Ian Rankin - Tooth and Nail

'We already get dozens of calls a day., Anonymous tipoffs, nutters who want to confess, people snitching on their next door neighbour, people with grudges, maybe even a few with genuine suspicions. We check them all out. And we've got the media on our side. The Chief Super will be interviewed a dozen times today. Newspapers, magazines, radio, TV. We give them what we can, and we tell them to spread the word. We've got the best bloody Liaison Officer in the country working round the clock to make sure the public knows what we're dealing with here.'

There was a knock on the already open door and a WPC carried a tray into the room and left it on Flight's desk. 'I'll be mother, shall IF he said, already starting to pour the tea into two plain white mugs.

'What's the Liaison Officer's name?' Rebus asked. He knew a Liaison Officer himself. She too, was the best there was. But she wasn't in London; she was back in Edinburgh

'Cath Farraday,' said Flight. 'Detective Inspector Cath Farraday.' He sniffed, the milk carton, before pouring a dollop into his tea. 'If you stick around long enough, you'll get to meet her. She's a bit of a cracker is our Cath. Mind you, if she heard me talking about her like that, she'd have my head on a plate.' Flight chuckled.

'And salad on the side,' came a voice from just outside the door. Flight, flinching, spilt tea down his shirt and jumped to his feet. The door was swinging open now, to reveal a platinum blonde woman leaning against the jamb, her arms folded, one leg casually crossed over the other.. Rebus's gaze was drawn to her eyes, which were slanted like a cat's. They made her whole face seem, narrower than it was. Her lips were thin, lined with a thin coat of bright red lipstick. Her hair had a hard, metallic look to it, reflecting the look of the woman herself. She was. older than either of the men in the, room by several years and if age hadn't withered her, the frequent use of cosmetics had. Her face was lined and puffy. Rebus didn't like a lot of make-upon a woman, but plenty of men did.

'Hello, Cath,' said Flight, trying to regain at least an outer shell of composure. 'We were just '

' talking-about- me. I know.' She unfolded her arms and took a' couple of steps into the room, extending a hand to Rebus. 'You must be Inspector Rebus,' she said. 'I've heard all about you.'

'Oh?' Rebus looked to Flight, whose attention, however, was fixed on Cath Farraday;.

'I hope George here is giving you an easy ride.'

Rebus shrugged: 'I've had worse.'

Her eyes became more feline still. 'I'll bet,' she said. She lowered her voice. 'But watch your back, Inspector. Not everyone's as nice as George. How would you feel if someone from London suddenly started to poke his nose into one of your cases, hmm?'

'Cath,'- said Flight, 'there's no need for …'

She raised a hand, silencing, him. 'Just a friendly warning, George,' one Inspector to another. We've got to look after our own, haven't we?' She glanced at her watch. 'Must be going. I've a meeting with Pearson in five minutes. Nice to have met you, Inspector. Bye, George.'

And then she was gone, the door left wide, open — a strong perfume lingering in the room. Both men were silent for a moment. Rebus was the first to speak.

'I believe your description was "a cracker" George. Remind me never to let you arrange a blind date for me.'

It was late afternoon and Rebus' sat in Flight's office alone, a pad of paper in front of him on the desk. He tapped his pen like a drumstick against the edge of the table and stared at the two names he had written so far.

Dr Anthony Morrison. Tommy Watkiss.

These were people he wanted to see. He drew 'a thick line beneath them and wrote two more names: Rhona. 'Samantha. These, too, were people he wanted, to see, though for personal reasons.

Flight had gone off to see Chief Inspector Lame on another floor of the building. The invitation did not extend to Rebus. He picked up the last remaining quarter of his salami sandwich, but thought better of it and tossed it into the office's metal bin. Too salty. And what kind of meat was-salami anyway? He now had a craving for more tea. He thought Flight had dialled 18 to order up: the first pot, but decided against trying it. He didn't want to make a fool of himself, did he? It would be just his, luck to get through to Chief' Superintendent Pearson.

Just a friendly warning. The point was not lost on Rebus. He crumpled up his list and threw that, in the bin too, then got up out of his chair and made for the main office. He knew he should be doing something, or should at least seem to be doing something. They had brought him four hundred miles to help them. But he couldn't for the life of him see any gaps in their investigation. They were doing everything they could, but to no avail. He was just another straw to be clutched at. Just another chance for that elusive Lucky Break.

He was studying the wall-map, when the voice- sounded, behind him.

'Sir?'

He turned to see one of the Murder Room team standing there. 'Yes?'

'Someone to see you, sir.'

'Me?'

'Well, you're the most senior detective around, at the moment, sir.'

Rebus considered this. 'Who is it?'

The officer checked the scrap of paper in, his hand. 'A Dr Frazer, sir.'

Rebus considered a. moment longer. 'All right,' he said, turning back towards the tiny office. 'Give me a minute and then send him in.' He stopped. 'Oh, and bring some tea, will you?'

'Yes, sir,' said the officer. He waited until Rebus had left the room, then turned to the others, seated at their desks and smiling at him. 'The cheek of these fucking jocks,' he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. 'Remind me to piss, in the teapot before I take it in.'

Dr Frazer turned out to be a woman. What was more, as she entered the office, she was attractive enough to have Rebus, half-rise from his desk in welcome.

'Inspector Rebus?'

'That's right. Dr Frazer, I presume?'

'Yes.' She showed a row of perfect teeth as Rebus invited her to take a seat. 'Though. I'd better explain.' Rebus fixed his eyes on her own and nodded. He kept his eyes fixed on hers for fear that otherwise they would be drawn down to her slim tanned legs, to that point where, an inch above the knee, her cream skirt began, hugging her thighs; He had taken her body in with single sweeping glance. She was tall, almost as tall as him. Her legs were bare and long, her body supple. She was wearing a jacket to match the skirt and a plain white blouse, set off by a single string of pearls. There was a slight, exquisite scar on her throat just above the pearls and her face was tanned and without make-up, her jaw square, her hair straight and black, tied back with a black band, so that a shock of it fell onto one shoulder. She had brought a soft black leather briefcase into the room, which she now held up in her lap, running her fingers around the handles as she, spoke.

'I'm not a medical doctor.' Rebus registered slight surprise: 'I'm a doctor courtesy of my Ph.D. I teach psychology at University College.'

'And you're American,' said Rebus. 'Canadian actually.'

Yes, he should have known. There was a soft lilt to her accent, something few Americans possessed. And she wasn't quite as nasal as the tourists who stopped in Princes Street to get a picture of the Scott Monument.

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'so, what can I do for you, Dr. Frazer?'

'Well, 'I did talk to' someone on the telephone this morning and I told them of my interest in the Wolfman case.'

Rebus could see it all now. Another nutter with some crazy idea about the Wolfman, that's probably what the Murder Room had thought. So they'd decided to play a joke on him, arranged a meeting without letting him know, and then Flight, forewarned, had made himself, scarce. Well, the joke was on them. Rebus could always find time for an attractive woman, crazy or not. After all, he had nothing better to do, had he?