Strip Jack

'Harm herself?' Jack was slow to understand. 'You mean suicide? No, I don't think so, no, not that. But if she felt embarrassed, she might simply disappear. Or something could have happened to her, an accident… God knows what. If she got angry enough… it's just possible…' He bowed his head again, elbows resting on his knees.

'Do you think it's police business, sir?'

Jack looked up with glinting eyes. 'That's the crux, isn't it? If I report her missing… I mean report her officially… and she's found, and it turns out she was simply keeping out of things…?

'Does she seem the type who would stay out of things, sir?' Rebus's thoughts were spinning now. Someone had set Jack up… but not his wife, surely? Sunday newspaper thoughts, but still they worried him.

Jack shrugged. 'Not really. It's hard to tell with Liz. She's changeable.'

'Well, sir, we could make a few discreet inquiries up north. Check hotels, guest houses -'

'It would have to be hotels, Inspector, where Liz is concerned. Expensive hotels.'

'Okay then, we check hotels, ask around. Any friends she might visit?'

'Not many.'

Rebus waited, wondering if Jack would change his mind. After all, there was always Andrew Macmillan, the murderer. Someone she probably knew, someone nearby. But Jack merely shrugged and repeated, 'Not many.'

'Well, a list would help, sir. You might even contact them yourself. You know, just phoning for a chat. If Mrs Jack was there, they'd be bound to tell you.'

'Unless she'd told them not to.'

Well, that was true.

'But then,' Jack was saying, 'if it turned out she'd been off to one of the islands and hadn't heard a thing…'

Politics, it was all about politics in the end. Rebus was coming to respect Gregor Jack less, but, in a strange way, like him more. He rose and walked over towards the shelf unit, ostensibly to put his glass there. At the mantelpiece, he stopped by the card and picked it up. The front was a cartoon showing a young man in an open-topped sports car, champagne in an ice bucket on the passenger seat. The message above read GOOD LUCK! Inside was another message, written in felt pen: 'Never fear, The Pack is with you'. There were six signatures.

'Schoolfriends,' Jack was saying. He came over to stand beside Rebus. 'And a couple from university days. We've stuck pretty close over the years.'

A few of the names Rebus recognized, but he was happy to look puzzled and let Jack provide the information.

'Gowk, that's Cathy Gow. She's Cath Kinnoul now, Kinnoul as in Rab, the actor.' His finger drifted to the next signature. 'Tampon is Tom Pond. He's an architect in Edinburgh. Bilbo, that's Bill Fisher, works in London for some magazine. He was always daft on Tolkien.' Jack's voice had become soft with sentiment. Rebus was thinking of the schoolfriends he'd kept up with – a grand total of none. 'Suey is Ronnie Steele…'

'Why Suey?';

Jack smiled. 'I'm not sure I should tell you. Ronnie would kill me.' He considered for a moment, gave a mellow shrug. 'Well, we were on a school trip to Switzerland, and a girl went into Ronnie's room and found him… doing something. She went and told everyone about it, and Ronnie was so embarrassed that he ran outside and lay down in the road. He said he was going to kill himself, only no cars came past, so eventually he got up.'

'And suicide abbreviates to Suey?'

'That's right.' Jack studied the card again. 'Sexton, that's Alice Blake. Sexton Blake, you see. A detective like yourself.' Jack smiled. 'Alice works in London, too. Something to do with PR.'

'And what about…?' Rebus was pointing to the last secret name, Mack. Jack's face changed.

'Oh, that's… Andy Macmillan.'

'And what does Mr Macmillan do these days?' Mack, Rebus was thinking. As in Mack the Knife, grimly apt…

Jack was aloof. 'He's in prison, I believe. Tragic story, tragic.'

'In prison?' Rebus was keen to pursue the subject, but Jack had other ideas. He pointed to the names on the card.

'Notice anything, Inspector?'

Yes, Rebus had, though he hadn't been going to mention it. Now he did. 'The names are all written 'by the same person.'

Jack gave a quick smile. 'Bravo.'

'Well, Mr Macmillan's in prison, and Mr Fisher and Miss Blake could hardly have signed, could they, living in London? The story only broke yesterday…"

'Ah yes, good point.'

'So who…?'

'Cathy. She used to be an expert forger, though you might not think it to look at her. She used to have all our signatures off by heart.'

'But Mr Pond lives in Edinburgh… couldn't he have signed his own?'

'I think he's in the States on business.'

'And Mr Steele…?' Rebus tapped the 'Suey' scrawl.

'Well, Suey's a hard man to catch, Inspector.'

'Is that so,' mused Rebus,' is that so.'

There was a knock at the door.

'Come in, Helen.'

Helen Greig put her head round the door. She was dressed in a raincoat, the belt of which she was tying. 'I'm just off, Gregor. Ian not back yet?'

'Not yet. Catching up on his sleep, I expect.'