‘But to answer your question, the only person around here who seems to have a problem with Ellen Wylie is Ellen Wylie herself.’
Her hand had gone to her face, as if trying to force the blood back down. ‘Tell that to Gill Templer,’ she said at last.
‘Gill ballsed things up. It’s not the end of the world.’ His phone was ringing. He started backing towards his desk. ‘Okay?’ he said. When she nodded, he turned away and answered the call. It was Huntingtower. They’d found the coffin in a cellar used for lost property. A couple of decades’ worth of umbrellas and pairs of spectacles, hats and coats and cameras.
‘Amazing, the stuff down there,’ Mr Ballantine said. But all Rebus was interested in was the coffin.
‘Can you post it next-day delivery? I’ll see you get a refund...’
By the time Devlin came back in, Rebus was on the trail of the Dunfermline coffin, but this time he hit a wall. Nobody — local press, police — seemed to know what had happened to it. Rebus got a couple of promises that questions would be asked, but he didn’t hold out much hope. Nearly thirty years had passed; unlikely it would turn up. At the other desk, Devlin was clapping his hands silently as Wylie finished another call. She looked across to Rebus.
‘Post-mortem report on Hazel Gibbs is on its way,’ she said. Rebus held her gaze for a few moments, then nodded slowly and smiled. His phone went again. This time it was Siobhan.
‘I’m going to talk to David Costello,’ she said. ‘If you’re not doing anything.’
‘I thought you’d paired up with Grant?’
‘DCS Templer has snared him for a couple of hours.’
‘Has she now? Maybe she’s offering him your liaison job.’
‘I refuse to let you wind me up. Now, are you coming or not...?’
Costello was in his flat. When he opened the door to them, he looked startled. Siobhan assured him that it wasn’t bad news. He didn’t seem to believe her.
‘Can we come in, David?’ Rebus asked. Costello looked at him for the first time, then nodded slowly. To Rebus’s eyes, he was wearing the same clothes as on his last visit, and the living room didn’t seem to have been tidied in the interim. The young man was growing a beard, too, but seemed self-conscious, rubbing his fingertips against its grain.
‘Is there any news at all?’ he asked, slumping on to the futon, while Rebus and Siobhan stayed standing.
‘Bits and pieces,’ Rebus said.
‘But you can’t go into details?’ Costello kept shifting, trying to get comfortable.
‘Actually, David,’ Siobhan said, ‘the details — some of them at least — are the reason we’re here.’ She handed him a sheet of paper.
‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘It’s the first clue from a game. A game we think Flip was playing.’
Costello sat forward, looked at the message again. ‘What sort of game?’
‘Something she found on the Internet. It’s run by someone called Quizmaster. Solving each clue takes the player to a new level. Flip was working on a level called Hellbank. Maybe she’d solved it, we don’t know.’
‘Flip?’ Costello sounded sceptical.
‘You’ve never heard of it?’
He shook his head. ‘She didn’t say a word.’ He looked across towards Rebus, but Rebus had picked up a poetry book.
‘Was she interested in games at all?’ Siobhan asked.
Costello shrugged. ‘Dinner-party stuff. You know: charades and the like. Maybe Trivial Pursuit or Taboo.’
‘But not fantasy games? Role-playing?’
He shook his head slowly.
‘Nothing on the Internet?’
He rubbed at his bristles again. ‘This is news to me.’ He looked from Siobhan to Rebus and back again. ‘You’re sure this was Flip?’
‘We’re pretty sure,’ Siobhan stated.
‘And you think it has something to do with her disappearance?’
Siobhan just shrugged, and glanced in Rebus’s direction, wondering if he had anything to add. But Rebus was busy with his own thoughts. He was remembering what Flip Balfour’s mother had said about Costello, about how he’d turned Flip against her family. And when Rebus had asked why, she’d said: Because of who he is.
‘Interesting poem, this,’ he said, waving the book. It was more of a pamphlet really, pink cover with a line-drawing illustration. Then he recited a couple of lines:
Rebus closed the book, put it down. ‘I’d never thought of it like that before,’ he said, ‘but it’s true.’ He paused to light a cigarette. ‘Do you remember when we talked, David?’ He inhaled, then thought to offer the packet to Costello, who shook his head. The half-bottle of whisky was empty, as were half a dozen cans of lager. Rebus could see them on the floor near the kitchen, along with mugs, plates and forks, the wrappings from takeaway food. He hadn’t taken Costello for a drinker; maybe he’d have to revise that opinion. ‘I asked you if Flip might have met someone, and you said something about how she’d have told you. You said she couldn’t keep things to herself.’
Costello was nodding.
‘And yet here’s this game she was playing. Not an easy game either, lots of puzzles and word-play. She might have needed help.’
‘She didn’t get it from me.’
‘And she never mentioned the Internet, or anyone called Quizmaster?’
He shook his head. ‘Who is he anyway, this Quizmaster?’
‘We don’t know,’ Siobhan admitted. She’d walked over to the bookshelf.
‘But he should come forward, surely?’
‘We’d like him to.’ Siobhan lifted the toy soldier from the shelf. ‘This is a gaming piece, isn’t it?’
Costello turned his head to look. ‘Is it?’
‘You don’t play?’
‘I’m not even sure where it came from.’
‘Been in the wars though,’ Siobhan said, studying the broken musket.
Rebus looked over to where Costello’s own computer — a laptop — sat ready and waiting. There were textbooks on the worktop next to it, and on the floor underneath a printer. ‘I take it you’re on the Internet yourself, David?’ he asked.
‘Isn’t everybody?’
Siobhan forced a smile, put the toy soldier back. ‘DI Rebus here is still wrestling with electric typewriters.’
Rebus saw what she was doing: trying to soften Costello up, using Rebus as the comedy prop.
‘To me,’ he said, ‘the Internet is what the Milan goalie tries to defend.’
This got a smile from Costello. Because of who he is... But who was David Costello really? Rebus was beginning to wonder.
‘If Flip kept this from you, David,’ Siobhan was saying now, ‘might there be other things she kept secret?’
Costello nodded again. He was still shifting on the futon, as if he’d never again be at rest. ‘Maybe I didn’t know her at all,’ he conceded. He studied the clue again. ‘What does it mean, do you know?’
‘Siobhan worked it out,’ Rebus admitted. ‘But all it did was lead her to a second clue.’
Siobhan handed over the copy of the second note. ‘It makes less sense than the first,’ Costello said. ‘I really can’t believe it of Flip. It’s not her sort of thing at all.’ He made to hand the note back.
‘What about her other friends?’ Siobhan asked. ‘Do any of them like games, puzzles?’
Costello’s eyes fixed on her. ‘You think one of them could...?’
‘All I’m wondering is whether Flip might have gone to anyone else for help.’
Costello was thoughtful. ‘No one,’ he said at last. ‘No one I can think of.’ Siobhan took the second note from him. ‘What about this one?’ he asked. ‘Do you know what it means?’