The tenement door was locked, so he pushed the buzzer. This time of night, he’d probably be taken for a passing prankster, so he pressed it again. At the third time of trying, the intercom crackled into life.
‘Wrong fucking flat,’ Charles Meikle said.
‘It’s John Rebus. I need a quick word.’
‘At this time of night?’
‘Thought it best to wait till Billie was asleep.’
There was silence for a moment, then a buzzing as Meikle unlocked the door. Rebus took his time climbing the stairs. Even so, he was breathing heavily as he reached Meikle’s floor.
‘You about to peg out on me?’ the man asked from the open doorway.
Rebus shook his head. ‘I could do with a glass of water, though.’
‘So long as you promise to keep your voice down.’
Rebus nodded and followed Meikle into the kitchen. He didn’t think he’d woken the man. Meikle was still fully dressed and fully alert. He turned from the sink with a half-filled glass. Rebus took it from him, but instead of taking a sip, he placed it on the worktop.
‘Last time I was here,’ he said, ‘this is where you rested your fists. I remember thinking it was a bit odd. You had your palms raised when you did it, like you were trying to hide something.’ He gestured towards the worktop. ‘I see you got rid of it.’
‘Rid of what?’
‘The knife block with the one blade missing.’
‘Says who?’
Rebus ignored this. He finally lifted the glass and sipped from it. ‘Know what that told me? It told me you knew. Well of course you did — where else was Ellis going to take Billie afterwards? She was spattered with blood. He needed to get her back and into clean clothes.’ He paused. ‘All of which makes you an accessory.’
‘None of which you can prove.’
‘Maybe not.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Let’s say I were to talk to Billie herself...’
The look the man gave him, Rebus suspected that if the knife block had still been there, he’d have snatched another blade from it.
Rebus held up a hand. ‘Thing is, I’m not sure I need to. She’s smart and she’s sensitive. No way she’s going to be able to put it behind her. It’s like a shadow she’ll always carry, meaning you’re always going to be on edge, wondering if and when she’ll crack. Same goes for her brother. Whole family’s under a life sentence, not just Ellis.’ He raised his voice a notch. ‘Isn’t that right, Billie?’
She emerged from the darkened hall into the doorway, looking pale and fragile in her full-length nightgown.
‘It’s all right, petal,’ her father told her. ‘That was a promise then and it’s a promise now.’ Then, to Rebus, his voice taking on a threatening tone. ‘You should bugger off now. Come round here again, I swear I’ll wring your neck.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ Rebus turned towards Billie. ‘Some dad you’ve got there. But it’s one thing to talk about it — or even think about it. Carrying it through, though...’ He eased past her on his way to the front door. ‘That’s cold, Billie — something your dad and Ellis might start to appreciate some day.’
He let himself out and stood on the landing. If words were being spoken inside, he couldn’t hear them. As he descended the stairs, he began to hum a tune. It was only when he got to the bottom that he realised what it was.
R. Dean Taylor, ‘There’s a Ghost in My House’. He hadn’t heard that one in a while...
Saturday
55
6.30 a.m., still dark outside, weekend workers just beginning to trek into town, quarter-filled buses, windows misted with condensation, and a few pedestrians seeking out early-opening shops or those that stayed open round the clock. Clarke had made them coffee, Rebus asking if the newsagent’s would be open. Fox had argued that there’d be nothing in the papers that hadn’t already been reported online.
‘Ever tried reading the racing pages on a phone?’ Rebus had countered.
They’d then split up — Clarke and Fox heading to Leith, while Rebus took Brillo for a Meadows pit stop before the Arden Street flat.
‘Normal service will be resumed,’ he promised the dog, turning to leave.
Just the one journalist outside Leith police station. He looked junior and cold. He asked Rebus what time they’d be bringing Hazard back.
‘Soon,’ Rebus answered, taking pity on him. The young man took his phone out, ready to alert his colleagues. Rebus realised the same question would have been asked of Clarke and Fox, but they’d stonewalled.
Some short straw, that, he argued to himself as he headed indoors; like stakeouts in the old days, bum going numb and nowhere to pee... The desk officer recognised him this time, waved him through.
Sutherland was waiting at the top of the stairs, flanked by Clarke and Fox. The DCI was as well dressed as ever but pallid and tense. He pointed at Rebus.
‘Out you go,’ he commanded.
‘Listen, I think I might be able...’
But Sutherland was already striding into the MIT room. He half turned, eyes on Clarke. ‘He’s still here in thirty seconds, you’re off the team.’
The arm Clarke stretched to her side could either have been apologetic or a gesture of dismissal.
‘Tell him I can help,’ Rebus said.
‘If all else fails,’ Clarke agreed with a nod.
‘I’ll sit in my car.’ He fixed her with a stare. ‘Keep me posted unless you want me causing a scene in front of the press.’
She gave a slow nod, which he only half believed.
In MIT, Sutherland was being briefed by Reid and Crowther. The others had yet to arrive. Not much of use from the lab, but the soil sample had proved a ninety per cent match, which, Professor Hamilton had indicated, was good enough for a courtroom.
‘No prints on the tarp?’ Fox asked.
‘Just the farmer’s,’ Reid said. ‘And a bit of paint from a car the same colour and age as the Polo. They couldn’t give us a definitive match.’
‘Hazard’s prints aren’t on the cuffs?’
‘He was savvy enough to wear gloves when they moved the car. Maybe he’s always been clever that way.’
‘He wore gloves when he attacked Bloom?’
‘If he attacked Bloom,’ Sutherland felt it necessary to qualify.
‘You’re having doubts, sir?’ Clarke asked.
‘Right now it’s Carlton’s word against his. Even if those handcuffs had at some point in the past been in Hazard’s possession, all he has to tell a court is that he lost them. Maybe his farming friend picked them up or stole them from him.’ He met Clarke’s eyes. ‘Who was it ran from you? Who was it had the car on his land until selling that land meant he needed to move it?’
‘Everything points towards Carlton rather than Hazard,’ Reid agreed.
‘Except,’ Clarke argued, ‘Carlton didn’t do a runner after the crime and change his identity, change his whole life. And he didn’t know the victim.’
‘We don’t know that Hazard knew him either.’
‘Hazard hung around whenever a film was being made, which puts him next to Jackie Ness, and Bloom was working for Ness as well as appearing as an extra in his films.’
‘We’re going round in circles,’ Sutherland said, not bothering to conceal his frustration. ‘And pretty soon we’re going to have to release Hazard from custody.’
‘Or charge him,’ Clarke commented.
‘With no evidence? His lawyer will boot that out of the park.’