Mortal Causes

'I'm telling you nothing.’

Rebus smiled. 'You're just snot, Kevin. Worse, you're hired snot.’

He made to pat Kevin Strang's face, but Strang flinched, staggered back, and hit the spittoon. They watched it tip with a crash to the floor, rock to and fro, and then lie there. Nothing happened for a second, then with a wet sucking sound a thick roll of something barely liquid oozed out. Everyone looked away. The only thing Strang found to look at was Rebus. He swallowed.

'Look, I had to tell Mr Bothwell, just to cover myself. If I hadn't told him, and he'd found out…’

'What did he say?’

'He just shrugged, said she was my responsibility.’

He shuddered at the memory.

'Where were you when you told him?’

'In the office, off the foyer.’

'This morning?’

Strang nodded. 'Tell me, Kevin, did Mr Bothwell go check out the lodger?’

Strang looked down at his empty glass. It was answer enough for Rebus.

There were strict rules covering the investigation of a serious crime such as murder. For one, Rebus should talk to the officer in charge and tell him everything he knew about Millie Docherty. For two, he should also mention his conversation with Kevin Strang. For three, he should then leave well alone and let C Division get on with it.

But at two in the morning, he was parked outside Frankie Bothwell's house in Ravelston Dykes, giving serious thought to going and ringing the doorbell. If nothing else, he might learn whether Bothwell's night attire was as gaudy as his daywear. But he dismissed the idea. For one thing, C Division would be speaking with Bothwell before the night was out, always supposing they managed to get hold of him. They would not want to be told by Bothwell that Rebus had beaten them to it.

For another, he was too late. He heard the garage doors lift automatically, and saw the dipped headlights as Bothwell's car, a gloss-black Merc with custom bodywork, bounced down off the kerb onto the road and sped away.

So he'd finally got the message, and was on his way to the Hose. Either that or he was fleeing.

Rebus made a mental note to do yet more digging on Lee Francis Bothwell.

But for now, he was relieved the situation had been taken out of his hands. He drove back to Oxford Terrace at a sedate pace, trying hard not to fall asleep at the wheel. No one was waiting in ambush outside, so he let himself in quietly and went to the living room, his body too tired to stay awake but his mind too busy for sleep. Well, he had a cure for that: a mug of milky tea with a dollop of whisky in it. But there was a note on the sofa in Patience's handwriting. Her writing was better than most doctors', but not by much. Eventually Rebus deciphered it, picked up the phone, and called Brian Holmes.

'Sorry, Brian, but the note said to call whatever the time.’

'Hold on a sec.’

He could hear Holmes getting out of bed, taking the cordless phone with him. Rebus imagined Nell Stapleton awake in the bed, rolling back over to sleep and cursing his name. The bedroom door closed. 'Okay,' said Holmes, 'I can talk now.’

'What's so urgent? Is it about our friend?’

'No, all's quiet on that front. I'll tell you about it in the morning. But I was wondering if you'd heard the news?’

'I was the one who found her.’

Rebus heard a fridge opening, a bottle being taken out, something poured into a glass.

'Found who?’

Brian asked.

'Millie Docherty. Isn't that what we're talking about?’

But of course it wasn't; Brian couldn't possibly know so soon. 'She's dead, murdered.’

'They're piling up, aren't they? What happened to her?’

'It's not a bedtime story. So what's your news?’

"A breakout from Barli

Rebus sat down on the sofa. 'Cafferty?’

'He does a good impersonation of a perforated ulcer. It happened this evening. The prison van was sandwiched between two lorries. Masks, sawn-offs and a miracle recovery.’

'Oh Christ.’

'Don't worry, there are patrols all up and down the M8.’

'If he's coming back to Edinburgh, that's the last road he'll use.’

'You think he'll come back?’

'Get a grip, Brian, of course he's coming back. He's going to have to kill whoever butchered his son.’

24

He didn't get much sleep that night, in spite of the tea and whisky. He sat by the recessed bedroom window wondering when Cafferty would come. He kept his eyes on the stairwell outside until dawn came. His mind made up, he started packing. Patience sat up in bed.

'I hope you've left a note,' she said.

'We're both leaving, only not together. What's the score in an emergency?’

'My dream was making more sense than this.’

'Say you had to go away at very short notice?’

She was rubbing her hair, yawning. 'Someone would cover for me. What did you have in mind, elopement?’

'I'll put the kettle on.’

When he came back from the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee, she was in the shower.

'What's happening?’ she asked afterwards, rubbing herself dry.

'You're going to your sister's,' he told her. 'So drink your coffee, phone her, get dressed, and start packing.’

She took the mug from him. 'In that order?’

'Any order you like.’

'And where are you going?’

'Somewhere else.’

'Who'll feed the pets?’

'I'll get someone to do it, don't worry.’

'I'm not worried.’

She took a sip of coffee. 'Yes I am. What is going on?’

'A bad man's coming to town.’ Something struck him. 'There you are, that's another old film I like: High Noon.’

Rebus booked into a small hotel in Bruntsfield. He knew the night manager and phoned first, checking they had a room.

'You're lucky, we've one single.’

'How come you're not full?’

'The old gent who was in it, he's been coming here for years, he died of a stroke yesterday afternoon.’

'Oh.’

'You're not superstitious or anything?’

'Not if it's your only room.’

He climbed the steps to street level and looked around. When he was happy, he gestured for Patience to join him. She carried a couple of bags. Rebus was already holding her small suitcase. They put the stuff in the back of her car and embraced hurriedly.

'I'll call you,' he said. 'Don't try phoning me.’

'John…’

'Trust me on this if on nothing else, Patience, please.’

He watched her drive off, then hung around to make sure no one was following her. Not that he could be absolutely sure. They could pick her up on Queensferry Road. Cafferty wouldn't hesitate to use her, or anyone, to get to him. Rebus got his own bag from the flat, locked the flat tight, and headed for his car. On the way he stopped at the next door neighbour's door, dropping an envelope through the letterbox. Inside were keys to the flat and feeding instructions for Lucky the cat, the budgie with no name, and Patience's goldfish.

It was still early morning, the quiet streets unsuitable for a tail. Even so, he took every back route he could think of. The hotel was just a big family house really, converted into a small family hotel. Out front, where a garden once separated it from the pavement, tarmac had been laid, making a car park for half a dozen cars. But Rebus drove round the back and parked where the staff parked. Monty, the night manager, brought him in the back way, then led him straight up to his room. It was at the top of the house,, all the way up one of the creakiest staircases Rebus had ever climbed. No one would be able to tiptoe up there without him and the woodworm knowing about it.

He lay on the solid bed wondering if lying on a dead man's bed was like stepping into his shoes. Then he started to think about Caferty. He knew he was taking half measures only. How hard would it be for Cafferty to track him down? A few men staked outside Fettes and St Leonard's and in a few well-chosen pubs, and Rebus would be in the gangster's hands by the end of the day. Fine, he just didn't want Patience involved, or Patience's home, or those of his friends.