Hide & Seek

‘Well,’ Watson said, ‘I mean, six pounds fifty! That would feed some families for a week.’

‘This is the life,’ Rebus said, throwing the Superintendent’s words back at him.

‘Yes, well said, John. I was in danger of forgetting there can be more to life than personal comfort. Tell me, which church do you attend?’

‘Well, well. Come to take us all in, have you?’ Both men turned at this new voice. It was Tommy McCall. Rebus checked his watch. Eight thirty. Tommy looked as though he’d been to a few pubs en route to the club. He sat down heavily in what had been Paulette’s chair.

‘What’re you drinking?’ He snapped his fingers, and the waiter, a frown on his face, came slowly towards the table.

‘Sirs?’

Tommy McCall looked up at him. ‘Hello, Simon. Same again for the constabulary, and I’ll have the usual.’

Rebus watched the waiter as McCall’s words sank in. That’s right, son, Rebus thought to himself, we’re the police. Now why should that fact frighten you so much?

The waiter turned, seeming to read Rebus’s mind, and headed stiffly back to the bar.

‘So what brings you two here?’ McCall was lighting a cigarette, glad to have found some company and ready to make a night of it.

‘It was John’s idea,’ Watson said. ‘He wanted to come, so I fixed it with Finlay, then reckoned I might as well come along, too.’

‘Quite right.’ McCall looked around him. ‘Nobody much in tonight though, not yet leastways. The place is usually packed to the gunnels with faces you’d recognise, names you’d know like you know your own. This is tame tonight’

He had offered round his pack of cigarettes, and Rebus had taken one, which he now lit, inhaling gratefully, regretting it immediately as the smoke mixed with the alcohol fumes in his chest. He needed to think fast and hard. Watson and now McCall: he had planned on dealing with neither.

‘By the way, John,’ Tommy McCall said, ‘thanks for the lift last night.’ His tone made the subtext clear to Rebus. ‘Sorry if it was any trouble.’

‘No trouble, Tommy. Did you sleep well?’

‘I never have trouble sleeping.’

‘Me neither,’ interrupted Farmer Watson. ‘The benefits of a clear conscience, eh?’

Tommy turned to Watson. ‘Shame you couldn’t get to Malcolm Lanyon’s party. We had a pretty good time, didn’t we, John?’

Tommy smiled across at Rebus, who smiled back. A group at the next table were laughing at some joke, the men drawing on thick cigars, the women playing with their wrist jewellery. McCall leaned across towards them, hoping perhaps to share in the joke, but his shining eyes and uneven smile kept him apart from them.

Had many tonight, Tommy?’ Rebus asked. McCall, bearing his name, turned back to Rebus and Watson.

One or two,’ he said. ‘A couple of my trucks didn’t deliver on time, drivers on the piss or something. Lost me two big contracts. Drowning my sorrows.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Watson said with sincerity. Rebus nodded agreement, but McCall shook his head theatrically.

It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking of selling the business anyway, retiring while I’m still young. Barbados, Spain, who knows. Buy a little villa.’ His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘And guess who’s interested in buying me out? You’ll never guess in a million years. Finlay.’

‘Finlay Andrews?’

The same.’ McCall sat back, drew on his cigarette, blinking into the smoke. ‘Finlay Andrews.’ He leaned forward again confidentially. ‘He’s got a finger in quite a few pies, you know. It’s not just this place. He’s got this and that directorship, shares here there and everywhere, you name it.’

Your drinks.’ The waiter’s voice had more than a note of disapproval in it. He seemed to want to linger, even after McCall had pitched a ten-pound note onto the tray and waved him away.

Aye.’ McCall continued after the waiter had retreated. Fingers in plenty of pies. All strictly above board, mind. You’d have a hellish job proving otherwise.’

And he wants to buy you out?’ Rebus asked.

McCall shrugged. ‘He’s made a good price. Not a great price, but I won’t starve.’

Your change, sir.’ It was the waiter again, his voice cold as a chisel. He held the salver out towards McCall, who stared up at him.

I didn’t want any change,’ he explained. ‘It was a tip. Still.” he winked at Rebus and Watson, scooping the coins

from the tray, ‘if you don’t want it, son, I suppose I might as well have it back.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Rebus loved this. The waiter was giving McCall every kind of danger signal there was, but McCall was too drunk or too naive to notice. At the same time, Rebus was aware of complications which might be about to result from the presence of Superintendent Watson and Tommy McCall at Finlay’s, on the night Finlay’s erupted.

There was a sudden commotion from the entrance hall, raised voices, boisterous rather than angry. And Pau-lette’s voice, too, pleading, then remonstrative. Rebus glanced at his watch again. Eight fifty. Right on time.