Strip Jack

Colin snorted. Hector gave him a cold look, but his words were for Rebus. 'He wasn't thorough enough, Inspector. It's as simple as that. I don't expect my patients to help me if I'm not thorough enough in my treatment of them. You shouldn't expect me to do your work for you.'

'This is a serious criminal case, sir.'

'Then why are we arguing? Ask your questions.'

The barman interrupted. 'Hold on, before you start, I've got a question.' He looked at each of them in turn. 'What are you having?'

Bill the Barman poured the drinks. The round was on him, and he totted up the amount and scribbled it into a small notebook kept beside the till. The bloody marys from the window came over to join in. The beer-drinker was introduced to Rebus as David Cassidy – 'No jokes, please. How were my parents supposed to know?' – and the man called Colin was indeed drinking milk – 'ulcer, doctor's orders'.

Hector accepted a thin, delicate glass filled to the lip with dry sherry. He toasted 'our general health'.

'But not the National Health, eh, Hector?' added Colin, going on to explain to Rebus that Hector was a dentist.

'Private,' Cassidy added.

'Which,' Hector retorted, 'is what this club is supposed to be. Private. Members' private business should be none of our concern.'

'Which is why,' Rebus speculated, 'you've been acting as alibi for Jack and Steele?'

Hector merely sighed. '"Alibi" is rather strong, Inspector.

As club members, they are allowed to book and to cancel at short notice.'

'And that's what happened?'

'Sometimes, yes.'

'But not all the time?'

They played occasionally.'

'How occasionally?'

'I'd have to check.'

'About once a month,' Barman Bill said. He held on to the glass-towel as if it were a talisman.

'So,' said Rebus, 'three weeks out of four they'd cancel? How did they cancel?'

'By telephone,' said Hector. 'Usually Mr Jack. Always very apologetic. Constituency business… or Mr Steele was ill… or, well, there were a number of reasons.'

'Excuses you mean,' Cassidy said.

'Mind you,' said Bill, 'sometimes Gregor'd turn up anyway, wouldn't he?'

Colin conceded that this was so. 'I went a round with him myself one Wednesday when Steele hadn't shown up.'

'So,' said Rebus, 'Mr Jack came to the club more often than Mr Steele?'

There were nods at this. Sometimes he'd cancel, then turn up. He wouldn't play, just sit in the bar. Never the other way round: Steele never turned up without Jack. And on the Wednesday in question, the Wednesday Rebus was interested in?

'It bucketed down,' Colin said. 'Hardly any bugger went out that day, never mind those two.'

'They cancelled then?'

Oh yes, they cancelled. And no, not even Mr Jack had turned up. Not that day, and not since.

The lull was over. Members were coming in, either for a quick one before starting out or for a quick one before heading home. They came over to the little group, shook hands, swapped stories, and the group itself started to fragment, until only Rebus and Hector were left. The dentist laid a hand on Rebus's arm.

'One more thing, Inspector,' he said.

'Yes?'

'I hope you won't think I'm being unsubtle…'

'Yes?'

'But you really should get your teeth seen to."

'So I've been told, sir,' Rebus said. 'So I've been told. Incidentally, I hope you won't think I'm being unsubtle…?'

'Yes, Inspector?'

Rebus leaned close to the man, the better to hiss into his ear. 'I'm going to try my damnedest to see you on a charge for obstruction.' He placed his empty glass on the bar.

'Cheers then,' said Barman Bill. He took the glass and rinsed it in the machine, then placed it on the plastic drip-mat. When he looked up, Hector was still standing where the policeman had left him, his sherry glass rigid in his hand.

'You told me on Friday,' Rebus said, 'that you were jettisoning what you didn't need.'

'Yes.'

"Then I take it you did feel you needed the alibi of your golf game?'

'What?'

'Your weekly round with your friend Ronald Steele.'

'What about it?'

'Funny isn't it? I'm making the statements and you're asking the questions. Should be the other way round.'

'Should it?'

Gregor Jack looked like a war casualty who could still hear and see the battle, no matter how far from the front he was dragged. The newsmen were still outside his gates, while Ian Urquhart and Helen Greig were still inside. The sounds of a printer doing its business came from the distant back office. Urquhart was ensconced in there with Helen. Another day, another press release.

'Do I need a solicitor?' Jack asked now, his eyes dark and sleepless.

'That's entirely up to you, sir. I just want to know why you've lied to us about this round of golf.'

Jack swallowed. There was an empty whisky bottle on the coffee table, and three empty coffee mugs. 'Friendship, Inspector,' he said, 'is… it's…'

'An excuse? You need more than excuses, sir. What I need right now are some facts.' He thought of Hector as he said the word. 'Facts,' he repeated.