‘The Pincushion?’
The constable nodded. The Pincushion was tattooed from head to foot, not an inch unblemished. ‘He’s been brought in for questioning.’
Rebus nodded. Whenever they had reason to bring the Pincushion into a station, he always ended up naked.
‘It’s a good name, isn’t it, sir?’
‘What, Pincushion? It’s better than my name for him, I suppose.’
‘What’s that.’
‘Just another prick,’ said Rebus, unlocking cell number two. He closed the door behind him. A young man was sitting on the bunk, unshaven and sorry-eyed.
‘What happened to you, then?’
Andy Steele looked up at him, then away. The city of Edinburgh had not been kind to him during his visit. He ran a handful of fingers through his tousled hair.
‘Did you go see your Auntie Ena?’ he asked.
Rebus nodded. ‘I didn’t see your mum and dad, though.’
‘Ach well, at least I managed that, eh? I managed to track you down and put you in touch with her.’
‘So what have you been up to since?’
Flakes of scalp were being clawed from the surface of Andy Steele’s head. They floated down onto his trousers. ‘Well, I did a bit of sightseeing.’
‘They don’t arrest you for that these days, though.’
Steele sighed and stopped scratching. ‘Depends what sights you see. I told a man in a pub I was a private detective. He said he had a case for me.’
‘Oh aye?’ Rebus’s attention was momentarily drawn to a crude game of noughts and crosses on the cell wall.
‘His wife was cheating him. He told me where he thought I could find her, and he gave me a description. I got ten quid, with more when I reported back.’
‘Go on.’
Andy Steele stared up at the ceiling. He knew he wasn’t making himself look good, but it was a bit late for that anyway. ‘It was a ground floor flat. I watched all evening. I saw the woman, she was there, all right. But no man. So I went round the back to get a better look. Someone must have spotted me and phoned the police.’
‘You told them your story?’
Steele nodded. ‘They even took me back to the bar. He wasn’t there, of course, and nobody knew him. I didn’t even know his name.’
‘But his description of the woman was accurate?’
‘Oh aye.’
‘Probably an ex-wife or some old flame. He wanted to give them a scare, and it was worth ten notes to do it.’
‘Except now the woman’s pressing charges. Not a very good start to my career, is it, Inspector?’
‘Depends,’ said Rebus. ‘Your career as a private dick may not be much cop, but as a peeping-tom your star is definitely in the ascendant.’ Seeing Steele’s misery, Rebus winked. ‘Cheer up, I’ll see what I can do.’
In fact, before he could do anything, Siobhan Clarke was on the telephone from Gorgie to tell him about her meeting with Rory Kintoul.
‘I asked him if he knew anything about his cousin’s heavy betting. He wouldn’t say, but I get the feeling they’re a close-knit family. There were hundreds of photos in the living room: aunties and uncles, brothers and sisters, nieces, cousins, grannie…’
‘I get the idea. Did you mention the broken window?’
‘Oh yes. He was so interested, he had to clamp himself to the chair to stop from jumping out of it. Not a great talker, though. He reckoned it must have been a drunk.’
‘The same drunk who took a knife to his gut?’
‘I didn’t put it quite like that, and neither did he. I don’t know whether it’s relevant or not, but he did say he’d driven the butcher’s van for his cousin.’
‘What, full time?’
‘Yes. Up until about a year ago.’
‘I didn’t know Bone’s had a van. That’ll be the next to go.’
‘Sir?’
‘The van. Smash the shop window, and if that doesn’t work, torch the van.’
‘You’re saying it’s all about protection?’
‘Maybe protection, more likely money owing on bad bets. What do you think?’
‘Well, I did raise that possibility with Kintoul.’
‘And?’
‘He laughed.’
‘That’s strong language coming from him.’
‘Agreed, he’s not exactly the emotional type.’
‘So it’s not betting money. I’ll have another think.’
‘His son came in while we were talking.’
‘Refresh my memory.’
‘Seventeen and unemployed, name’s Jason. When Kintoul told him I was CID, the son looked worried.’
‘A natural reaction in a teenager on the dole. They think we’re press-ganging these days.’
‘There was more to it than that.’
‘How much more?’
‘I don’t know. Could be the usual, drugs and gangs.’
‘We’ll see if he’s got a record. How’s Moneybags?’
‘Frankly, I’d rather be sewing mailbags.’
Rebus smiled. ‘All part of the learning curve, Clarke,’ he said, putting down the phone.
Somehow yesterday he’d forgotten to ask Pat Calder about the message on the inside of the recipe book. He didn’t like to think it had been jostled from his mind by Maine’s legs or the sight of all those Elvises. Rebus had checked before leaving the station. Jason Kintoul was not on the files. Somehow the gun beneath the driver’s seat helped keep Rebus’s mind sharp. The drive to the Colonies didn’t take long.
Pat Calder seemed quite shocked to see him.
‘Morning,’ said Rebus. ‘Thought I’d find you at home.’
‘Come in, Inspector.’
Rebus went in. The living room was much less tidy than on hi previous visit, and he began to wonder which,of the couple had been the tidier. Certainly, Eddie Ringan looked and acted like a slob, but you couldn’t always tell.
‘Sorry for the mess.’
‘Well, you’ve got a lot on your mind just now.’ The place was stuffy, with that heavy male smell you got sometimes in shared flats and locker-rooms. But usually it took more than one person to create it. Rebus began to wonder about the lean young bartender who’d accompanied Calder to the mortuar.
‘I’ve just been arranging the funeral,’ Pat Calder was saying. ‘It’s on Monday. They asked if it would be family and friends. I had to tell the Eddie didn’t have any family.’
‘He had good friends, though.’
Calder smiled. ‘Thank you, Inspector. Thank you for that. Was there something in particula…?’
‘It was just something we found at the scene.’
‘Oh?’
‘A sort of a message. It said, “I only turned on the gas”.’
Calder froze. ‘Christ, it was suicide, then?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘It wasn’t that kind of note. We found it on the inside of a school jotter.’
‘Eddie’s recipe book?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wondered where that had got to.’
‘The message had been heavily scored out. I took it away for analysis. ‘Maybe it’s something to do with the nightmares.’
‘That’s just what I was thinking. Depends what he was dreaming about, though, doesn’t it? Nightmares can be about things you fear, or things you’ve done.’
‘I’m no psychologist.’
‘Me neither,’ Rebus admitted. ‘I take it Eddie had keys to the restaurant?’
‘Yes.’
‘We didn’t find any on his body. Did you come across them when you were packing things up?’
‘I don’t think so. But how did he get in without keys?’
‘You should be in CID, Mr Calder. That’s what I’ve been wondering.’ Rebus got up from the sofa. ‘Well, sorry I had to come by.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. Can you tell Brian about the funeral arrangements? Warriston Cemetery at two o’clock.’
‘Monday at two, I’ll tell him. Oh, one last thing. You keep a record of table bookings, don’t you?’
Calder seemed puzzled. ‘Of course.’
‘Only, I’d like to take a look. There might be some names there that don’t mean anything to you but might mean something to a policeman.’ Calder nodded. ‘I see what you’re getting at. I’ll drop it into the station. I’m going to the Heartbreak at lunchtime, I’ll pick it up then.’