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Producing one of the weariest smiles he’d ever seen on a young man’s face.
The phone rang and he told it to get stuffed. Anyone wanted him that much, they’d try the cell. Sure enough, it rang thirty seconds later. He took his time picking it up: Ellen Wylie.
“Yes, Ellen?” he asked. Didn’t feel she needed to know he’d just been thinking of her.
“Only the one wee spot of trouble for Trevor Guest during his stay in our fine city.”
“Enlighten me.” He leaned his head against the back of the chair, letting his eyes close.
“Got into a fight on Ratcliffe Terrace. You know it?”
“Where the taxi drivers buy their gas. I was there last night.”
“There’s a pub across the street called Swany’s.”
“I’ve been in a few times.”
“Now there’s a surprise. Well, Guest went there at least the once. A drinker seemed to take against him, and it ended up outside. One of our cars happened to be in the garage forecourt-stocking up on provisions, no doubt. Both combatants were taken into custody for the night.”
“That was it?”
“Never went to court. Witnesses saw the other man swing the first punch. We asked Guest if he wanted to press charges, and he declined.”
“I don’t suppose you know what they were fighting about?”
“I could try asking the arresting officers.”
“I don’t suppose it matters. What was the other guy’s name?”
“Duncan Barclay.” She paused. “He wasn’t local though…gave an address in Coldstream. Is that in the Highlands?”
“Wrong end of the country, Ellen.” Rebus had opened his eyes, was easing himself upright. “It’s bang in the middle of the Borders.” He asked her to wait while he readied some paper and a pen, then picked up the phone again.
“Okay, give me what you’ve got,” he told her.
24
The driving range was floodlit. Not that it was completely dark yet, but the brilliance of the illumination made it look like a film set. Mairie had hired a three-wood and a basket containing fifty balls. The first two stalls were taken. Plenty of gaps after that. Automatic tees-meant you didn’t have to go to the trouble of bending down to replace the ball after each shot. The range was broken up into fifty-yard sections. Nobody was hitting 250. Out on the grass, a machine resembling a miniaturized combine-harvester was scooping up the balls, its driver protected by a mesh screen. Mairie saw that the very last stall was in use. The golfer there was getting a lesson. He addressed the tee, took a swing, and watched his ball hit the ground no more than seventy yards away.
“Better,” the instructor lied. “But try to focus on not bending that knee.”
“I’m scooping again?” his pupil guessed.
Mairie placed her metal basket on the ground, next stall over. Decided to take a few practice swings, loosen up her shoulders. Instructor and pupil seemed to resent her presence.
“Excuse me?” the instructor said. Mairie looked at him. He was smiling at her over the partition. “We actually booked that bay.”
“But you’re not using it,” Mairie informed him.
“Point is, we paid for it.”
“A matter of privacy,” the other man butted in, sounding irritated. Then he recognized Mairie.
“Oh, for pity’s sake…”
His instructor turned to him. “You know her, Mr. Pe
“She’s a bloody reporter,” Richard Pe
“Fine by me,” Mairie answered, readying for her first shot. The ball sailed into the air, making a clean, straight line to the 200-yard flag.
“Pretty good,” the instructor told her.
“My dad taught me,” she explained. “You’re a professional, aren’t you?” she asked. “I think I’ve seen you on the circuit.” He nodded his agreement.
“Not at the Open?”
“Didn’t qualify,” he admitted, cheeks reddening.
“If the two of you have finished,” Richard Pe
Mairie just shrugged and prepared for another shot. Pe
“Look,” he said, “what the hell do you want?”
Mairie said nothing until she’d watched her ball sail into the sky, dropping just short of 200 and a little to the left.
“Bit of fine-tuning needed,” she told herself. Then, to Pe
“Fair warning of what exactly?”
“Probably won’t make the paper till Monday,” she mused. “Time enough for you to prepare some sort of response.”
“Are you baiting me, Miss…?”
“ Henderson,” she told him. “Mairie Henderson-that’s the byline you’ll read on Monday.”
“And what will the headline be? ‘Pe
“That one might make the business pages,” she decided. “But mine will be page one. Up to the editor how he phrases it.” She pretended to think. “How about ‘Loans Scandal Envelops Government and Opposition’?”
Pe
“I daresay there’s plenty of other stuff to come out in the wash: your efforts in Iraq, your bribes in Kenya and elsewhere. But for now, I think I’ll stick with the loans. See, a little birdie tells me that you’ve been bankrolling both Labor and the Tories. Donations are a matter of record, but loans can be kept hush-hush. Thing is, I very much doubt either party knows you’re backing the other. Makes sense to me: Pe
“There’s nothing illegal about commercial loans, Miss Henderson, secret or not.” Pe
“Doesn’t stop it from being a scandal, once the papers get hold of it,” Mairie retorted. “And like I say, who knows what else will come bubbling to the surface?”
Pe
“We all have our place in the food chain, Mr. Pe
“Any trouble here, sir?”
Mairie turned to see three police uniforms. The one who’d spoken was looking at Pe
Unfriendly eyes.
“I think this woman was just leaving,” Pe
Mairie made a show of peering over the partition. “Got a magic lamp there or something? Any time I’ve ever called the cops, they’ve taken half an hour.”
“Routine patrol,” the group’s leader stated.
Mairie looked him up and down: no markings on his uniform. The face ta
“One question,” she said. “Do any of you know the penalty for impersonating a police officer?”
The leader scowled and made a grab at her. Mairie wriggled free and ran from the safety of the driving area onto the grass surface itself. Fled toward the exit, dodging shots from the first two bays, the players yelling in outrage. She reached the door just before her pursuers. The woman at the register asked where her three-wood was. Mairie didn’t answer. Pushed open another door and found herself in the parking lot. Ran to her car, stabbing the remote. No time to look around. Into the driver’s seat and all four doors locked. Key in the ignition. A fist thumping at her window. The lead uniform trying the handle, then shuffling around to the front of the car. Mairie gave him a look that said she didn’t care. Gu
“Watch out, Jacko! The bint’s crazy!”
Jacko had to dive sideways; that or be killed. In the wing mirror, she could see him picking himself up. A car had drawn up alongside him. No markings on it either. Mairie screamed out onto the main highway-airport to her left, city to the right. The road back into Edinburgh gave her more options, more chances to lose them.