‘And let the trail grow cold, maybe enough time for a few more suicides and accidental deaths?’
Ancram looked exasperated.
‘Just do your job, Chief Inspector,’ Rebus said. ‘And I’ll do mine.’ Rebus got to his feet, looked for the paper with the Johnny Bible story, stuffed it in his pocket.
‘Here’s the deal,’ Ancram said, smouldering. ‘I’m going to have a man with you at all times, reporting back to me. It’s either that or a suspension.’
Rebus jerked his thumb towards the window. ‘Him out there?’ The driver was enjoying a smoke in the sunshine. Ancram shook his head.
‘Someone who knows you better.’
Rebus came up with the answer a second before Ancram spoke.
‘Jack Morton.’
He was waiting for Rebus outside the flat. Water was dribbling down the dishels from where neighbours were cleaning their cars. Jack had been sitting in his own car, windows rolled down, his paper open at the crossword. Now he was out of the car and had his arms folded, head inclined to the sun’s rays. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and faded jeans, newish white trainers on his feet.
‘Sorry to muck up your weekend,’ Rebus told him, as he got out of Ancram’s car.
‘Remember,’ Ancram called to Jack, ‘don’t let him out of your sight. If he goes for a dump, I want you keeking through the key-hole. If he says he’s putting the rubbish out, I want you inside one of the bags. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Jack said.
The police driver was asking Rebus where he should park the Saab. Rebus pointed to the double yellow line at the bottom of the street. The windscreen still boasted its Grampian Police Business sign. Rebus was in no hurry to tear it off. Ancram got out of his driving seat and opened the rear door. His driver handed Rebus the keys to the Saab and his suitcase out of the boot, and got into his boss’s car, adjusting the seat and the rearview. Rebus and Jack watched Ancram being driven away.
‘So,’ Rebus said, ‘I hear you’re with the Juice Church these days.’
Jack wrinkled his nose. ‘I can take or leave the holy roller stuff, but it’s helped me give up the hooch.’
‘That’s great.’
‘How come I never know when you’re being serious?’
‘Years of practice.’
‘Nice holiday?’
‘Nice doesn’t begin to describe it.’
‘I see your face took a dunt.’
Rebus touched his temple. The swelling was going down. ‘Some people get temperamental when you beat them to the sunbeds.’
They climbed the stairwell, Jack a couple of steps behind Rebus.
‘Are you seriously not going to let me out of your sight?’
‘That’s what the boss wants.’
‘And what he wants he gets?’
‘If I know what’s good for me. It’s taken me a lot of years to come to the conclusion that I do want what’s good for me.’
‘So speaks the philosopher.’ Rebus put his key in the lock, pushed the door open. There was some mail on the hall carpet, but not much. ‘You realise this is probably against a couple of dozen laws. I mean, you can’t just follow me around if I don’t want you to.’
‘So take it to the Court of Human Rights.’ Jack followed Rebus into the living room. The suitcase stayed out in the hall.
‘Fancy a drink?’ Rebus asked.
‘Ha ha.’
Rebus shrugged, found a clean glass and poured himself some of Kayleigh Burgess’s whisky. It went down without touching the sides. He exhaled noisily. ‘You must miss it though?’
‘All the time,’ Jack admitted, slumping on to the sofa.
Rebus poured another. ‘I know I would.’
‘That’s half the battle.’
‘What?’
‘Admitting you’d have a problem without it.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
Jack shrugged, got to his feet again. ‘Mind if I make a phone call?’
‘My home is your home.’
Jack walked over to the telephone. ‘Looks like you’ve got some messages. Want to play them?’
‘They’ll all be from Ancram.’
Jack lifted the receiver, pressed seven digits. ‘It’s me,’ he said at last. ‘We’re here.’ Then he put the telephone down.
Rebus looked at him above the rim of the glass.
‘There’s a team on its way,’ Jack explained. ‘To look the place over. Chick said he’d tell you.’
‘He told me. No search warrant, I suppose?’
‘If you want it, we can get one. But if I were you, I’d just sit back and let it happen — quick and painless. Plus... if anything ever comes to court, you’ll have the prosecution on a technicality.’
Rebus smiled. ‘Are you on my side, Jack?’ Jack sat down again, but didn’t say anything. ‘You told Ancram I’d phoned you, didn’t you?’
Jack shook his head. ‘I kept my trap shut when maybe I shouldn’t.’ He sat forward. ‘Chick knows we go back, you and me, that’s why I’m here.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘It’s a loyalty thing, he’s testing my loyalty to him, pitting the past — that’s you and me — against my future.’
‘And how loyal are you, Jack?’
‘Don’t push it.’
Rebus drained his glass. ‘This is going to be an interesting few days. What happens if I get lucky winching? Are you going to want to hide beneath the bed, like a piss-pot or the fucking bogeyman?’
‘John, don’t get —’
But Rebus was on his feet. ‘This is my home, for Christ’s sake! The one place I can hide from all the shite flying around out there! Am I supposed to just sit here and take it? You standing guard, forensics sniffing around like mongrels at a lamp-post — am I supposed to sit here and let you get on with it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well fuck that, Jack, and fuck you, too.’ The doorbell rang. ‘You get it,’ Rebus said. ‘They’re your dogs.’
Jack looked hurt as he made for the door. Rebus went into the hall, grabbed his case and took it into his bedroom. He threw it on the bed and opened it. Whoever had packed it had just stuffed everything in, clean and dirty. The whole lot would have to go to the launderette. He lifted out his wash-bag. There was a note folded below it. It told him that ‘certain items of clothing’ had been held back by Grampian Police for forensic ‘exploration’. Rebus looked: his grass-stained trousers and torn shirt from the night he’d been attacked, they were missing. Grogan was having them tested, just in case Rebus had killed Vanessa Holden. Fuck him, fuck them all. Fuck the whole fucking lot of them. Rebus threw the open case across the room, just as Jack came to the doorway.
‘John, they say they won’t be long.’
‘Tell them to take as long as they like.’
‘And tomorrow morning there’ll be blood tests and a saliva sample.’
‘I’ll have no trouble with the latter. Just stand Ancram in front of me.’
‘He didn’t ask for this job, you know.’
‘Fuck off, Jack.’
‘I wish I could.’
Rebus pushed past him into the hall. He glanced into the living room. There were men in there, some of them he knew, all dressed in white boilersuits and polythene gloves. They were lifting the cushions from his sofa, ruffling the pages of his books. They didn’t look like they were enjoying it: small consolation. It made sense that Ancram would use local people: easier than hauling a consignment from weegie-land. The one crouching in front of the corner cupboard got up, turned. Their eyes met.
‘Et tu, Siobhan?’
‘Afternoon, sir,’ Siobhan Clarke said, ears and cheeks reddening. It was about all Rebus needed. He grabbed his jacket, headed for the door.
‘John?’ Jack Morton called after him.