Strip Jack

'That's a regular date,' Urquhart went on. 'Gregor and Ronnie Steele. Most Wednesday afternoons.'

Ah, Suey, Mr would-be teenage suicide…

Rebus tried to make his next question sound like a joke. 'Doesn't Gregor ever do any work?'

Urquhart looked stunned. 'He's always working. That game of golf… it's about the only free time I've ever known him have.'

'But he doesn't seem to be in London very often.'

'Ah well, the constituency comes first, that's Gregor's way.'

'Look after the folk who voted you in, and they'll look after you?'

'Something like that,' Urquhart allowed. There was no more time for talk. The identification was about to take place. And if Gregor Jack looked bad before he saw the body, he looked like a half-filled rag doll afterwards.

'Oh Christ, that dress…" He seemed about to collapse, but Ian Urquhart had a firm grip on him.

'If you'll look at the face,' someone was saying. 'We need to be definite…'

They all looked at the face. Yes, thought Rebus, that's the person I saw beside the stream.

'Yes,' said Gregor Jack, his voice wavering, 'that's my… that's Liz.'

Rebus actually breathed a sigh of relief.

What nobody had expected, what nobody had really considered, was Sir Hugh Ferrie.

'Let's just say,' said Chief Superintendent Watson, 'that a certain amount of… pressure… is being applied.'

As ever. Rebus couldn't hold his tongue. 'There's nothing to apply pressure to! What are we supposed to do that we're not already doing?'

'Sir Hugh considers that we should have caught William Glass by now.'

'But we don't even know – '

'Now. we all know Sir Hugh can be a bit hot-headed. But he's got a point…'

Meaning, thought Rebus, he's got friends in high places.

'He's got a point, and we can do without the media interest that's bound to erupt. All I'm saying is that we should give the investigation an extra push whenever and wherever we can. Let's get Glass in custody, let's make sure we keep everyone informed, and let's get that autopsy report as soon as humanly possible.'

'Not so easy with a drowning.'

'John, you know Dr Curt fairly well, don't you?'

'We're on second-name terms.'

'How about giving him that extra little nudge?'

'What happens if he nudges me back, sir?'

Watson looked like a kindly uncle suddenly tiring of a precocious nephew. 'Nudge him harder. I know he's busy. I know he's got lectures to give, university work to do, God knows what else. But the longer we have to wait, the more the media are going to fill the gaps with speculation. Go have a word, John, eh? Just make sure he gets the message.'

Message? What message? Dr Curt told Rebus what he'd always told him. I can't be rushed… delicate business, deciding an actual drowning from mere immersion… professional reputation… daren't make mistakes… more haste, less speed… patience is a virtue… many a mickle makes a muckle…

All of this delivered between appointments in the doctor's Teviot Place office. The Department of Pathology's Forensic Medicine Unit, divided in loyalties between the Faculty of Medicine and the Faculty of Law, had its offices within the University Medical School in Teviot Place. Which seemed, to Rebus, natural enough. You didn't want your Commercial Law students mixing with people who keened over cadavers…

'Diatoms…" Dr Curt was saying. 'Washerwoman's skin… blood-tinged froth… distended lungs…' Almost a litany now, and none of it got them any further. Tests on tissue… examination… diatoms… toxicology… fractures… diatoms. Curt really did have a thing about those tiny algae.

'Unicellular algae,' he corrected.

Rebus bowed his head to the correction. 'Well,' he said, rising to his feet, 'fast as you can, eh, Doctor? If you can't catch me in the office, you can always try me by unicellular phone.'

'Fast as I can,' agreed Doctor Curt, chuckling. He too got to his feet. 'Oh, one thing I can tell you straight away.' He opened his office door for Rebus.

'Yes?'

'Mrs Jack was depilated. There'd be no getting her by the short-and-curlies…'

Because Teviot Place wasn't far from Buccleuch Street, Rebus thought he'd wander along to Suey Books. Not that he was expecting to catch Ronald Steele, for Ronald Steele was a hard man to catch. Busy behind the scenes, busy out of sight. The shop itself was open, the rickety bicycle chained up outside. Rebus pushed the door open warily.

'It's okay,' called a voice from the back of the shop. 'Rasputin's gone out for a wander.'

Rebus closed the door and approached the desk. The same girl was sitting there, and her duties still seemed to entail the pricing of books. There wasn't any room for any more books on the shelves. Rebus wondered where these new titles were headed…

'How did you know it was me?' he asked.

'That window.' She nodded towards the front-of-shop. 'It might look filthy from the outside, but you can see out of it all right. Like one of those two-way mirrors.'

Rebus looked. Yes, because the shop's interior was darker than the street, you could see out all right, you just couldn't see in.