‘Christ,’ he gasped.
‘Is that all you can say?’ Her voice trembled. ‘I’ve been trying to get you all weekend!’
‘I was... When did it happen?’ He was walking around the message.
‘Friday night. I came home late, went to bed. About three, I woke up with a headache. Went to get some water, put the hall light on...’ She was pulling back her hair with her hands, her face stretching, tightening. ‘I saw the paint, came out here, and...’
‘I’m sorry, Patience.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Oakes again. All the time Rebus had been in Fife, Oakes had been right here, making his next move. He didn’t just know about Janice, he knew about Patience too. And had told Rebus as much, telling him it was lucky he knew a doctor.
He’d telegraphed the move, and Rebus hadn’t read it.
‘You’re lying,’ Patience said. ‘You know damned well. It’s him, isn’t it?’
Rebus tried putting his arms round her, but she shrugged him off.
‘I called St Leonard’s,’ she said. ‘They sent someone round. Two kids in uniform. In the morning, Siobhan turned up.’ She smiled. ‘She took me out for breakfast. I think she knew I hadn’t been to sleep. It made me realise how vulnerable this place is. Garden at the back: anyone could scale the wall, get in through the conservatory. Or break down the front door: who’s going to notice?’ She looked at him. ‘Who am I going to call?’
He made again to put his arms around her. This time she allowed it, but he could feel resistance.
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘If I’d known... if there’d been any way...’ Friday night he’d switched off his mobile. Now he asked himself why. To conserve the battery? It was what he’d told himself back then, but maybe he’d been trying to block Fife off from everything else in his life; so busy thinking about Janice, he’d ignored Oakes’s more obvious move. He kissed Patience’s hair. Skewed perspectives, not thinking straight. Oakes was winning every fucking round. The bond Rebus felt with Janice was undeniable, but was all about failed chances. In the here and now, Patience was his lover. Patience was the one he was holding and kissing.
‘It’ll be all right,’ he told her. ‘Everything’s going to be OK.’
She pulled away from him, wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. ‘Something funny’s happened to your voice. You’ve gone all Fife.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll make us some tea. You go back to bed. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘Ben the scullery, hen.’
‘It’s got to be Oakes,’ he said.
He’d called Siobhan to thank her. Patience had told him to ask her to lunch. So now, with the sun overhead, they were seated at the table in the conservatory. The Sunday papers lay unread in a pile in the corner. They ate Scotch broth, cooked ham and salad. A couple of bottles of wine had taken a pasting.
‘Know what she did last night?’ Patience had said — meaning Siobhan; talking to Rebus. ‘Phoned to check I was all right. Said if I wasn’t, I could sleep round at her place.’ A lazy half-drunken smile, and she got up to make the coffee. It was then that Rebus voiced his suspicions to Siobhan.
‘Evidence?’ she replied, before finishing her wine: just the two glasses — she was driving.
‘Gut feeling. He’s been watching my flat. He knows I was the last person to see Rough alive. He took Janice out, and now it’s Patience’s turn.’
‘What has he got against you?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it could have been any one of us; just so happens I got the short straw.’
‘From what you say, he’s more calculating than that.’
‘Yes.’ Rebus pushed a cherry tomato around the bed of lettuce on his plate. ‘Patience said something a while back. She said it all could be some kind of tactic to keep us from seeing what he’s really up to.’
‘And what might that be?’
Rebus sighed. ‘I wish to God I knew.’ He studied the salad again. ‘Remember when you could only get one kind of lettuce? One kind of tomato?’
‘I’m too young.’
Rebus nodded thoughtfully. ‘Do you think she’ll be OK?’ Meaning Patience.
‘She’ll be fine.’
‘I should have been here.’
‘She said you were in Fife. What were you doing there?’
‘Living in the past,’ he said, finally stabbing the tomato with his fork.
He spent the rest of the day with Patience. They took a walk in the Botanic Gardens, then dropped in on Sammy. Patience hadn’t gone to see her on Saturday — had phoned to say something had come up, not elaborating. She had a lie prepared for their visit, briefed Rebus so he’d back her up. Another walk: this time with Sammy in the wheelchair. Rebus still felt awkward, going out with her in public. She teased him about it.
‘Ashamed to be seen with a cripple?’
‘Don’t talk like that.’
‘What is it then?’
But he had no answer for her. What was it? He didn’t know himself. Maybe it was other people, the way they stared. He wanted to say: she’s going to get better, she won’t be in this thing forever. He wanted to explain how it had happened and how well she’d taken it. He wanted to tell them she was normal.
With Sammy in a wheelchair... it was like she was a toddler again, and he felt himself watching for bumps and dips in the pavement, for awkward kerbs and safe crossing-places. He was insistent they wait for the green man, even when there was no traffic in sight.
‘Dad,’ she would say, ‘what are the odds of me getting hit again?’
‘Don’t forget, the bookies had us odds-on for Culloden.’
And she would laugh.
Her boyfriend Ned was with them, but Sammy insisted on pushing herself, leaning back to do wheelies and show her mastery of the vehicle. Ned laughed with her, walked alongside with hands in pockets. Patience slipped her hand into Rebus’s.
A Sunday outing: that’s what it was.
And afterwards, back at the flat there were cream cakes and mugs of Darjeeling, football highlights on the TV with the sound turned down. Sammy talking to Patience about her latest exercise regime. Ned talking to Rebus. Rebus not listening, his eyes half-turned to the window, wondering if Cary Oakes was out there...
That evening, he told Patience he had to go home. ‘Couple of things I need. I’ll be back later.’ He kissed her. ‘You all right here, or do you want to come with me?’
‘I’ll stay,’ she said.
So Rebus got into his car and drove. Not to Arden Street but down to Leith. He walked into the hotel and asked to speak to Cary Oakes. Reception tried his room: no answer.
‘Maybe he’s in the bar,’ the woman said.
But Cary Oakes was not in the bar — Jim Stevens was.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ he said. Rebus shook his head, noticed Stevens was on large G and Ts.
‘Where’s your boy?’
Stevens just shrugged.
‘I thought you’d want to keep tabs on him,’ Rebus said, trying to control his anger.
‘I do, believe me. But he’s a slippery little bugger.’
‘How much more can you milk out of him?’
Stevens smiled, shaking his head. ‘Something strange and wonderful has happened. You know me, Rebus, I’m what they call a seasoned hack, meaning I’m tough and I’m relentless and I don’t take shit.’
‘And?’
‘And I think he’s been giving me shit.’ Stevens shrugged. ‘It’s not bad stuff, don’t get me wrong. But where’s the corroboration?’
‘Since when has that stopped you?’
Stevens bowed his head, acknowledging the point. ‘For my own satisfaction,’ he added, ‘I’d like to know. And along the way, dear old Cary seems to have managed to weasel almost as many stories out of me as I’ve had from him.’