Hide & Seek

Rebus stared at Watson. What he said made sense; more than that, it was actually fairly subtle and shrewd. Maybe the Farmer wasn’t so agricultural in his ways after all. He sighed.

‘Whatever you say, sir.’

Watson nodded, smiling.

‘By the way,’ he said. ‘Remember that fellow Andrews, ran a club called Finlay’s?’

‘We had lunch with him, sir.’

‘That’s right. He’s invited me to apply for membership.’

‘Good for you, sir.’

‘Apparently the waiting list’s about a year long - all these rich Sassenachs coming north - but he said he could do a bit of pruning in my case. I told him not to bother. I seldom drink, and I certainly don’t gamble. Still, a nice gesture all the same. Maybe I should ask him to consider you in my place. That’d give you something to do with your time off, eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Rebus seemed to consider the suggestion. Booze and gambling: not a bad combination. His face brightened. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘That would be very kind of you.’

‘I’ll see what I can do then. One last thing.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Are you intending to go to Malcolm Lanyon’s party tonight? Remember, he invited us at The Eyrie?’

‘I’d forgotten all about it, sir. Would it be more . . . proper for me to stay away?’

‘Not at all. I may not manage along myself, but I see no reason why you shouldn’t attend. But not a word about. . . .’ Watson nodded towards the door, and by implication to the interview room beyond.

‘Understood, sir. Thank you.’

‘Oh, and John?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Don’t swear at me. Ever. With respect or otherwise. Okay?’

Rebus felt his cheeks reddening, not in anger but in shame. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, making his exit.

Holmes was waiting impatiently in Rebus’s office.

‘What did he want then?’

‘Who?’ Rebus was supremely nonchalant. ‘Oh, Watson you mean? He wanted to tell me that he’s put my name forward for Finlay’s.’

‘Finlay’s Club?’ Holmes’ face was quizzical; this wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all.

‘That’s right. At my age, I think I deserve a club in town, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, and he also wanted to remind me about a party tonight at Malcolm Lanyon’s place.’

‘The lawyer?’

‘That’s him.’ Rebus had Holmes at a disadvantage, and knew it. ‘I hope you’ve been busy while I’ve been having a chinwag.’

‘Eh?’

‘Hydes and Jekylls, Brian. I asked you for addresses.’

‘I’ve got the list here. Not too long, thank the Lord. I suppose I’m going to be Shoeleather on this one?’

Rebus looked flabbergasted. ‘Not at all. You’ve got better things to be doing with your time. No, I think this time the shoeleather ought to be mine.’

‘But . . . with respect, shouldn’t you be keeping out of things?’

‘With respect, Brian, that’s none of your bloody business.’

From home, Rebus tried phoning Gill, but she couldn’t be reached. Keeping out of things, no doubt. She had been

quiet during the drive home last night, and hadn’t invited him in. Fair enough, he supposed. He wasn’t about to take advantage. … So why was he trying to telephone her? Of course he was trying to take advantage! He wanted her back.

He tidied the living room, did some washing up, and took a binbag’s-worth of dirty washing to the local laundrette for a service wash. The attendant, Mrs Mackay, was full of outrage about Calum McCallum.

‘Yon’s a celebrity and a’. They should ken better.’

Rebus smiled and nodded agreement.

Back in the flat, he sat down and picked up a book, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep his mind on it. He didn’t want Hyde to win, and, kept away from the case, that’s exactly what would happen. He took the slip of paper from his pocket. There were no people with the surname Jekyll in the Lothians, and a scant dozen with the surname Hyde. At least, those were the ones he could be sure about. What if Hyde possessed an unlisted number? He’d get Brian Holmes to check the possibility.

He reached for the telephone and was halfway through the number before he realised he was calling Gill’s office. He punched in the rest of the number. What the hell, she wouldn’t be there anyway.

‘Hello?’

It was Gill Templer’s voice, sounding as unflappable as ever. Yes, but that sort of trick was easy by phone. All the oldest tricks were.

‘It’s John.’

‘Hello there. Thanks for the lift home.’

‘How are you?’

I’m fine, honestly. I just feel a bit … I don’t know, confused doesn’t seem to cover it. I feel as though I’ve been conned. That’s as near as I can get to an explanation.’

‘Are you going to see him?’

‘What? In Fife? No, I don’t think so. It’s not that I couldn’t face him. I want to see him. It’s the thought of walking into the station with everyone knowing who I was, why I was there.’

‘I’d go with you, Gill, if you wanted.’

‘Thanks, John. Maybe in a day or two. But not yet.’

‘Understood.’ He became aware that he was gripping the receiver too hard, that his fingers were hurting. God, this was hurting him all over. Did she have any inkling of his feelings right this minute? He was sure he couldn’t put them into words. The words hadn’t been coined. He felt so close to her, and yet so far away, like a schoolkid who’d lost his first girlfriend.