‘Looking for you, yes.’
‘And you went out with him?’
She’d been wiping the worktop, but turned towards him, saw the look on his face.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
He looked towards the cupboards, made a show of opening one to check for something. He couldn’t tell her. She’d have a fit. He closed the cupboard door.
‘Have a nice chat, the two of you?’
‘He told me about his job in the States.’
‘Which one? I think he had a couple.’
‘Did he?’ She frowned. ‘Well, the only one he told me about was being a prison guard.’
‘Oh, right.’ Rebus nodded. ‘I suppose you told him about us?’
She gave him a sly glance. There were spots of red on her cheeks. ‘What’s to tell?’
‘I mean, told him about yourself, how we know one another...?’
‘Oh, yes, all that.’
‘And Fife?’
‘He seemed really interested in Cardenden. I told him off, thought he was taking the mickey.’
‘No, Cary’s always interested in people.’
‘That’s exactly what he said.’ She paused. ‘Sure you’re all right?’
‘Fine. It’s just... work-related problems.’ Namely, Cary Oakes, who had now pulled Janice into his game. And Rebus, himself in the middle of the board, had yet to be told the rules.
‘Want some coffee or something?’
Rebus shook his head. ‘We’re going somewhere.’ We? If Cary Oakes had gone to Fife, it was safer for Janice to stay in Edinburgh. But stay where? Rebus’s flat was proving no sanctuary. She was safer with Rebus, and Rebus had somewhere he needed to be.
‘Where?’
‘Back to Fife. I’ve a few more questions for Damon’s friends.’ And terrain to scout, seeking signs of contamination by Oakes.
She stared at him. ‘Have you... are you on to something?’
‘Hard to tell.’
‘Try me.’
He was shaking his head. ‘I don’t want to raise your hopes. It might turn out to be nothing.’ He started to move out of the kitchen. ‘Give me a minute to do some packing.’
‘Packing?’
‘Weekend’s coming, Janice. Thought I might stay over till tomorrow. Is there still a hotel in town?’
She hesitated for a moment. ‘You can stay with us.’
‘A hotel will be fine.’
But she shook her head. ‘You’ll understand, I couldn’t let you have Damon’s room, but there’s always the couch.’
Rebus pretended to be torn. ‘OK then,’ he said at last. Thinking: I want to be there overnight; I want to be close to her. Not for any obvious reasons — reasons he might have put to himself a day or two ago — but because he wanted to know if Cary Oakes would travel to Cardenden, stake out her home. Whatever Oakes was planning, it was moving apace. If he was going to move on Janice, Rebus reckoned it would be at the weekend.
If anything happened, Rebus needed to be there.
‘I’ll just throw some stuff in a bag,’ he said, heading for his bedroom.
32
Rebus took Janice to Sammy’s first of all. He just wanted to check on her. She was doing pull-ups with the help of her parallel bars, hoisting herself to standing, locking her knees, then easing herself back into the wheelchair. The front door was unlocked: she kept it that way when Ned wasn’t home. Rebus had been worried, until she’d explained her reasoning.
‘I had to weigh up the chances, Dad: me needing help, versus someone breaking in. If I’m lying paralysed on my back, I want any Good Samaritans to be able to get in.’
She wore a grey sleeveless T-shirt, its back turned a darker grey by sweat. There was a towel around her shoulders, and her hair was matted to her forehead.
‘God knows if this is helping my legs,’ she said, ‘but I’m getting a shot-putter’s biceps.’
‘And not an anabolic steroid in sight,’ he said, leaning down to kiss her. ‘This is Janice, old school-pal of mine.’
‘Hello, Janice,’ Sammy said. When she looked back at her father, he felt embarrassed, and wasn’t sure why.
‘Her son’s disappeared,’ he explained. ‘I’m trying to help.’
Sammy wiped her face with the towel.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Janice smiled and shrugged.
‘Janice still lives in Cardenden,’ Rebus went on. ‘We’re headed back there, in case you were thinking of phoning me tonight.’
‘Right,’ Sammy said, her face still busy in the towel. Now that he was here, he knew he’d made some kind of mistake, knew Sammy was jumping to all the wrong conclusions, and couldn’t think of a way out without embarrassing Janice.
‘So I’ll see you some time,’ he said.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ She had finished with the towel; was studying the bars, the extent of her current universe.
‘We’ll have to go through there some day. I can show you my old hunting-ground.’
She nodded. ‘We can take Patience, too. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to be left out.’
‘Have a nice weekend, Sammy,’ he said, making for the door.
She neglected to tell him to do the same.
‘I’ll just phone Patience,’ he said, easing his mobile out of his pocket. They were back in the car, heading for the A90. Patience sometimes went out with friends on a Friday night; it was a regular thing — drinks and a meal, maybe a play or concert. Three other women doctors: two of them divorced, one still apparently happily married. She answered on the fourth ring.
‘It’s me,’ he said.
‘What have I told you about using that thing when you’re driving?’
‘I’m stalled at lights,’ he lied, giving Janice a conspirator’s wink. She looked uncomfortable.
‘Got plans?’
‘I have to go to Fife, couple of interviews I want to get out of the way. I’ll probably stay the night. Are you going out?’
‘In about twenty minutes.’
‘Say hello to the gang from me.’
‘John... when are we going to see one another?’
‘Soon.’
‘This weekend?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘I’m going over to Sammy’s tomorrow.’
‘Right,’ he said. Sammy would tell Patience about Janice. Patience would know Janice had been in the car when he’d called her. ‘I’m staying the night with some friends: Janice and Brian.’
‘The ones you were at school with?’
‘That’s right. I didn’t realise I’d mentioned them.’
‘You hadn’t. Thing is, as far as I’m aware you haven’t made any friends since school.’
‘Bye, Patience,’ he said, easing into the outside lane and putting his foot down.
Dr Patience Aitken had a taxi ordered. When it arrived, the driver pushed open her gate, headed down the steep and winding set of stone steps which led to her garden flat. He rang the doorbell and waited, scuffing his feet on the flagstones. He liked the New Town’s garden flats, the way they were below street level at the front, but had gardens at the back. And they had these little courtyards at the front, with cellars built into the facing wall. Not that you’d use the cellars for much; too damp. Certainly not for keeping wine in. He’d taken the wife to the Loire the previous summer, learned all about the wines. He had three mixed cases now, stored in the cupboard beneath his stairs. Far from ideal conditions: a modern two-storey semi out at Fairmilehead. Too dry, too warm. What he needed was a flat like this one — he’d bet there’d be cupboards inside just right for laying down wine, cool and dryish with thick stone walls.
He noticed that the doctor had tried for a sort of garden feel in the courtyard: hanging baskets, terracotta pots. Nothing down here would get too much light, that was the thing. First thing he’d done with his front garden when he’d moved in: put flagstones over most of it, leaving just a square of earth in the middle, couple of roses planted in there. Minimum maintenance.