She’d chosen to sit on one of the benches, reasoning that he would take the chair opposite, but he’d slid on to the bench beside her, and was creeping closer by degrees.
‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘does this charm offensive of yours ever work?’
‘Can’t complain. Mind you...’ he checked his watch, ‘we’ve been here the best part of ten minutes and you’ve yet to ask me about my father — that’s probably a record.’
‘So what you’re saying is, women humour you because of who you are?’
He winced. ‘A palpable hit.’
‘You remember why we’re having this meeting?’
‘God, you make it sound so formal.’
‘If you want to see “formal”, we can keep talking at Gayfield Square.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your flat?’
‘My police station,’ she corrected him.
‘Bloody hell, this is hard work.’
‘I was just thinking the same thing.’
‘I need a ciggie,’ Cater was saying. ‘Do you smoke?’ Siobhan shook her head, and he looked elsewhere. Another drinker had arrived, taking the table opposite them, spreading out his evening paper. Cater stared at the pack of cigarettes lying beside the newspaper. ‘Excuse me,’ he called. ‘Have you a spare ciggie by any chance?’
‘Not spare, no,’ the man said. ‘I need every single one I can get my hands on.’ He went back to his reading. Cater turned to Siobhan.
‘Nice clientele.’
Siobhan shrugged. She wasn’t about to let him know there was a machine around the corner next to the toilets.
‘The skeleton,’ she reminded him.
‘What about it?’ He leaned back, as though wishing he were elsewhere.
‘You took it from outside Professor Gates’s office.’
‘So what?’
‘I’d like to know how it ended up in a concrete floor in Fleshmarket Close.’
‘Me too,’ he snorted. ‘Maybe I could sell the idea to Dad for a mini-series.’
‘After you took it...’ Siobhan prompted.
He swirled his glass, producing a fresh head on the top of the pint. ‘You mistake me for a cheap date — one drink and you think I’ll spill the beans?’
‘Right you are then...’ Siobhan started to get to her feet.
‘At least finish your drink,’ he protested.
‘No thanks.’
He rolled his head to left and right. ‘All right, point made...’ Gestured with his arm. ‘Sit down again and I’ll tell you.’ She hesitated, then pulled out the chair opposite him. He pushed her glass towards her. ‘Christ,’ he said, ‘you’re a real drama queen when you get going.’
‘I’m sure you are, too.’ She lifted her tonic water. On entering the bar, Cater had ordered her a gin and tonic, but she’d managed to signal to Harry that she didn’t want the gin. Straight tonic was what she’d been given — the reason the round had been so cheap...
‘If I tell you, can we get a bite to eat after?’ She glared at him. ‘I’m ravenous,’ he persisted.
‘There’s a good chippie on Broughton Street.’
‘Is that anywhere near your flat? We could take the fish suppers back there...’
This time she had to smile. ‘You never give up, do you?’
‘Not unless I’m really, really sure.’
‘Sure of what?’
‘That the woman isn’t interested.’ He beamed a smile at her. Meantime, behind her, the man at the next table cleared his throat as he turned to a fresh page.
‘We’ll see,’ was her response. And then: ‘So tell me about the bones of Mag Lennox...’
He stared up at the ceiling, reminiscing. ‘Dear old Mags...’ Then he broke off. ‘This is off the record, naturally?’
‘Don’t worry.’
‘Well, you’re right, of course... we did decide to “borrow” Mags. We were hosting a party, and decided it would be fun if Mags presided over us. Got the idea from a veterinary student’s party: he’d sneaked a dead dog out of the lab, sat it in his bath, so that every time someone needed to...’
‘I get the picture.’
He shrugged. ‘Same thing with Mags. Plonked her on a chair at the head of the table during dinner. Later on, I think we even danced with her. It was just a bit of high spirits, m’lady. We planned to take her back afterwards...’
‘But you didn’t?’
‘Well, when we woke up next morning, she’d left of her own volition.’
‘I hardly think that likely.’
‘Okay then, somebody’d walked off with her.’
‘And with the baby, too — you got that when the department were chucking it out?’ He nodded. ‘Did you ever find out who took them?’
He shook his head. ‘There were seven of us for dinner, but after that the party proper started and there must have been twenty or thirty people there. Could’ve been any one of them.’
‘Any prime suspects?’
He considered this. ‘Pippa Greenlaw brought a bit of rough with her. Turned out to be a one-nighter and he was never heard of again.’
‘Did he have a name?’
‘I should think so.’ He stared at her. ‘Probably not as sexy as yours, though.’
‘What about Pippa? Is she a medic too?’
‘Christ, no. Works in PR. Come to think of it, that’s how she met her beau. He was a footballer.’ He paused. ‘Well, wanted to be a footballer.’
‘Have you got a number for Pippa?’
‘Somewhere... might not be up-to-date...’ He leaned forward. ‘Of course, I don’t have it with me. I suppose that means we’ll need another rendezvous.’
‘What it means is that you’ll call me and tell me it.’ She handed over her card. ‘You can leave a message at the station if I’m not there.’
His smile softened as he studied her, angling his face one way and then another.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘I’m just wondering how much of this Ice Maiden routine is just that — a routine. Do you ever step out of character?’ He reached across the table and snatched her wrist, placing it to his lips. She wrenched free. He sat back again, looking satisfied.
‘Fire and ice,’ he mused. ‘It’s a good combination.’
‘Want to see another good combination?’ the man at the next table asked, folding shut his paper. ‘How about a punch in the face and a boot up the arse?’
‘Bloody hell, it’s Sir Galahad!’ Cater laughed. ‘Sorry, chum, no damsels round these parts requiring your services.’
The man was on his feet, stepping into the middle of the cramped room. Siobhan stood up, blocking his view of Cater.
‘It’s fine, John,’ she said. Then, to Cater: ‘I think you better skedaddle.’
‘You know this primate?’
‘One of my colleagues,’ Siobhan confirmed.
Rebus was craning his neck, the better to glare at Cater. ‘You better get her that phone number, pal. And no more of your fannying around.’
Cater was on his feet. He made a show of pausing long enough to finish his drink. ‘It’s been a delightful evening, Siobhan... we must do it again some time, with or without the performing monkey.’
Harry the barman was in the doorway. ‘That your Aston outside, pal?’
Cater’s face softened. ‘Nice car, isn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t know about that, but some punter’s just mistaken it for a urinal...’
Cater gasped and scrambled down the steps towards the exit. Harry gave a wink and returned to the bar. Siobhan and Rebus shared a look, then a smile.
‘Smarmy little bastard,’ Rebus commented.
‘Maybe you’d be, too, given who his father is.’
‘Silver spoon up the nose at birth, I dare say.’ Rebus sat back down at his table, Siobhan turning her chair round to face him.