Her eyes remained fixed on his. ‘Both.’
‘Why not tell her yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘No way,’ she said.
‘Then tell me why you did it.’ Rebus lifted the coffee to his mouth.
‘First I need you to tell me something — why do you think she’s doing it?’
‘She’s your mother. What other reason does she need?’
But Sally Hazlitt was shaking her head again. ‘Has she told you anything about what our lives were like?’
Rebus thought for a moment. ‘Your mum and dad were teachers. Lived in London. .’
‘That’s as much as you know?’
‘Crouch End, she told me — a nicer area than they should have been able to afford. A relative left some sort of legacy.’ He paused. ‘She’s still in the same house, by the way, sharing with your Uncle Alfie at the moment. Your dad liked reading you stories when you were a kid.’ He paused again, maintaining eye contact. ‘You know he’s dead?’
She nodded. ‘Good riddance.’ And at last Rebus thought he began to see. ‘There’s lots he liked teaching me,’ she went on, meaningfully. ‘Lots and lots.’
The silence lay between them until he broke it, his voice softening.
‘Did you say anything to your mum at the time?’
‘I didn’t need to — she knew. That’s the whole reason she wants to know if I’m still around. Because if I am, I might spill the beans.’ She was looking down at the floor, eyes glistening.
‘Why wait till Aviemore to make your move?’
It took her a moment to gather herself again. ‘I knew I didn’t want to study English at university — that had always been his idea. And the more we all sat around the chalet in Aviemore talking about the future, the more I knew I couldn’t tell him to his face.’
Rebus nodded his understanding.
‘He’d. . stopped by that time. Stopped when I was fourteen.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Sounds crazy, but I thought back then it must be my fault, and that made it worse somehow. I’d spent the years since thinking how to punish him, and that night, December 31st, I had just enough Dutch courage in me — or gin at any rate. The whole thing felt so much easier, being in a strange place, hundreds of miles away from them.’
‘But once you found out he was dead. .?’
‘Too late by then. I knew I wasn’t going back.’
‘It can’t be much fun, always living in fear of being recognised.’
‘That’s why you need to tell her to stop. I’m alive and I’m fine and I never want to see her or talk to her again.’
‘It’d be a lot easier if you told her yourself.’
‘Not for me it wouldn’t.’ She slid from the stool and stood in front of him. ‘So will you do it?’
Rebus puffed out his cheeks. ‘You’re sure this is the life you want?’
‘It’s what I’ve got.’ She gave a shrug. ‘Plenty of others out there worse off than me. You should know that.’
Rebus thought for a moment, then nodded his agreement.
‘Thanks,’ she said, managing a sliver of a smile. Rebus tried to think what else to say, but she was already at the door. Once outside, however, she hesitated, then came back in.
‘Something else you’ve got wrong — I don’t have an Uncle Alfie. Or an Uncle Anything, come to that.’ She pulled open the door and left the cafe again, striding away with her bag slung over her shoulder, head held high, until the ranks of pedestrians swallowed her up and she was gone. Rebus took out his phone, adding her mobile number to his contacts list. She would probably change it, just as she would slip into a new identity, gifting herself a different past. He couldn’t help but see it as a waste of a life — but then the life was hers to waste. With her number safely stowed, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and ran his hands down his cheeks as he replayed the meeting.
There’s lots he liked teaching me. .
I might still spill the beans. .
I don’t have an Uncle Alfie. Or an Uncle Anything, come to that. .
‘So who the hell is Alfie?’ Rebus asked himself, staring at his reflection in the window.
Part Five
Smell of blood is everywhere -
Even in stone. .
54
Rebus walked into the SCRU office at Fettes HQ and saw that the packing crates had arrived. Peter Bliss and Elaine Robison were busy with labels and inventories.
‘Come to give us a hand?’ Robison pleaded.
‘This lot going to the Crown Office?’ he asked, prodding one of the boxes with his toe.
‘That’s right,’ Bliss said. ‘And it’ll all be in a damned sight better order than when it first arrived.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Robison added, ‘we’ve left one or two for you. Didn’t want you to feel you were missing out.’
‘Where’s Danny Boy?’
‘Another meeting with the bigwigs.’
‘He’s going to get the job, isn’t he?’
‘Looks like,’ Bliss conceded.
‘He’ll be insufferable,’ Rebus commented.
‘Won’t be our problem, though, will it? We’ll be reduced to daytime TV and cold callers.’
‘In place of cold cases,’ Robison added with a smile. ‘Though I might manage a wee holiday back to Australia first.’ She picked up the photo of the Sydney Harbour Bridge from her desk and kissed it. Then, to Rebus: ‘We were thinking next Friday for a meal and a drink.’
Rebus moved one of the empty crates from his chair and sat down at his desk. ‘I’ll have to check my diary,’ he said.
‘How was Inverness? TV made it look like a bit of a circus.’
‘Nothing the media likes more than a new Sawney Bean to scare us with.’
‘Who?’
‘Cannibal — probably mythical.’
‘Did you call in on Gregor Magrath?’ Bliss asked.
Rebus nodded. ‘And I passed along the news.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘Philosophically.’
‘Picked a nice spot for himself up there, hasn’t he?’
‘Might be all right on a calm day. .’
Bliss chuckled. ‘Aye, before he retired, Gregor was always chasing the sun. Him and Margaret used to come back from Tenerife brown as berries.’
‘Margaret was his wife?’ Rebus guessed, remembering the photos on the bookcase. ‘When did she die?’
‘Couple of years before he took retirement. Bloody shame — he used to bring cruise brochures in, tell everyone where he and Margaret were going to go when he got the gold watch. How’s he keeping?’
‘Seems fine. You didn’t work here when Nina Hazlitt met him, did you?’
‘Don’t think so. He’d have mentioned her.’
‘It would have been 2004.’
‘Just before my time, then.’
‘He never discussed her with you?’
Bliss shook his head.
Someone rapped their knuckles against the open door. Rebus looked up and saw Malcolm Fox standing there.
‘Can we have a word?’ Fox asked.
‘If you must,’ Rebus responded.
‘Maybe along the corridor. .’
Rebus followed him to the Complaints’ lair. Fox punched in the code for the lock, making sure to shield the combination from the visitor. The room was much the same size as SCRU, with an almost identical layout: desks and laptops and a window with a view on to Fettes Avenue. There was another suit waiting for them. He was Fox’s age, but wirier, with ancient acne scars on one cheek. Rebus got the feeling this man would happily play bad cop to Fox’s good — or vice versa. Fox introduced him as Tony Kaye, then asked Rebus to take a seat.
‘I’m fine standing.’
Fox gave a shrug, then eased his backside on to the corner of Tony Kaye’s desk.
‘Thought you might still have been up north,’ Fox said. ‘That’s why I phoned Inverness first, only to be told you’d been given the heave-ho.’ His eyes drilled into Rebus’s. ‘Mind telling me why?’
‘I was showing them up as amateurs. You know how prickly other forces get when that happens.’