'Of all the inconsiderate bloody…' He was wondering which neighbour was responsible. The Archibalds two doors down always seemed to have workmen in or visitors staying. The Graysons across the road had a couple of sons home for the winter from their gap years. Then there were the cold callers and the people dropping leaflets and cards through the door… He sounded the Bentley's horn, which brought his wife to the dining-room window.
Was there someone in the Saab's passenger seat? No… they were in the bloody driving seat! Anderson thumped on the horn a couple more times, then undid his seatbelt and got out, stomping towards the offending vehicle. The window on the driver's side was sliding down, a face peering out at him.
'Oh, it's you.' One of the detectives from last night… Inspector something.
'DI Rebus,' Rebus reminded the banker. 'And how are you this morning, Mr Anderson?'
'Look, Inspector, I do intend coming to your station sometime today…'
'Whenever suits you, sir, but that's not the reason I'm here.'
'Oh?'
'After we left you on Friday, we paid a call to the other witness – Miss Sievewright.'
'Oh yes?'
'She told us you'd been to see her.'
'That's right.' Anderson glanced over his shoulder, as if checking his wife was out of earshot.
'Any particular reason, sir?'
'Just wanted to make sure she hadn't suffered any… well, she'd had a nasty shock, hadn't she?'
'Seems you gave her another one, sir.'
Anderson 's cheeks had flushed. 'I only went round there to-'
'So you've said,' Rebus interrupted. 'But what I'm wondering is, how did you know her name and address? She's not in the phone book.'
'The officer told me.'
'DS Clarke?' Rebus was frowning. But Anderson shook his head.
'When our statements were being taken. Or rather, just after.
I'd offered to run her home, you see. He happened to mention her name and Blair Street both.'
'And you wandered up and down Blair Street looking for a buzzer with her name on?'
'I don't see that I've done anything wrong.'
'In which case, I'm sure you'll have told Mrs Anderson all about it.'
'Now look here…'
But Rebus was starting his ignition. 'We'll see you at the station later… and your good lady wife, too, of course.'
He pulled away with the window still open and left it that way for the first few minutes. This time of the morning, he knew the traffic would be sluggish heading back into town. He'd only had the three pints last night, but his head felt gummy. Saturday he'd watched a bit of TV, rueing another obituary – the footballer Ferenc Puskas.
Rebus had been in his teens when the European Cup Final had come to Hampden. Real Madrid against Eintracht Frankfurt, Real winning 7-3. One of the great games, and Puskas one of the greatest players. The young Rebus had found Hungary, the footballer's home country, in an atlas, and had wanted to go there.
Jack Palance, and now Puskas, both gone for ever. That was what happened with heroes.
So: Saturday night at the Oxford Bar, sorrows drowned, any and all conversations forgotten by the next morning. Sunday: laundry and the supermarket, and news that a Russian journalist called Litvinenko had been poisoned in London. That had made Rebus sit up in his chair, increasing the volume on the TV. Gates and Curt had joked about poisoned umbrella tips, but here was
the real-life equivalent. One theory was that a meal in a sushi restaurant had contained the poison, the Russian mafia to blame.
Litvinenko was in hospital under armed guard. Rebus had decided against calling Siobhan; it was just a coincidence after all. He'd been agitated, waking each morning to dread. His last weekend as a serving officer; his last week now beginning. Siobhan had done all right on Friday night, and had even looked a little bit sheepish when explaining that Macrae wanted her spearheading the case.
'Makes sense to me,' was all Rebus had said, getting in the drinks. He thought he knew the way Macrae would be thinking.
Less to this than meets the eye… That was the way Siobhan said he had put it. But it would keep Rebus occupied until retirement day, after which Siobhan would be persuaded to return to route one: a mugging gone wrong.
'Makes sense to me,' he repeated now, heading down a rat run.
Ten minutes later, he was parking at Gayfield Square. No sign of Siobhan's car. He went upstairs and found Hawes and Tibbet seated together at the same desk, staring at the mute telephone.
'No joy?' Rebus guessed.
'Eleven calls so far,' Hawes said, tapping the notepad in front of her. 'One driver who exited the car park at nine fifteen on the night in question and therefore had nothing at all to tell us but wanted to chat anyway.' She glanced up at Rebus. 'He enjoys hill-walking and jogging, if you're interested.' Without bothering to look, she could sense Tibbet grinning beside her, and gave him an elbow in the ribs.
'He was on the phone to Phyl for half an hour,' Tibbet added after stifling a grunt.
'Who else have we got?' Rebus asked.
'Anonymous cranks and practical jokers,' Hawes replied. 'And one guy we're hoping will call back. He started talking about a woman hanging around on the street, but the line went dead before I could get any details.'
'Probably just saw Nancy Sievewright,' Rebus cautioned. But he was thinking: why would Nancy be 'hanging around'? 'I've got a job for the pair of you,' he said, reaching for Hawes's notepad and finding a clean sheet. He jotted down the details of Nancy 's 'friend'
Gill Morgan. 'Go see if this checks out. Sievewright reckons she was on her way home from Great Stuart Street. Even if there's someone by that name living at the address, give them a bit of a grilling.'
Hawes stared at the page. 'You think she's lying?'
'Seemed to have trouble remembering. But she'll probably have primed this pal of hers.'
'I can usually tell when someone's spinning me a line,' Tibbet stated.
'That's because you're a good cop, Colin,' Rebus told him. Tibbet puffed out his chest a little, which Hawes noticed with a laugh.
Tou've just been spun a line,' she pointed out to her partner.
Then, rising to her feet: 'Let's go.' Tibbet followed her sheepishly, pausing in the doorway.
Tfou okay manning the phones?' he asked Rebus.
'It rings, and I pick it up… does that about cover it?'
Tibbet was trying not to scowl as Hawes returned to fetch him.
'By the way,' she said to Rebus, 'if you get bored you can watch the telly – we got hold of that video Siobhan wanted.'
Rebus noticed it lying on the desk. It was marked with the words 'Question Time'.
Tou might learn something,' was the parting shot from the doorway, made by Tibbet rather than Hawes. Rebus was quietly impressed.
'We'll make a man of you yet, Colin,' he muttered under his breath, reaching out to pick up the tape.
12
Charles Riordan wasn't at the studio. The receptionist told them he was spending the morning at home and, when asked, provided them with an address in Joppa. It was a fifteen-minute drive away, and took them past the flat grey waters of the Firth of Forth. At one point, Goodyear tapped the side window.
'Cat and dog home back there,' he said. 'I went once, thinking I'd get a pet. In the end, I couldn't choose… told myself I'd go back some day.'
'I've never had a pet,' Clarke said. 'Find it hard enough taking care of myself.'
He laughed at that. 'Any boyfriends?'
'One or two down the years.'
He laughed again. 'I meant just now.'
She took her eyes off the road long enough to give him a look.
Tfou're trying too hard, Todd.'
'Just nervous.'
'That why you're asking so many questions?'
'No, not at all. I'm just… well, I suppose I'm interested.'