‘Yes.’
‘Not much of a game if all these cars were here. Pavement’s not wide enough.’
Siobhan looked at the wall, the pavement. ‘Maybe the cars weren’t here.’
‘According to Miss Wilkie, that would be unusual.’
‘I can’t see what you’re getting at.’
Rebus pointed to the forecourt. ‘What if he was in there? Plenty of space so long as no cars are using the pumps.’
‘They’d chase him off.’ She looked at him. ‘Wouldn’t they?’
‘Let’s go ask them.’
They went to the shop first, identified themselves to the man behind the counter.
‘I’m not the owner,’ he said. ‘I’m his brother.’
‘Were you here yesterday?’
‘Been here the past ten days. Eddie and Flo are on their hols.’
‘Somewhere nice?’ Siobhan asked, making out they were just having a normal conversation.
‘Jamaica.’
‘Do you remember a young boy?’ Rebus asked. Siobhan held up one of the photographs. ‘Playing kickabout in the forecourt?’
The owner’s brother nodded. ‘Gordon’s nephew.’
Rebus tried to keep his voice level. ‘Gordon who?’
The man laughed. ‘Gordon Howe, actually.’ He spelt the name for them, and they laughed along with him.
‘Bet he gets jokes about that,’ Siobhan said, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye. ‘Any idea where we could find Mr Howe?’
‘Jock will know.’
Siobhan nodded. ‘And who’s Jock?’
‘Sorry,’ the man said. ‘Jock’s the other mechanic.’
‘Under the Polo?’ Rebus asked. The man nodded.
‘So Mr Howe works for the garage?’
‘Yes, he’s a mechanic. He’s got the day off today. Well, we’re not busy, and with him looking after young Billy...’ He waved the picture of Billy Horman.
‘Billy?’ Siobhan said.
Sixty seconds later they were out on the forecourt again and Siobhan was using Rebus’s mobile. She got through to St Leonard’s and asked if Billy Horman had an uncle called Gordon Howe. Listening to the answer, she shook her head to let Rebus know what she was hearing. They walked towards the work-bay.
‘Could we have a word?’ Rebus called. They had their IDs ready as the mechanic called Jock crawled out from under the Polo and started wiping his hands on an impossibly oil-blackened rag.
‘What have I done?’ He had ginger hair, curling to the nape of his neck, and a long earring dangling from one ear. The backs of his hands were tattooed, and Rebus noticed he was missing the pinkie on his left hand.
‘Where can we find Gordon Howe?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Lives on Adamson Street. What’s the matter?’
‘Will he be there just now, do you think?’
‘How should I know?’
‘He’s got the day off,’ Rebus said, taking a step closer. ‘Maybe he told you how he planned to spend it?’
‘Taking Billy out.’ The mechanic’s eyes flicked from one detective to the other.
‘Billy being...?’
‘His sister’s kid. She’s been poorly, one-parent family and that. Billy either went into care for the duration or Gordy looked after him. Is it Billy? Has he been up to something?’
‘Do you think he’s the type?’
‘Not at all.’ The mechanic smiled. ‘Very quiet kid, actually. Didn’t want to talk about his mum...’
‘Didn’t want to talk about his mum,’ Siobhan repeated, as they walked up the path to the house in Adamson Street. It was a sixties-built semi in an estate on the edge of town. Council-owned for the most part. You could tell the homes that had been purchased by their tenants: replacement windows and better doors. But they all had the same grey harled walls.
‘Uncle Gordon’s orders, no doubt.’
They rang the bell and waited. Rebus thought he detected movement at an upstairs window. Took a step back to look, but couldn’t see anything.
‘Try again,’ he said, opening the letterbox while Siobhan pushed the doorbell. There was a door at the end of the corridor, half-open. He saw shadows beyond it, snapped the letterbox shut.
‘Round the back,’ he said, heading for the side of the house. As they entered the back garden, a man was disappearing over a high bark fence.
‘Mr Howe!’ Rebus shouted.
By way of response, the man called out, ‘Run for it!’ to the boy who was with him. Rebus let Siobhan climb the fence. He headed back round to the front, ran down the road, wondering where the two would appear.
Suddenly they were ahead of him. Howe was limping, clawing at one leg. The boy was off like a shot, Howe spurring him on. But when the boy looked back, saw the distance widening between himself and Howe, his pace slowed.
‘No! Keep running, Billy! Keep running!’
But the boy wasn’t listening to Howe. He came to a dead stop, waited for the man to catch up. Siobhan came into view, a rip in the knee of her trousers. Howe saw he was going nowhere and put up his hands.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘all right.’
He looked despairingly at Billy, who was walking back towards him.
‘Billy, will you never listen?’
As Gordon Howe dropped to his knees, Billy slid his arms around his neck, man and boy embracing.
‘I’ll tell them,’ Billy was wailing. ‘I’ll tell them it’s all right.’
Rebus looked down at them, saw the tattoos on Gordon Howe’s bare arms: No Surrender; UDA; the Red Hand of Ulster. He recalled Tom Jackson’s story: ran off to Ulster to join the paramilitaries...
‘You’ll be Billy’s dad then,’ Rebus guessed. ‘Welcome back to Scotland.’
43
On the way back into Edinburgh, Rebus sat in the back with Howe, while Billy sat in the front with Siobhan.
‘You read about Greenfield in the paper?’ Rebus guessed. Gordon Howe nodded. ‘What’s your real name?’
‘Eddie Mearn.’
‘How long have you been back from Northern Ireland?’ Siobhan asked.
‘Three months.’ He reached out a hand to ruffle his son’s hair. ‘I wanted Billy back.’
‘Did his mother know?’
‘That cow? It was our secret, wasn’t it, Billy?’
‘Aye, Dad,’ Billy said.
Mearn turned to Rebus. ‘I used to visit him on the quiet. If his mum had found out, she’d’ve put a stop to it. But we kept it hush-hush.’
‘Then you read about Darren Rough?’ Rebus added.
Mearn nodded. ‘Looked too good to be true. I knew if I snatched Billy, they’d just assume that wanker had him — at least for a while. Give us a chance to get settled. We were getting on fine, weren’t we, Billy?’
‘Grand,’ his son agreed.
‘Your mum’s been at her wits’ end, Billy,’ Siobhan said.
‘I hate Ray,’ Billy said, tucking his chin into his neck. Ray Heggie: Joanna Horman’s lover. ‘He hits her.’
‘Why do you think I wanted Billy out of there?’ Mearn said. ‘It’s not right for a kid to have to deal with. It’s not right.’ He bent forward to kiss the top of his son’s head. ‘We were all fixed up, though, weren’t we, Billy Boy? We’d’ve managed.’
Billy turned in his seat, tried to hug his father, the seatbelt restricting him. Looking in the rearview, Siobhan fixed her eyes on Rebus’s. Both knew what would happen: Billy would go back to Greenfield; Mearn would probably be charged. Neither officer felt especially great about it.
As they headed into central Edinburgh, Rebus asked Siobhan to make a detour along George Street. There was no sign of Janice...
‘You know something?’ Rebus asked Mearn.
They were in an interview room at St Leonard’s. Mearn had a cup of tea in front of him. A doctor had looked at his leg: just a sprain.