you’re always out on a limb: you’re not easy to like, are you?’
‘Mr Personality six years running.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I even cried on the catwalk.’ A pause. ‘Did you ask Jack Morton about me?’
‘Jack has a bizarrely high opinion of you, something I put down to sentiment.’
‘Big of you.’
‘This is getting us nowhere.’
‘No, but it’s passing the time.’ Rebus saw signs for a service area. ‘Are we stopping for lunch?’
Ancram shook his head.
‘You know, there’s one question you haven’t asked me.’
Ancram considered not asking, then caved in. ‘What?’
‘You haven’t asked what Stanley and Eve were doing in Aberdeen.’
Ancram signalled to pull into the service area, braking hard. The driver in Rebus’s Saab nearly missed the slip-road, tyres squealing on tarmac.
‘Trying to lose him?’ Rebus enjoyed seeing Ancram rattled.
‘Coffee break,’ Ancram snarled, opening his door.
Rebus sat with the tabloid on the table in front of him, reading about Johnny Bible. The victim this time was Vanessa Holden, twenty-seven and married — none of the others had been married. She was director of a company which put on ‘corporate presentations’: Rebus wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. The photo in the paper was the usual smile-for-the-camera job, taken by a friend. She had shoulder-length wavy hair, nice teeth, probably hadn’t thought about dying much short of her eightieth birthday.
‘We’ve got to catch this monster,’ Rebus said, echoing the last sentence of the story. Then he crumpled the paper and reached for his coffee. Glancing down at the table, he caught a sideways glimpse of Vanessa Holden, and got the feeling he’d seen her before somewhere, just a fleeting glance. He covered her hair with his hand. Old photo; maybe she’d changed hairstyle. He tried to see her face with a few more miles on its clock. Ancram wasn’t watching, was talking to the lackey, so he didn’t see the shock of recognition hit Rebus’s face.
‘I have to make a phone call,’ Rebus said, rising. The public phone was beside the front door; he’d be in view of the table. Ancram nodded.
‘What’s the problem?’ he said.
‘Today’s Sunday, I should’ve been at church. The minister will be worried.’
‘This bacon’s easier to swallow than that.’ Ancram stabbed his fork at the offending article. But he let Rebus go.
Rebus made the call, hoped he’d have enough change: Sunday, cheap rate. Someone at Grampian Police HQ picked up.
‘DCI Grogan, please,’ Rebus said, his eyes on Ancram. The restaurant was busy with Sunday drivers and their families; no chance of Ancram hearing him.
‘I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment.’
‘This is about Johnny Bible’s latest victim. I’m in a phone-box and money’s tight.’
‘Hold on, please.’
Thirty seconds. Ancram watching him, frowning. Then: ‘DCI Grogan speaking.’
‘It’s Rebus.’
Grogan sucked in breath. ‘What the hell do you want?’
‘I want to do you a favour.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘It could make your career.’
‘Is this your idea of a joke? Because let me tell you —’
‘No joke. Did you hear what I said about Eve and Stanley Toal?’
‘I heard.’
‘Are you going to do anything?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Make it a definite... as a favour to me.’
‘And then you’ll do me this premier-league favour of yours?’
‘That’s right.’
Grogan coughed, cleared his throat. ‘All right,’ he said.
‘For real?’
‘I keep my promises.’
‘Then listen. I’ve just seen a photo of Johnny’s latest victim.’
‘And?’
‘And I’ve seen her before.’
A moment’s silence. ‘Where?’
‘She was walking into Burke’s Club one night as Lumsden and I were leaving.’
‘So?’
‘So she was on the arm of someone I knew.’
‘You know a lot of people, Inspector.’
‘Which doesn’t mean I’m connected to Johnny Bible. But maybe the man on her arm is.’
‘Do you have a name for him?’
‘Hayden Fletcher, works for T-Bird Oil. Public relations.’
Grogan was writing it down. ‘I’ll look into it,’ he said.
‘Don’t forget your promise.’
‘Did I make a promise? I don’t recall.’ The line went dead. Rebus wanted to hammer the receiver, but Ancram was watching, and besides there were children nearby, drooling over a toy display and devising plans of attack on their parents’ pockets. So he replaced the receiver just like any other human being and walked back to the table. The driver got up and went outside, didn’t once look at Rebus, so Rebus knew he was under orders.
‘Everything OK?’ Ancram asked.
‘Hunky dory.’ Rebus sat down opposite Ancram. ‘So when does the inquisition begin?’
‘As soon as we can find a vacant torture chamber.’ They both ended up smiling. ‘Look, Rebus, personally I don’t give a midge’s IQ what happened twenty years ago between your pal Geddes and this Lenny Spaven. I’ve seen villains stitched up before: you can’t nail them for the thing you know they did, so you nail them for something else, something they didn’t do.’ He shrugged. ‘It happens.’
‘There were rumours it happened to Bible John.’
Ancram shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. But see, here’s the crux of the matter. If your chum Geddes became obsessed with Spaven, and stitched him up — with your help, wittingly or unwittingly... Well, you know what that means?’
Rebus nodded, but couldn’t say the words: they’d been choking him for weeks. They’d choked him back then for a few weeks, too.
‘It means,’ Ancram went on, ‘the real killer got away with it. Nobody’s ever tried looking for him, he’s scot free.’ He smiled at this last phrase, then sat back in his chair. ‘Now I’m going to tell you something about Uncle Joe.’ He had Rebus’s attention. ‘He’s probably involved in drug dealing. Big profits, unlikely he wouldn’t want some. But Glasgow was sewn up years ago, and rather than get into a war we think he’s been casting his net wider.’
‘As far as Aberdeen?’
Ancram nodded. ‘We’re compiling a file prior to setting up a surveillance op in conjunction with the Squaddies.’
‘And every surveillance you’ve tried in the past has failed.’
‘There’s a double loop to this one: if someone leaks word to Uncle Joe, we’ll know where the leak started.’
‘So you end up with either Uncle Joe or the grass? It might work... if you don’t go around telling everyone about it.’
‘I’m trusting you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you could fuck things up, pure and simple.’
‘You know, I’ve been here before, people telling me to lay off, leave everything to them.’
‘And?’
‘And they’ve usually had something to hide.’
Ancram shook his head. ‘Not this time. But I do have something to offer. Like I say, personally I’ve no interest in the Spaven case, but professionally I’m duty bound to do my job. Thing is, there are ways and ways of presenting a report. I could minimise your part in the whole thing, I could leave you out altogether. I’m not telling you to drop any investigation; I’m just asking you to freeze it for a week or so.’