Mortal Causes

Rebus wished the settlers well.

When they got to the Gar-B, Rebus gave the uniforms their instructions and sat in the back seat enjoying the stares of passers-by. They were away a while, but when they came back one of them was pulling a boy by his forearm and pushing the boy's bike. The other one had two kids, no bikes. Rebus looked at them. He recognised the one with the bike.

'You can let the others go,' he said. 'But him, I want in here with me.’

The boy got into the car reluctantly. His pals ran as soon as the officers released them. When they were far enough away, they turned to watch. They wanted to know what would happen.

'What's your name, son?’ Rebus asked.

'Jock.’

Maybe it was true and maybe it wasn't. Rebus wasn't bothered. 'Shouldn't you be at school, Jock?’

'We've no' started back yet.”

This too could be true; Rebus didn't know. 'Do you remember me, son?’

'It wasnae me did your tyres.’

Rebus shook his head. 'That's all right. I'm not here about that. But you remember when I came here?’

The boy nodded.

'Remember you were with a pal, and he thought I was someone else. Remember? He asked me where my flash car was.’

The boy shook his head. 'And you told him that I wasn't who he thought I was. Who did he think I was, son?’

'I don't know.’

'Yes you do.’

'I don't.’

'But someone a bit like me, eh? Similar build, age, height? Fancier clothes though, I'll bet.’

'Maybe.’

'What about his car, the swanky car?’

'A custom Merc.’

Rebus smiled. There were some things boys just had eyes and a memory for. 'What colour Merc?’

'Black, all of it. The windows too.’

'Seen him here a lot 'Don't know.’

'Nice car though, eh?’

The boy shrugged.

'Right, son, on you go.’

'The boy knew from the pleased look on the policeman's face that he'd made a mistake, that he'd somehow helped. His cheeks burned with shame. He snatched his bike from the constable and ran with it, looking back from time to time. His pals were waiting to question him.

'Get what you were looking for, sir?’ asked one of the uniforms, getting back into the car.

'Exactly what I was looking for,' said Rebus.

25

He went to see Mairie, but a friend was looking after her and Mairie herself was sleeping. The doctor had given her a few sleeping pills. Left alone in the flat with an unconscious Mairie, he could have gone through her notes and computer files, but the friend didn't even let him over the threshold. She had a pinched face with prominent cheeks and a few too many teeth in her quiet but determined mouth.

'Tell her I called,' Rebus said, giving up. He had retrieved his car from the back of the hotel. Cafferty would find him, with or without the rust-bucket to point the way. He drove to Fettes where DCI Kilpatrick had an update on the Clyde Moncur surveillance.

'He's acting the tourist, John, no more or less. He and his wife are admiring the sights, taking bus tours, buying souvenirs.’

Kilpatrick sat back in his chair. 'The men I put on it are restless. Like they say, it's hardly likely he's here on business when his wife's with him.’

'Or else it's the perfect cover.’

'A couple more days, John, that's all we can give it.’

'I I appreciate it, sir.’

'What about this body at the Crazy Hose?’

'Millie Docherty, sir.’

'Yes, any ideas?’

Rebus just shrugged. Kilpatrick didn't seem to expect an answer. Part of his mind was still on Calumn Smylie. They were about to open an internal inquiry. There would be questions to answer about the whole investigation.

'I hear you had a run in with Smylie,' Kilpatrick said.

So Ormiston had been talking. 'Just one of those things, sir.’

`Watch out for Smylie, John.’

'That's all I seem to do these days, sir, watch out for people.’

But he knew now that Smylie was the least of his problems.

At St Leonard's, Del Lauderdale was fighting his corner, arguing that his team should take on the Millie Docherty investigation from C Division. So he was too busy to come bothering Rebus, and that was fine by Rebus.

Officers were out at Lachlan Murdock's fiat, talking to him. He was being treated as a serious suspect now; you didn't lose two flatmates to hideous deaths and not come under the microscope. Murdock would be on the petri dish from now till the case reached some kind of conclusion. Rebus returned to his desk. Since he'd last been there, earlier in the day, people had started using it as a rubbish bin again.

He phoned London, and waited to be passed along the line. It was not a call he could have made from Fettes.

'Abernethy speaking.’

`About bloody time. It's DI Rebus here.’

'Well well. I wondered if I'd hear from you.’

Rebus could imagine Abernethy leaning back in his chair. Maybe his feet were up on the desk in front of him. 'I must have left a dozen messages, Abernethy.’

'I've been busy, what about you?’

Rebus stayed silent.

'So, Inspector Rebus, how can I help?’

'I've got a few questions. How much stuff is the Army losing?’

'You've lost me.’

`I don't think so.’

Someone walking past offered Rebus a cigarette. Without thinking he accepted it. But then the donor walked away, leaving Rebus without a light. He sucked on the filter anyway. `I think you know what I'm talking about.’

He opened the desk drawers, looking for matches or a lighter.

`Well, I don't.’

`I think material has been going missing.’

`Really?’

`Yes, really.’

Rebus waited. He didn't want to speculate too wildly, and he certainly didn't want Abernethy to know any more than was necessary. But there was silence on the other end of the line. `Or you suspect it's going missing.’

`That would be a matter for Army Intelligence or the security service.’

`Yes, but you're Special Branch, aren't you? You're the public arm of the security service. I think you came up here in a hurry because you damned well know what's going on. The question is, why did you disappear again in such a hurry too?’

`You've lost me again. Maybe I'd better pack my bag for a trip, what do you say?’

Rebus didn't say anything, he just put down the phone. 'Anyone got a light?’

Someone tossed a box of matches onto the desk. `Cheers.’

He lit the cigarette and inhaled, the smoke rattling his nerves like they were dice in a cup.

He knew Abernethy would come.

He kept moving, the most difficult kind of target. He was trusting to his instincts; after all, he had to trust something. Dr Curt was in his office at the university. To get to the once you had to walk past a row of wooden boxes marked with the words `Place Frozen Sections Here'. Rebus had never looked in the boxes. In the Pathology building, you kept your eyes front and your nostrils tight. They were doing some work in the quadrangle. Scaffolding had been erected, and a couple of workmen were belying their name by sitting on it smoking cigarettes and sharing a newspaper.

`Busy, busy, busy,' Curt said, when Rebus reached his office. `You know, most of the university staff are on holiday.

I've had postcards from the Gambia, Queensland, Florida.’

He sighed. 'I am cursed with a vocation while others get a vacation.’

'I bet you were awake all night thinking up that one.’

'I was awake half the night thanks to your discovery at the Crazy Hose Saloon.’

'Post-mortem?’

'Not yet complete. It was a corrosive of some kind, the lab will tell us exactly which. I am constantly surprised by the methods murderers will resort to. The fire hose was new to me.’

'Well, it stops the job becoming routine, I suppose.’

'How's Caroline?’

'I'd forgotten all about her.’