Mortal Causes

Patience called.

'Not yet. Have you?’

'No, shall I stick something in the microwave?’

'Sure, great.’

He added foam-bath to the water.

'Pizza?’

'Whatever.’

She didn't sound too bad. That was the thing about being a doctor, you saw so much pain every day, it was easy to shrug off the more minor ailments like arguments at home and suspected infidelities. Rebus stripped off his clothes and dumped them in the laundry basket. Patience knocked again..

'By the way, what are you doing tomorrow?’

'You mean tomorrow night?’ he called back.

'Yes.’

'Nothing I know of. I might be working…’

'You better not be. I've invited the Bremners to di

'Oh, good,' said Rebus, putting his foot in the water without checking the temperature. The water was scalding. He lifted the foot out again and screamed silently at the mirror.

20

They had breakfast together, talking around things, their conversation that of acquaintances rather then lovers. Neither spoke his or her thoughts. We Scots, Rebus thought, we're not very good at going public. We store up our true feelings like fuel for long winter nights of whisky and recrimination. So little of us ever reaches the surface, it's a wonder we exist at all.

'Another cup?’

'Please, Patience.’

'You'll be here tonight,' she said. 'You won't be working.’

It was neither question nor order, not explicitly.

So he tried phoning Caro from Fettes, but now she was the one having messages left for her: one on her answering machine at home, one with a colleague at her office. He couldn't just say, 'I'm not coming', not even to a piece of recording tape. So he'd just asked her to get in touch. Caro Rattray, elegant, apparently available, and mad about him. There was something of the mad in her, something vertiginous. You spent time with her and you were standing on a cliff edge. And where was Caro? She was standing right behind you.

When his phone rang, he leapt for it.

'Inspector Rebus?’

The voice was male, familiar.

‘Speaking.’

'It's Lachlan Murdock.’

Lachlan: no wonder he used his last name.

'What can I do for you, Mr Murdock?’

'You saw Millie recently, didn't you?’

'Yes, why?’

`She's gone.’

`Gone where?’

'I don't know. What the hell did you say to her?’

'Are you at your flat?’

`Yes.’

'I'm coming over.’

He went alone, knowing he should take some back-up, but loath to approach anyone. Out of the four – Ormiston, Blackwood, `Bloody' Claverhouse, Smylie – Smylie would still be his choice, but Smylie was as predictable as the Edinburgh weather, even now turning overcast. The pavements were still Festival busy, but not for much longer, and as recompense September would be quiet. It was the city's secret month, a retreat from public into private.

As if to reassure him, the cloud swept away again and the sun appeared. He wound down his window, until the bus fumes made him roll it back up again. The back of the bus advertised the local newspaper, which led him to thoughts of Mairie Henderson. He needed to find her, and it wasn't often a policeman thought that about a reporter.

He parked the car as close to Murdock's tenement as he could find a space, pressed the intercom button beside the main door, and got the answering buzz which unlocked the door.

Your feet made the same sound on every tenement stairwell, like sandpaper on a church floor. Murdock had opened the door to his flat. Rebus walked in, Lachlan Murdock did not look in good fettle. His hair was sprouting in clumps from his head, and he pulled on his beard like it was a fake he'd glued on too well. They were in the living room. Rebus sat down in front of the TV. It was where Millie had been sitting the first time he'd visited. The ashtray was still there, but the sleeping bag had gone.,And so had Millie.

`I haven't seen her since yesterday.’

Murdock was standing, and showed no sign of sitting down. He walked to the window, looked out, came back to the fireplace. -His eyes were everywhere that wasn't Rebus.

`Morning or evening?’

`Morning. I got back last night and she'd packed and left.’

`Packed?’

'Not everything, just a holdall. I thought maybe she'd gone to see a pal, she does that sometimes.’

'Not this time?’

Murdock shook his head. 'I phoned Steve at her work this morning; and he said the police had been to see her yesterday, a young woman and an older man. I thought of you. Steve said she was in a terrible state afterwards, she'd to come home early. What did you say to her?’

`Just a few questions about Billy.’

'Billy.’

The dismissive shake of the head told Rebus something.

`She got on better with Billy than you did, Mr Murdock?’

'I didn't dislike the guy.’

`Was there anything between the two of them?’

But Murdock wasn't about to answer that. He paced the room again, flapping his arms as though attempting flight. `She hasn't been the same since he died.’

'It was upsetting for her.’

`Yes, it was. But to run off…’

'Can I see her room?’

`What?’

Rebus smiled. 'It's what we usually do when someone goes missing.’

Murdock shook his head again. `She wouldn't want that. What if she comes back, and sees someone's been through her- stuff? No, I can't let you do that.’

Murdock looked ready for physical resistance if necessary.

'I can't force you,' Rebus said calmly. 'Tell me a bit more about Billy.’

This quietened Murdock. 'Like what?’

'Did he like computers?’

'Billy? He liked video games, so long as they were violent. I don't know, I suppose he was interested in computers.’

'He could work one?’

'Just about. What are you getting at?’

'Just interested. Three people sharing a flat, two of them work with computers, the third doesn't.’

Murdock nodded. 'You're wondering what we had in common. Look around the city, Inspector, you'll see flats full of people who're only there because they need a room or the rent money. In an ideal world, I wouldn't have needed someone in the spare room at all.’

Rebus nodded. 'So what should we do about Miss Docherty?’

'What?’

'You called me, I came, where do we go from here?’

Murdock shrugged. 'Normally we'd wait another day or so before listing her missing.’

He paused. 'Unless there's reason to suspect foul play.’

Murdock seemed lost in thought, then recovered. 'Let's wait another day then.’

He started nodding. 'Maybe I'm overreacting. I just… when Steve told me…’

'I'm sure it wasn't anything I said to her,,' Rebus lied, getting to his feet. 'Can I have another look at Billy's room while I'm here?’

'It's been gutted.’

'Just to refresh my memory.’

Murdock said nothing. 'Thanks,' said Rebus.

The small room had indeed been gutted, the bed stripped of duvet and sheet and pillowcase, though the pillow still lay there. It was stained brown, leaking feathers. The bare mattress was pale blue with similar brown patches. There seemed a little more space in the room, but not much. Still, Rebus doubted Murdock would have any trouble finding a new tenant, not with the student season approaching.

He opened the wardrobe to a clanging of empty wire hangers. There was a fresh sheet of newspaper on the floor. He closed the wardrobe door. Between the corner of the bed and the wardrobe there was a clear patch of carpet. It lay hard up against the skirting-board beneath the still unwashed window. Rebus crouched down and tugged at the carpet's edge. It wasn't tacked, and lifted an inch or so. He ran his fingers underneath it, finding nothing. Still crouched, he lifted the mattress, but saw only bedsprings and the carpet beneath, thick balls of dust and hair marking the furthest reach of the hoover.