Hide & Seek

The boy’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re a photographer, are you? Like to take a few snaps? I see.’ He nodded slowly. Rebus doubted that he did see, but wasn’t about to say more than was necessary. And yes, that Jag was nice. New-looking. Paintwork brightly reflective. Someone with a bit of money. And dear God why did he have an erection?

‘I think I know which Ronnie you mean now,’ said the boy. ‘I haven’t seen him around much myself.’

‘So what can you tell me about him?’

The boy was staring out of the windscreen again. ‘Great view from here, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Even at night. Especially at night. Amazing. I hardly ever come here in the daytime. It all looks so ordinary. You’re a copper, aren’t you?’

Rebus looked towards him, but the boy was still staring out of the windscreen, smiling, unconcerned.

‘Thought you were,’ he went on. ‘Right from the start.’

‘So why did you get in the car?’

‘Curious, I suppose. Besides,’ and now he looked towards Rebus, ’some of my best customers are officers of the law.’

‘Well, that’s none of my concern.’

‘No? It should be. I’m underage, you know.’

‘I guessed.’

‘Yeah, well. . . .’ The boy slumped in his seat, putting his feet up on the dashboard. For a moment, Rebus thought he was about to do something, and jerked himself upright. But the boy just laughed.

‘What did you think? Think I was going to touch you again? Eh? No such luck, James.’

‘So what about Ronnie?’ Rebus wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch this rather ugly little kid in the gut, or take him to a good and a caring home. But he knew, above all, that he wanted answers.

‘Give me another ciggie.’ Rebus obliged. ‘Ta. Why are you so interested in him?’

‘Because he’s dead.’

‘Happens all the time.’

‘He overdosed.’

‘Ditto.’

‘The stuff was lethal.’

The boy was silent for a moment.

‘Now that is bad news.’

‘Has there been any poisoned stuff going around recently?’

‘No.’ He smiled again. ‘Only good stuff. Got any on you?’ Rebus shook his head, thinking: I do want to punch him in the gut. ‘Pity,’ said the boy.

‘What’s your name, by the way?’

‘No names, James, and no pack drill.’ He put out his hand, palm up. ‘I need some money.’

‘I need some answers first.’

‘So give me the questions. But first, a little goodwill, eh?’ The hand was still there, expectant as any father-to-be. Rebus found a crumpled tenner in his jacket and handed it over. The boy seemed satisfied. ‘This gets you the answers to two questions.’

Rebus’s anger ignited. ‘It gets me as many answers as I want, or so help me -’

‘Rough trade? That your game?’ The boy seemed unconcerned. Maybe he’d heard it all before. Rebus wondered.

‘Is there much rough stuff goes on?’ he asked.

‘Not much.’ the boy paused. ‘But still too much.’

‘Ronnie was into it, wasn’t he?’

‘That’s your second question,’ stated the boy. ‘And the answer is, I don’t know.’

‘Don’t knows don’t count,’ said Rebus. ‘And I’ve got plenty of questions left.’

‘Okay, if that’s the way -’ The boy was reaching for the door handle, ready to walk away from it all. Rebus grabbed him by the neck and brought his head down against the dashboard, right between where both feet were still resting.

‘Jesus Christ!’ The boy checked for blood on his forehead. There was none. Rebus was pleased with himself: maximum shock, minimum visible damage. ‘You can’t -’

‘I can do anything I like, son, and that includes tipping you over the edge of the highest point in the city. Now tell me about Ronnie.’

‘I can’t tell you about Ronnie.’ There were tears in his eyes now. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to erase the hurt. ‘I didn’t know him well enough.’

‘So tell me what you do know.’

‘Okay, okay.’ He sniffed, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘All I know is that a few friends of mine have gotten into a scene.’

‘What scene?’

‘I don’t know. Something heavy. They don’t talk about it, but the marks are there. Bruises, cuts. One of them ended up in the Infirmary for a week. Said he fell down the stairs. Christ, he looked like he fell down a whole high-rise.’

‘But nobody’s talking?’

‘There must be good money in it somewhere.’

‘Anything else?’

‘It may not be important. .. .’ The kid had broken. Rebus could hear it in his voice. He’d talk from now till judgment day. Good: Rebus didn’t have too many ears in

this part of the city. A fresh pair might make all the difference.

‘What?’ he barked, enjoying his role now.

‘Photographs. Somebody’s putting a whisper around that there’s interest in photographs. Not faked ones, either. The real McCoy.’

‘Porn shots?’

‘I suppose so. The rumours have been a bit vague. Rumours get that way when they’ve gone past being second-hand.’

‘Chinese whispers,’ said Rebus. He was thinking: this whole thing is like a game of Chinese whispers, everything at second and third remove, nothing absolutely proof positive.

‘What?’

‘Never mind. Anything else?’