Ian Rankin - Dead Souls

Now Damon Mee had stepped away from the world, or had been yanked out of it by some irresistible force. Rebus got back in his car and drove along the coast, came up on to the Forth Bridge, and headed into Fife. He tried telling himself he wasn’t escaping — from Sammy’s words and Patience and Edinburgh, from all the ghosts. From thoughts of paedophiles and suicide leaps.

When he got to Cardenden, he slowed the car, finally coming to a stop on the main drag. There seemed to be flyers in every shop window: Damon’s picture and the word MISSING. There were more taped to lamp-posts and the bus shelter. Rebus started the car again and headed for Janice’s house. But there was no one at home. A neighbour supplied the information Rebus needed, information which sent him straight back to Edinburgh and Rose Street, where he found Janice and Brian sticking more flyers on to lamp-posts and walls, pushing them through letterboxes. Photocopied sheets of A4. Holiday photo of Damon, and handwritten plea: DAMON MEE IS MISSING: HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? Physical description, including the clothes he’d been wearing, and the Mees’ telephone number.

‘We’ve covered the pubs,’ Brian Mee said. He looked tired, eyes dark, face unshaven. The roll of sellotape he held was nearly finished. Janice leaned against a wall. Looking at the pair of them was far from like stepping into the past — present worries had scarred them.

‘The one place they don’t want to know,’ Janice said, ‘is that club.’

‘Gaitano’s?’

She nodded. ‘Bouncers wouldn’t let us in. Wouldn’t even take flyers from us. I stuck one on the door but they took it down.’ She was almost in tears. Rebus looked back along the street towards the flashing neon sign above Gaitano’s.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s try the magic word this time.’

And when he got to the door, he flashed his ID and said, ‘Police.’ The three were ushered inside while someone got on the phone to Charmer Mackenzie. Rebus looked to Janice and winked.

‘Open Sesame,’ he said. She was looking at him as if he’d done something wonderful.

‘Mr Mackenzie’s not here,’ one of the bouncers said.

‘So who’s in charge?’

‘Archie Frost. He’s assistant manager.’

‘Lead me to him.’

The bouncer looked unhappy. ‘He’s having a drink at the bar.’

‘No problem,’ Rebus said. ‘We know our way.’

Bass music was pulsing, the club’s interior dark and hot. Couples were hitting the dancefloor, others smoking furiously, knees pumping as they scanned the dimness for action. Rebus leaned towards Janice, so his mouth was an inch from her ear.

‘Go round the tables, ask your questions.’

She nodded, passed the message along to Brian, who was looking uncomfortable with the noise.

Rebus walked towards the bar, walked through beams of indigo light. There were people waiting for drinks, but only two men actually drinking at the bar. Well, one of them was drinking. The other — who looked thirsty — was listening to what was being said to him.

‘Sorry to butt in,’ Rebus said.

The speaker turned to him. ‘You will be in a minute.’

Maybe twenty or twenty-one, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Stocky, wearing a suit with no lapels and a dazzling white T-shirt. Rebus pushed his warrant card into the face, identified himself.

‘Been taking charm-school lessons from your boss?’ he asked. Archie Frost said nothing, just finished his drink. ‘I want a word, Mr Frost.’

‘They don’t look like polis,’ Frost said, nodding towards where Janice and Brian Mee were working the room.

‘That’s because they’re not. Their son went missing. Disappeared from here, in fact.’

‘I know.’

‘Well then, you’ll know why I’m here.’ Rebus brought out the photograph of the mystery blonde. ‘Seen her before?’

Frost shook his head automatically.

‘Take a closer look.’

Frost took the photo grudgingly, and angled it towards the light. Then he shook his head and tried handing it back.

‘What about your pal?’

‘What about him?’

The ‘pal’ in question, the young man without a drink, had half-turned from them, so he was watching the dancefloor.

‘He’s not in here much,’ Frost said.

‘All the same,’ Rebus persisted. So Frost stuck the photo in front of his friend’s nose. An immediate shake of the head.

‘I’m going to take this around your punters,’ Rebus said, lifting the photo from Frost’s hand, ‘see if their memories are any better.’ He wasn’t looking at Frost; he was looking at his companion. ‘Do I know you from somewhere, son? Your face looks familiar.’

The young man snorted, kept his eyes on the dancing.

‘I’ll let you get back to your business then,’ Rebus said. He did a circuit of the room, following behind Janice and Brian. They’d left flyers on most of the tables. A couple had already been crumpled up. Rebus fixed the culprits with a stare. He wasn’t faring any better with his own picture, but saw that ahead of him Janice and Brian had seated themselves at a table and were deep in conversation with two girls there. Eventually, he caught up with them. Janice looked up at him.

‘They say they saw Damon,’ she yelled, fighting the music.

‘He was getting into a taxi,’ one of the girls repeated for the newcomer’s benefit.

‘Where?’ Rebus asked.

‘Outside The Dome.’

‘Other side of the road,’ her friend corrected. They were wearing too much make-up, trying for a look they’d probably call ‘sophisticated’, trying to look older than their years. Soon enough, they’d be reversing the process. They wore incredibly short skirts. Rebus could see Brian trying not to stare.

‘What time was this?’

‘About quarter past twelve. We were late for a party.’

‘You’re sure about the date?’ Rebus asked. Janice looked at him accusingly, not wanting this fragile bubble to burst.

One girl got a diary out of her handbag, tapped a page. ‘That’s the party.’

Rebus looked: it was the same date Damon had disappeared. ‘How come you noticed him?’

‘We’d seen him in here earlier.’

‘Just standing at the bar,’ her friend added. ‘Not dancing or anything.’

A couple of young men, still in their day-job suits, had peeled off from an office party and were approaching, ready to ask for a dance. The girls tried to look disinterested, but a glower from Rebus sent the suitors back in the direction they’d come.

‘We were after a taxi ourselves,’ one girl explained. ‘Saw them waiting across the road. Only they got lucky, we ended up walking.’

‘“They”?’

‘Him and his girl.’

Rebus looked to Janice, then handed over the photo.

‘Yeah, that looks like her.’

‘Blonde out of a bottle,’ the other agreed.

Janice took the photo from them, looked at it herself.

‘Who is she, John?’

Rebus shook his head, telling her he didn’t know. Glancing towards the bar, he saw two things. One was that Archie Frost was watching him intently over the rim of a fresh glass. The other was that his non-drinking friend had gone.

‘Maybe they’ve run off together,’ one of the girls was saying, trying hard to be helpful. ‘That would be romantic, wouldn’t it?’

Janice and Brian hadn’t eaten, so Rebus took them to an Indian on Hanover Street, where he explained the little he knew about the woman in the photograph. Janice kept the photo in one hand as she ate.

‘It’s a start, isn’t it?’ Brian said, pulling apart a nan bread.

Rebus nodded agreement.

‘I mean,’ Brian went on, ‘we know now he left with someone. He’s probably still with her.’