‘That’s Archibald, isn’t it? Archibald’s been hassling him for years.’
Rebus thought back to Alan Archibald... the way he’d looked as they’d lifted him into the ambulance. He’d looked spent and stunned, as if his dearest possession had been torn from him. Easy to steal away a dream, a hope... Cary Oakes had done that.
And had gotten away.
‘They didn’t catch him then?’ Stevens asked, not for the first time.
‘He ran into the hills, could be anywhere.’
‘It’s a hell of an area to search,’ Stevens conceded. ‘What made you take reinforcements?’
Rebus shrugged.
‘You know, John, once upon a time you wouldn’t have thought you needed them.’
‘I know, Jim. Things change.’
Stevens nodded. ‘I suppose they do.’
Rebus rewound the tape, listened to the last half again. ‘A date with destiny, as you and your fellow hacks might put it. With someone who never listened to me...’ This time, he was frowning when he finished.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure he means Archibald and me. He called us his spot of R&R.’
Stevens had drained his glass. ‘What else could it be?’
Rebus shook his head slowly. ‘There was some reason for him coming back here.’
‘Yes, me and my chequebook.’
‘Something more than that. More than the chance to play games with Alan Archibald...’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know.’ He looked at Stevens. ‘You could find out.’
‘Me?’
‘You know the city inside out. It has to be something from his past, something from before he went to America.’
‘I’m not an archaeologist.’
‘No? Think of all the years you’ve spent digging dirt. And Alan Archibald has a lot of stuff on Oakes, better than anything the bastard gave you.’
Stevens snorted, then smiled. ‘Maybe...’ he said to himself. ‘It would be a way of getting back at him.’
Rebus was nodding. ‘He’s given you a tissue of lies, you bounce back with a whole boxful of truth.’
‘The truth about Cary Oakes,’ Stevens said, measuring it up for a headline. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said at last.
‘And anything you find, you share with me.’ Rebus reached for Stevens’ notepad. ‘I’ll give you my mobile number.’
‘Jim Stevens and John Rebus, working together.’ Stevens grinned.
‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’
40
There were messages for Rebus. Janice had called three times; Damon’s bank manager once. Rebus spoke to the bank manager first.
‘We have a transaction,’ the man said.
‘What, when and where?’ Rebus reached for paper and pen.
‘Edinburgh. A cash machine on George Street. Withdrawal of one hundred pounds.’
‘Today?’
‘Yesterday afternoon at one forty precisely. It’s good news, isn’t it?’
‘I hope so.’
‘I mean, it proves he’s still alive.’
‘It proves someone’s used his card. Not quite the same thing.’
‘I see.’ The manager sounded a little dispirited. ‘I suppose you have to be cautious.’
Rebus had a thought. ‘This cash machine, it wouldn’t be under surveillance, would it?’
‘I can check for you.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ Rebus wound up the call and phoned Janice.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ She paused. ‘It’s just you ran off so early that morning. I wondered if it was something we’d...’
‘Nothing to do with you, Janice.’
‘No?’
‘I just needed to get back here.’
‘Oh.’ Another pause. ‘Well, I was just worried.’
‘About me?’
‘That you were disappearing from my life again.’
‘Would I do that?’
‘I don’t know, John: would you?’
‘Janice, I know things are a bit rocky between you and Brian...’
‘Yes?’
He smiled, eyes closed. ‘That’s it really. I’m not exactly an expert on marriage guidance.’
‘I’m not in the market for one.’
‘Look,’ he said, rubbing his eyes, ‘there’s a bit of news about Damon.’
A longer pause. ‘Were you planning on telling me?’
‘I just did tell you.’
‘Only so you could change the subject.’
Rebus felt like he was in the boxing-ring, cornered on the ropes. ‘It’s just that his bank account’s been used.’
‘He’s taken out?’
‘Someone’s used his card.’
Her voice was rising, filling with hope. ‘But nobody else knows his number. It has to be him.’
‘There are ways of using cards...’
‘John, don’t you dare take this away from me!’
‘I just don’t want you getting hurt.’ He saw Alan Archibald again, saw that look of final inescapable defeat.
‘When was this?’ Janice said; she was barely listening to him now.
‘Yesterday afternoon. I got word about ten minutes ago. It was a bank on George Street.’
‘He’s still in Edinburgh.’ A statement of belief.
‘Janice...’
‘I can feel it, John. He’s there, I know he’s there. What time’s the next train?’
‘I doubt he’s still hanging around George Street. The withdrawal was a hundred pounds. Might have been travelling money.’
‘I’m coming anyway.’
‘I can’t stop you.’
‘That’s right, you can’t.’ She put down the telephone. Seconds later, it rang again. Damon’s bank manager.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘there’s a camera.’
‘Trained on the machine?’
‘Yes. I’ve already asked: the tape’s waiting for you. Talk to a Miss Georgeson.’
As Rebus finished the call, George Silvers brought him a cup of coffee. ‘Thought you’d have gone home,’ he said: Hi-Ho’s way of showing he cared.
‘Thanks, George. No sign of him yet?’
Silvers shook his head. Rebus stared at the paperwork on his desk. There were cases to write up, he could barely recall them. Names swimming in front of him. All of them demanding an ending.
‘We’ll catch him,’ Silvers said. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’
‘You’ve always been a comfort to me, George,’ Rebus said. He handed back the cup. ‘And one of these days you’ll remember that I don’t take sugar.’
He went to talk to Miss Georgeson. She was plump and fiftyish and reminded Rebus of a school dinner-lady he’d once dated. She had the videotape ready for him.
‘Would you like to view it here?’ she asked.
Rebus shook his head. ‘I’ll take it back to the station, if you’ve no objection.’
‘Well, really I should make you a copy...’
‘I don’t intend losing it, Miss Georgeson. And I will bring it back.’
He left the bank with the tape held tightly in one hand. Checked his watch, then headed down to Waverley. He sat on one of the benches on the concourse, drinking a milky coffee — or caffe latte as the vendor had called it — and keeping an eye open. He had the tape in his raincoat pocket; no way he was leaving it in the car. He flicked through the evening paper. Nothing about Cary Oakes — it would be an exclusive in Stevens’ paper first thing in the morning, and Stevens would have answered his detractors with one mighty two-fingered salute.
A date with destiny...
What the hell did that mean? Was Oakes laying yet another false trail? Rebus would put nothing past him. He’d sold Stevens, Archibald, and himself dummies like he was vintage George Best and they were Sunday league.