Hide & Seek

‘I don’t know.’ He put the desk sergeant’s tie in his pocket. ‘Maybe I’ll tie up a few loose ends.’ McCall was pouring out a measure of whisky as Rebus left, but the parting shot, called from the staircase, was loud enough for him to hear.

‘Maybe I’ll just go to the devil!’

‘Yes, a simple pentangle.’

The psychologist, Dr Poole, who wasn’t really a psychologist, but rather, he had explained, a lecturer in psychology, quite a different thing, studied the photographs carefully, bottom lip curling up to cover his top lip in a sign of confident recognition. Rebus played with the empty envelope and stared out of the office window. The day was bright, and some students were lying in George Square Gardens, sharing bottles of wine, their text books forgotten.

Rebus felt uncomfortable. Institutes of higher education, from the simplest college up to the present confines of the University of Edinburgh, made him feel stupid. He felt that his every movement, every utterance, was being judged and interpreted, marking him down as a clever man who could have been cleverer, given the breaks.

‘When I returned to the house,’ he said, ’someone had drawn some symbols between the two circles. Signs of the zodiac, that sort of thing.’

Rebus watched as the psychologist went over to the bookshelves and began to browse. It had been easy to find this man. Making use of him might be more difficult.

‘Probably the usual arcana,’ Dr Poole was saying, finding the page he wanted and bringing it back to the desk to show Rebus. ‘This sort of thing?’

‘Yes, that’s it.’ Rebus studied the illustration. The pentagram was not identical to the one he had seen, but the differences were slight. ‘Tell me, are many people interested in the occult?’

‘You mean in Edinburgh?’ Poole sat down again, pushing his glasses back up his nose. ‘Oh yes. Plenty. Look at how well films about the devil do at the box office.’

Rebus smiled. ‘Yes, I used to like horror films myself. But I mean an active interest.’

The lecturer smiled. ‘I know you do. I was being facetious. So many people think that’s what the occult is about - bringing Old Nick back to life. There’s much more to it, believe me, Inspector. Or much less to it, depending on your point of view.’

Rebus tried to work out what this meant. ‘You know occultists?’ he said meantime.

‘I know of occultists, practising covens of white and black witches.’

‘Here? In Edinburgh?’

Poole smiled again. ‘Oh yes. Right here. There are six working covens in and around Edinburgh.’ He paused,

and Rebus could almost see him doing a recount. ‘Seven, perhaps. Fortunately, most of these practise white magic’

‘That’s using the occult as a supposed force for good, right?’

‘Quite correct.’

‘And black magic .. .?’

The lecturer sighed. He suddenly became interested in the scene from his window. A summer’s day. Rebus was remembering something. A long time ago, he’d bought a book of paintings by H.R. Giger, paintings of Satan flanked by vestal whores. … He couldn’t say why he’d done it, but it must still be somewhere in the flat. He remembered hiding it from Rhona.. . .

‘There is one coven in Edinburgh,’ Poole was saying. ‘A black coven.’

‘Tell me, do they … do they make sacrifices?’

Dr Poole shrugged. ‘We all make sacrifices.’ But, seeing that Rebus was not laughing at his little joke, he straightened in his chair, his face becoming more serious. ‘Probably they do, some token. A rat, a mouse, a chicken. It may not even go that far. They could use something symbolic, I really don’t know.’

Rebus tapped one of the photographs which were spread across the desk. ‘In the house where we found this pentagram, we also found a body. A dead body, in case you were wondering.’ He brought these photographs out now. Dr Poole frowned as he glanced at them. ‘Dead from a heroin overdose. Laid out with legs together, arms apart. The body was lying between two candles, which had burned down to nothing. Mean anything to you?’

Poole looked horror-struck. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But you think that Satanists. . ..’

T don’t think anything, sir. I’m just trying to piece things together, going through all the possibilities.’

Poole thought for a moment. ‘One of our students might

be of more use to you than I can. I’d no idea we were talking about a death. …’

‘A student?’

‘Yes. I only know him vaguely. He seems very interested in the occult, wrote rather a long and knowledgeable essay this term. Wants to do some project on demonism. He’s a second-year student. They have to do a project over the summer. Yes, maybe he can give you more help than I’m able to.’

‘And his name is .. .?’

‘Well, his surname escapes me for the moment. He usually just calls himself by his first name. Charles.’

‘Charles?’

‘Or maybe Charlie. Yes, Charlie, that’s it.’

Ronnie’s friend’s name. The hair on Rebus’s neck began to prickle.

‘That’s right, Charlie,’ Poole confirmed to himself, nodding. ‘Bit of an eccentric. You can probably find him in one of the student union buildings. I believe he’s addicted to these video machines.