‘It’s me,’ he said when she answered.
‘Hey, Dad.’
‘You okay to talk?’
‘Nothing planned except a lazy weekend.’
‘Lucky you. I just thought I’d call and see how you’re doing.’ He leaned back against the headrest, holding the phone close to his ear, content just to listen to her voice.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked. ‘It’s just. .’
‘What?’
‘Not like you to pick up the phone.’
‘That doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you, Samantha. I think about you a lot.’
‘I’m doing okay.’
‘I know you are.’
‘How about you? Any closer to catching that madman?’
‘People keep asking me that.’ He was remembering his words to the salesman: there’s always a destination, and you know you’re going to reach it one way or another. .
‘What do you tell them?’
‘You really think he’s a madman?’
‘Has to be.’
‘Sometimes it’s hard to tell.’
‘Gives me the creeps to think of him still out there. I’ve an appointment in Inverness in a few days with the IVF team. I’ve told Keith I’m not going without him.’
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘I suppose it is. Will you let me know how it goes at Raigmore?’
‘Of course.’
‘And maybe you and Keith should think about a weekend in Edinburgh. I could find you a hotel — my treat.’
‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’
‘Enough of your cheek, young lady.’
He heard her laughter ringing in his ears.
66
That evening, he met Cafferty at the Tannery.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, buying the drinks before heading for a table.
‘Is this where you offer an apology?’ Cafferty asked.
‘What sort of apology?’
‘Last time we were in here, you were less than gracious.’
‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it.’
‘So?’
‘You’re not going to tell me I hurt your feelings?’
Cafferty managed the thinnest of smiles. ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded. ‘So why did you bring me here?’
Rebus reached into his pocket and unfolded a page torn from the Scotsman, flattening it out on the table. It was a report of Annette McKie’s funeral, accompanied by a photograph of some of the mourners as they left the chapel, Cafferty among them.
‘I was invited by the family,’ Cafferty explained.
‘I wasn’t aware you knew them.’
‘I know Darryl.’
‘Since when? Not so long back, you didn’t even know he worked for Frank Hammell.’
‘It was you who tipped me off.’ Cafferty raised his glass as if in a toast.
‘And between then and now, you’ve managed to worm your way into the family?’
‘Darryl wanted me there.’
‘Why, though?’
‘Bit of business.’ Cafferty took a sip of whisky, savouring it before swallowing.
‘I didn’t see Hammell among the guests.’
‘Well you wouldn’t.’
‘Because he’s been pushed out?’ Rebus guessed. ‘You turned Darryl against him?’
‘You don’t give the lad enough credit.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Just that my help wasn’t really needed. Young Darryl’s had Frank Hammell in his sights from the word go.’
Rebus took a moment to digest this.
‘I’d say he’s going to give your lot a few headaches in the coming years, too,’ Cafferty went on. ‘Just as long as he stays smart and stays lucky.’
‘So where’s Hammell now?’
‘Keeping his head down.’
‘I don’t buy it — Hammell’s too big.’
‘The kid’s been chipping away at him from the ground up. Kicked out Hammell’s men and brought in his own. And he did all of that without Hammell noticing, meaning he’s been very clever. If Hammell had suspected, the kid would be lying in a forest somewhere.’
‘Somewhere off the A9?’
‘As good a place as any.’
Rebus shook his head slowly. ‘Darryl had to have your backing.’
‘Do you think I wouldn’t be taking the credit if I could?’
‘He’s too young.’
‘But sharp as a craft knife.’
‘What was your plan — turn him against Hammell?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Stir things up a bit?’
‘You’re pretty good at that yourself — no wonder the Complaints are interested. Doesn’t seem to have stopped our little get-togethers, though, does it? I reckon that’s because you’d get bored otherwise.’
‘Oh aye?’
Cafferty was nodding. ‘Tell me something,’ he said, leaning his elbows against the table. ‘The argument Hammell had with the girl — any idea what it was about?’
‘I know exactly what it was about.’
‘But you’re not going to tell me.’
‘No, I’m not — and there’s no point asking Ormiston, because I can tell you for a fact he doesn’t know.’
The two men sized one another up. If there had been a chessboard between them, they might have been readying to call a draw — another draw in an ever-lengthening line of them. Cafferty finished his drink and got to his feet. ‘One more?’ he asked, heading for the bar without waiting for a reply. Having ordered for both of them, he listened as the door behind him rattled open and then closed again. When he turned, Rebus was gone, leaving behind a half-full glass and the photo from the funeral.
A forest somewhere. .
As good a place as any. .
A forest. .
Back at his flat, Rebus tapped the number he had for Frank Hammell into his phone. It rang and rang without anyone answering. He tipped the dregs of the whisky bottle into his mouth and swallowed them down. He was standing by the living room window, its view unchanged. The two kids in the flat opposite were cross-legged on the carpet watching TV. He wondered what life held in store for them. An absent parent, perhaps. College or straight into work? Maybe unemployment. Meeting someone they really loved. And the last-chance saloon of IVF. Then they might become parents themselves, worrying about the future and wishing they could see what it held. His phone buzzed, Hammell’s name appearing on the screen. Rebus hesitated, then decided to answer.
‘I think we should meet,’ he said.
‘Why?’ The voice sounded dry and hollow.
‘Because I’ve heard about you and Darryl.’
‘I never want to hear that little prick’s name again!’
‘You might have to,’ Rebus stated calmly. ‘What’s more, I think it’ll be worth it.’
‘I’m not a grass, Rebus.’
‘I’m not asking you to be one. I just need you to answer a question — it’s not even a question about Darryl.’
‘And?’
‘And a spot of payback might well be forthcoming.’
There was silence on the line as Hammell considered this. Rebus listened to him exhale. ‘What’s the question?’
‘There may be a follow-up, depending on how you answer.’
‘Just ask me the damned question.’
‘Okay, then.’ One of the kids opposite had come to the window. They waved at Rebus. He waved back. ‘Where would you bury a body?’ he asked Hammell, as the kid waved again, this time with a huge gap-toothed grin.
A forest. .
Rebus was leaving his tenement building, pulling the door shut behind him, when he saw Siobhan Clarke standing on the pavement.
‘Got Page with you?’ he asked, looking to left and right.
‘No.’
‘So what can I do for you?’
‘I was a bit worried, that’s all.’
‘Worried?’
‘You’ve fallen off the radar.’
‘Maybe it escaped your attention, but I’m not on the books any more.’