Hide & Seek

He was chilled by the thought that he might be wasting time and effort. A jury would have to work hard to see any crime there at all. There was no suggestion that Ronnie had not injected himself. However, he had been starved of his supply, despite there being no shortage of dope in the city, and someone had moved his body, and left behind a packet of good heroin, hoping, perhaps, that this would be tested, found clean, and therefore death by misadventure would be recorded: a simple overdose. But the rat poison had been found.

Rebus looked at the paper. Already ‘perhapses’ and conjecture had entered the picture. Maybe the frame wasn’t right. So, turn the picture another way round, John, and start again.

Why had someone gone to the trouble of killing Ronnie? After all, the poor bugger would have topped himself given time. Ronnie had been starved of a fix, then given some, but had known this stuff to be less than pure. So doubtless he had known that the person who supplied it wanted him dead. But he had taken it anyway. … No, viewed this way round it was making even less sense. Start again.

Why would someone want Ronnie dead? There were several obvious answers. Because he knew something he shouldn’t. Because he possessed something he shouldn’t. Because he didn’t possess something he should. Which was correct? Rebus didn’t know. Nobody seemed to know. The picture still lacked meaning.

There was a knock on the door, and the door itself was pushed open by a constable carrying a mug of tea. The constable was Harry Todd. Rebus recognised him.

‘You get around a bit, son.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Todd, placing the tea on a corner of the desk, the only three square inches of wood visible from beneath a surface covering of paperwork.

Is it quiet tonight?’

‘The usual, sir. A few drunks. Couple of break-ins. Nasty car crash down near the docks.’

Rebus nodded, reaching for the tea. ‘Do you know another constable, name of Neil McGrath?’ Raising the mug to his lips, Rebus stared up at Todd, who had begun to blush.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘I know him.’

‘Mm-hm.’ Rebus tested the tea, seeming to relish the bland flavour of milk and hot water. ‘Told you to keep an eye on me, did he?’

‘Sir?’

‘If you happen to see him, Todd, tell him everything’s fine.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Todd was turning to leave.

‘Oh, and Todd?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Don’t let me see you near me again, understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Todd was clearly downhearted. At the door, he paused, seeming to have a sudden plan that would ingratiate himself with his superior. Smiling, he turned back to Rebus.

‘Did you hear about the action across in Fife, sir?’

‘What action?’ Rebus sounded uninterested.

‘The dog fight, sir.’ Rebus tried hard to still look unmoved. ‘They broke up some dog fight. Guess who got arrested?’

‘Malcolm Rifkind?’ guessed Rebus. This deflated Todd totally. The smile left his face.

‘No, sir,’ he said, turning again to leave. Rebus’s patience was short.

‘Well who then?’ he snapped.

‘That disc jockey, Calum McCallum,’ Todd said, closing the door after him. Rebus stared at the door for a count of five before it struck home: Calum McCallum . .. Gill Templer’s lover!

Rebus raised his head and let out a roar which mixed

laughter with a kind of twisted victory cry. And when he had stopped laughing, and was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, he looked towards the door again and saw that it was open. There was someone standing in the doorway, watching his performance with a look of puzzlement on their face.

It was Gill Templer.

Rebus checked his watch. It was nearly one in the morning.

‘Working the late shift, Gill?’ he said to cover his confusion.

‘I suppose you’ve heard,’ she said, ignoring him.

‘Heard what?’

She walked into the room, pushed some papers off the chair onto the floor, and sat down, looking exhausted. Rebus looked at all that paper slewed across the floor.

‘The cleaners come in in the morning anyway,’ he said. Then: ‘I’ve heard.’

‘Is that what all the screaming was about?’

‘Oh, that.’ Rebus tried to shrug it off, but could feel the blood tingling in his cheeks. ‘No,’ he said, ‘that was just something … well, something else.

‘Not very convincing, Rebus, you bastard.’ Her words were tired. He wanted to buoy her up, tell her she was looking well or something. But it wouldn’t have been true and she would just scowl at him again. So he left it. She was looking drawn, not enough sleep and no fun left any more. She’d just had her world locked up in a cell somewhere in Fife. They would be photographing and fingerprinting it perhaps, ready to file it away. Her life, Calum McCallum.

Life was full of surprises.

‘So what can I do for you?’

She looked up at him, studying his face as though she wasn’t sure who he was or why she was here. Then she >k herself awake with a twitch of the shoulders.