Rebus took the receiver from her. It was CID with a message to relay. ‘Go ahead.’
‘From someone called Pat Calder. He says a Mr Ringan has disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’
‘Yes, and he wanted you to know. Do you want us to do anything this end?’
‘No thanks, I’ll go have a word myself. Thanks for letting me know.’ Rebus put down the phone.
‘Who’s disappeared?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Eddie Ringan.’
‘The Heartbreak Cafe?’
Rebus nodded. ‘I was only speaking to him yesterday. He threatened me with a panful of hot cheese.’ Siobhan was looking interested, but Rebus shook his head. ‘You stay here, at least until Petrie gets back.’ The Heartbreak Cafe was only five minutes away. Rebus wondered if Calder would be there. A kitchen without a chef, after all, it was hardly worth opening for the da…
But when Rebus arrived, the Cafe was doing a brisk trade in early lunches. Calder, acting as maitre d’, waved to Rebus when he entered. Passing the same young barman as yesterday, Rebus gave him a wink. Calder was looking frantic.
‘What the hell did you say to Eddie yesterday?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come off it, you had a stand-up row, didn’t you? I knew something was wrong. He was edgy as hell all last night, and his cooking went to pot.’ Calder saw no humour in this. ‘You must have said something.’
‘Who told you?’
Calder cocked his head towards the kitchen. ‘Willie.’
Rebus nodded understanding. ‘And today, Willie gets his chance for fame and fortune.’
‘He’s doing the lunches, if that’s what you mean.’
‘So when did Eddie go missing?’
‘After we closed last night, he went off to look for some club or other. One of those moveable feasts that takes over a warehouse for one night a week.’
‘You didn’t fancy it yourself?’
Calder wrinkled his nose in distaste.
‘Would this be a dub for gentlemen, Mr Calder?’
‘A gay club, yes. No secret there, Inspector. It’s all quite legit.’
‘I’m sure it is. And Mr Ringan didn’t come home?’
‘No.’
‘So maybe he found someone else to go home wit…?’
‘Eddie’s not that type.’
‘Then what type is he?’
‘The faithful type, believe me. He often goes out drinking, but he always comes back.’
‘Until now.’
‘Yes.’
Rebus considered. ‘Bit early yet to start a missing person file. We usually give it at least forty-eight hours, if there’s no other evidence.’
‘What sort of evidence?’
‘Well, a body, for example.’
Calder turned his head away. ‘Christ,’ he said.
‘Look, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘I’m not,’ said Pat Calder.
No, and neither was John Rebus.
Calder slapped a smile on his face as a couple entered the Cafe. He picked up two menus and asked them to follow him to a table. They were in their early twenties and dressed fashionably, the man looking like he’d walked out of a 1930s gangster flick, the woman like she’d put on her wee sister’s skirt by mistake.
When Calder came back he spoke in an undertone. ‘Someone should tell her you can’t hide acne with panstick. You know, Eddie hasn’t been the same since the night Brian was attacked.’
‘Brian’s okay now, by the way.’
‘Yes, Eddie rang the hospital yesterday.’
‘He didn’t visit, though?’
‘We hate hospitals, too many friends dying in them lately.’
‘The news about Brian didn’t cheer him up?’
Calder pursed his lips. ‘I suppose it did for a little while.’ He pulled a notebook and pen out of his pocket. ‘Must go and see what they want to drink.’
Rebus nodded. ‘I’ll just have a word with Willie and your barman, see what they think.’
‘Fine. Lunch is on the house.’ Rebus shook his head. ‘We won’t poison you, Inspector.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Rebus. ‘It’s all this Presley stuff on the walls. It fair takes away my appetite.’
Willie the trainee chef looked like he was enjoying his day as ruler of all he surveyed. Flustered as he was, with no one to help him, still he gave off an air of never wanting things to change.
‘Remember me, Willie?’
Willie glanced up. ‘Jailhouse Roquefort?’ He went back to shimmying pans, then started to chop a bunch of fresh parsley. Rebus marvelled at how speedily he worked with the knife mere millimetres from his fingertips.
‘You here about Eddie? He’s a mad bastard that, but a brilliant chef.’
‘Must be fun to be in charge though?’
‘It would be if I got the credit, but those buggers out there probably think the great Eduardo’s prepared each dish of the day. Like Pat says, if they knew he wisnae here, they’d go off for a tandoori businessman’s lunch at half the price.’
Rebus smiled. ‘Still, being in charg…’
Willie stopped chopping. ‘What? You think I’ve got Eddie stashed away in my coal bunker? Just so I can have a day of tearing around like a mad-arsed fly?’ He waved his knife towards the kitchen door. ‘Pat might lend a hand, but no, he’s got to be out there buttering up the clientele. Butter Pat, that’s his name. If I was going to do away with either one of them, it’d be the one right outside that door.’
‘You’re taking it very seriously, Willie. Eddie’s only been missing overnight. Could be sleeping it off in the gutter somewhere.’
‘That’s not what Pat thinks.’
‘And what do you think?’
Willie tasted from a steaming vat. ‘I think I’ve put too much cream in the potage.’
‘It’s the way Elvis would have wanted it,’ commented Rebus.
The barman, whose name was Toni (‘with an i’), poured Rebus a murky half pint of Cask Conditioned.
‘This looks as conditioned as my hair.’
‘I know a good hairdresser if you’re interested.’
Rebus ignored the remark, then decided to ignore the beer too. He waited while Toni chattily served two student types at the other end of the bar.
‘How did Eddie seem after I left yesterday?’
‘What’s the name of that Scorsese film?’
‘Taxi Driver?’
The barman shook his head. ‘Raging Bull. That was Eddie.’
‘He was like that all evening?’
‘I didn’t see him much. By the time he comes out of the kitchen, I’m putting on my coat to go home.’
‘Was there anyon…unusual in the bar last night?’
‘You get a mixed crowd in here. Any particular type of unusual?’
‘Forget it.’
It looked like Toni-with-an-i already had.
16
It was beginning to look like the circle was now complete. Eddie told Holmes something about the body in the Central Hotel. Holmes tried to find out more, by going after the Bru-Head Brothers. Then Rebus came along to offer help. Now all three had been warned off in some way or other. Well, he hoped Eddie was just being warned off. He hoped it wasn’t more drastic. Everyone knew the chef had trouble keeping his mouth shut after a drink, and ‘after a drink’ seemed to be his permanent state. Yes, Rebus was worried. They’d tried scaring him off and only made him more determined. So would they now pull another stunt? Or would they perhaps revert to more certain means of silence?
Rebus’s face was as dark as the sky when he walked back into St Leonard’s, only to be ordered immediately to Lauderdale’s office. Lauderdale was pouring whisky into three glasses.
‘Ah, there you are.’
Rebus could not deny it. ‘Summoned by Bell’s, sir.’ He accepted the glass, trying not to look at Alister Flower’s beaming face. The three men sat down.
‘Cheers,’ offered Lauderdale.
‘Here’s tae us,’ said Flower.
Rebus just drank.
‘Been having a bit of bother, John?’ Lauderdale was positioning his half-empty glass on the desk. When he used Rebus’s first name, Rebus knew he was in trouble.