Hide & Seek

‘Thank you.’ The room was musty, and smelled of old people’s medicaments. It was comfortably furnished, with a deep sofa and two robust armchairs. Books lay behind glass along one wall. Some uninspired watercolours stopped the other walls from seeming bare. There were ornaments everywhere. Those on the mantelpiece caught Rebus’s eye. There wasn’t a spare centimetre of space on the deep wooden mantelpiece, and the ornaments were exotic. Rebus could identify African, Caribbean, Asian and Oriental influences, without being able to pinpoint any one country for any one piece.

Vanderhyde flopped into a chair. It struck Rebus that there .were no occasional tables scattered through the room, no extraneous furniture into which the blind man might bump.

‘Nick-nacks, Inspector. Gewgaws collected on my travels as a younger man.’

‘Evidence of a lot of travel.’

‘Evidence of a magpie mind,’ Vanderhyde corrected. ‘Would you care for some tea?’

‘No, thank you, sir.’

‘Something a little stronger perhaps?’

‘Thank you, but no.’ Rebus smiled. ‘I’d a bit too much last night.’

‘Your smile comes over in your voice.’

‘You don’t seem curious as to why I’m here, Mr Vanderhyde.’

‘Perhaps that’s because I know, Inspector. Or, perhaps it’s because my patience is limitless. Time doesn’t mean as much to me as to most people. I’m in no hurry for your explanations. I’m not a clock watcher, you see.’ He was smiling again, eyes fixed somewhere just right of Rebus and above him. Rebus stayed silent, inviting further speculation. ‘Then again,’ Vanderhyde continued, ’since I no longer go out, and have few visitors, and since I have never to my knowledge broken the laws of the land, that

certainly narrows the possible reasons for your visit. You’re sure you won’t have some tea?’

‘Don’t let me stop you making some for yourself.’ Rebus had spotted the near-empty mug sitting on the floor beside the old man’s chair. He looked down around his own chair. Another mug sat on the muted pattern of the carpet. He reached a silent arm down towards it. There was a slight warmth on the base of the mug, a warmth on the carpet beneath.

‘No,’ Vanderhyde said. ‘I had one just recently. As did my visitor.’

‘Visitor?’ Rebus sounded surprised. The old man smiled, giving a slight and indulgent shake of his head. Rebus, feeling caught, decided to push on anyway. ‘I thought you said you didn’t get many visitors?’

‘No, I don’t recall quite saying that. Still, it happens to be true. Today is the exception that proves the rule. Two visitors.’

‘Might I ask who the other visitor was?’

‘Might I ask, Inspector, why you’re here?’

It was Rebus’s turn to smile, nodding to himself. The blood was rising in the old man’s cheeks. Rebus had succeeded in riling him.

‘Well?’ There was impatience in Vanderhyde’s voice.

‘Well, sir.’ Rebus deliberately pulled himself out of the chair and began to circuit the room. ‘I came across your name in an undergraduate essay on the occult. Does that surprise you?’

The old man considered this. ‘It pleases me slightly. I do have an ego that needs feeding, after all.’

‘But it doesn’t surprise you?’ Vanderhyde shrugged. ‘This essay mentioned you in connection with the workings of an Edinburgh-based group, a sort of coven, working in the nineteen sixties.’

‘ “Coven” is an inexact term, but never mind.’

‘You were involved in it?’

‘I don’t deny the fact.’

‘Well, while we’re dealing in fact, you were, more correctly, its guiding light. “Light” may be an inexact term.’

Vanderhyde laughed, a piping, discomfiting sound. ‘Touche, Inspector. Indeed, touche. Do continue.’

‘Finding your address wasn’t difficult. Not too many Vanderhydes in the phone book.’

‘My kin are based in London.’

‘The reason for my visit, Mr Vanderhyde, is a murder, or at the very least a case of tampering with evidence at the scene of a death.’

‘Intriguing.’ Vanderhyde put his hands together, fingertips to his lips. It was hard to believe the man was sightless. Rebus’s movements around the room were failing to have any effect on Vanderhyde at all.

‘The body was discovered lying with arms stretched wide, legs together -’

‘Naked?’

‘No, not quite. Shirtless. Candles had been burning either side of the body, and a pentagram had been painted on one wall.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No. There were some syringes in a jar by the body.’

‘The death was caused by an overdose of drugs?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm.’ Vanderhyde rose from his chair and walked unerringly to the bookcase. He did not open it, but stood as though staring at the titles. ‘If we’re dealing with a sacrifice, Inspector - I take it that’s your theory?’

‘One of many, sir.’

‘Well, if we are dealing with a sacrifice, then the means of death are quite unusual. No, more than that, are unheard of. To begin with, very few Satanists would ever contemplate a human sacrifice. Plenty of psychopaths have carried out murder and then excused it as ritual, but