Tooth & Nail

`Blimey, George, where you been, hiding yourself?'

`All right there, George? How's your love life?'

It seemed to Rebus that half the stall-holders and most of their box and tray-carrying assistants knew Flight. At one point, Flight nodded behind one of the stalls, 'where a young man was disappearing rapidly along the street.

`Jim Jessop,' he said. He skipped bail a couple of weeks back.'

`Shouldn't we . . . ?'

But Flight shook his head. `Another time, eh, John? The little bugger was three A's standard in the thousand metres. I don't feel like a run today, what about you?'

`Fair enough,' said Rebus, aware that here, in this place, on this `patch', he was very much the bystander, the tourist. This was Flight's territory. The man moved confidently through the throng, spoke easily with the various vendors, was in every way quite at home. Eventu?ally, after a chat with the man behind the fresh fish counter, Flight returned with a bag of mussels, another of scallops and information on where Arnold might be found. He, led Rebus behind the market stalls onto the pavement and then into a narrow alleyway.

'Moules, mariniere,' he said, holding up one of the white polythene bags. 'Beautiful. Easy, to cook, too. It's the preparation that takes up all the time.'

Rebus shook his head. `You're full of surprises, George. I'd never have taken you for a cordon bleu.'

Flight just smiled, musing. `And scallops,' he said, `Marion loves those. I make a sauce with them and serve it with fresh trout. Again, it's all preparation. The cooking's the easy part.'

He enjoyed showing Rebus this other side of his personality, though he couldn't say why. Nor could he exactly say why he hadn't, told John Rebus that Lisa had gone to the Old Bailey; had instead mumbled something about seeing her safely on her way. He thought probably his reasoning had to do with Rebus's spring-loaded emotions: if the Scotsman thought Lisa Frazer was not in Flight's place of safety, he'd probably go haring off after her, making a fool of himself ‘neath blindfolded justice herself And Rebus was still flight's responsibility, still the liability he always had been, if not more so.

They had come out of the alley onto a small-scale housing, estate. The houses looked fairly, new, but already the paint was flaking from the window, sills. There were cries and squeals from just ahead, A kiddies playground, concrete surrounded by concrete. A huge section of pipe had become a tunnel, a den, a hiding place. There were swings, too, and a see-saw. And a sand-pit which had become, second home to the area's cats and dogs.

The children's imaginations knew few bounds. Pretend you're in hospital, and I'm the doctor. And then the spaceman's ship crashed on the planet. Cowboys don't have girlfriends. No you're chasing me because I'm the soldier and you're the guard. Pretend there isn't a pipe.

Pretend. There was no pretend about, the energy they were expending. They couldn't stand still, couldn't pause for breath. They had to yell and jump and get, involved. It made Rebus tired just to look at them.

`There he is,' said Flight. He was pointing towards a bench on the edge of the playground. Arnold was sitting there, his back very straight, hands clasping his knees. He had an intent look on his face, neither happy nor unhappy. The kind of look you sometimes saw at the zoo, when someone was peering into a particular cage or enclosure. It was best described as an interested look. Oh yes, Arnold was interested. It made Rebus's stomach queasy just to watch him. Flight seemed to take it all quite casually. He walked across to the bench and sat down beside Arnold, who turned, his eyes suddenly taking on a hunted, frightened look, his mouth creasing into an O. Then he exhaled noisily.

`It's you, Mister Flight. I didn't recognise you.' He gestured towards the bags. `Been shopping? That's nice.' The voice was flat, lacking emotion. Rebus had heard addicts talk like that. Five percent of their brain was fixed on dealing with the external world, the remaining ninety-five concentrating on other things. Well, he supposed Arnold was a kind of addict too.

`Yes,' said Flight, `just buying a few bits. You remember Inspector Rebus?'

Arnold followed Flight's eyes, staring up from his bench to where Rebus stood, his body purposely shielding Arnold from the children.

`Oh yes,' Arnold said blandly, `he was in the car with you the other day, Mr Flight.'

`Well done, Arnold. Yes, that's right. You've got a good memory, haven't you?'

`It pays to have, Mr Flight. That's how I remember all the things I tell you.'

`Actually, Arnold,' Flight slid along the bench until his thigh, was almost touching that of the other man. Arnold angled his own legs away from the policeman, his eyes intent on Flight's proximity to him. `Speaking of memory, maybe you can help me.' Maybe you can help Inspector Rebus, too.'

`Y-e-e-s?' The word was stretched almost to breaking point.