Ian Rankin - Tooth and Nail

Rebus pointed a disbelieving finger.; 'You were reading up on serial killers?' -

Flight nodded..

'On the psychology of serial killers?'

Flight shrugged. 'And other aspects, yes.' Rebus's eyes had widened.

'And all this time- you've been having a dig at me, for going along with Lisa Frazer's — no, I don't believe it!’

Flight was laughing again. The apparently arch anti-psychologist revealed in his true-light. 'I had to examine every angle,' he said, watching as Rebus, having finished his-coffee, tossed the cup into a waste-bin. 'Now come-on, we really should make that phone call.'

Rebus was still shaking his head as he followed Flight down the hall. But though he appeared to be in good humour, his brain was more active than ever. Flight had pulled the wool over, his eyes with consummate ease. How far did the pretence actually stretch? Was he now seeing-the real Flight, or yet another mask? Flight whistled as he walked and kicked at an imaginary football. No, not George Flight, Rebus decided in an instant: never George Flight,

There was a telephone in the admin offices. There was also, seated at a desk having a conversation with one of the senior staff, Philip Cousins, immaculate: in grey suit and burgundy tie.

'Philip!

'Hello there,George. How are things?' Cousins spotted Rebus. 'And Inspector Rebus, too. Still lending a Caledonian hand?'

'Trying,' said Rebus.

'Yes, very,' rejoined Flight. 'So. what brings you here, Philip? Where's Isobel?'

'Penny's rather tied up, I'm afraid. She'll be sorry to have missed you, George. As for my presence here, I just wanted to double-check some facts on a murder case from last December. You might remember it, — the man in the bathtub.'

'The one that looked like suicide?'

'That's right.'. Philip Cousins's voice was as rich and slow as double cream. Rebus reckoned that the word 'urbane' had been invented with him in mind. 'I'm in court later today,' Cousins was saying, — 'Trying to help Malcolm Chambers pin the deceased's wife for manslaughter at the very least.'

'Chambers?' Flight shook his head. 'I don't envy you that.'

'But surely,' Rebus interrupted, 'you'll be on the same side?'

'Ah yes, Inspector Rebus,' said Cousins, 'you are quite correct. But Chambers is such a scrupulous man. He'll want my evidence to be water-tight, and if it isn't, then he's as likely to undo me as is the defence counsel. More likely, in fact. Malcolm Chambers is interested in the truth, not in verdicts.'

'Yes, said Flight, 'I remember him having a right go at me once in the witness box, all because I couldn't recall offhand what kind of clock had been in the living-room. The case nearly crumbled there and then.' Flight and Cousins shared a comradely smile.

'I've just been hearing,' said Cousins, 'that there's fresh evidence on the Wolfman case. Do tell.'

'It's beginning to come together, Philip,' said Flight. 'It's definitely beginning to come together, due in no small part to my associate here.' Flight laid a momentary hand on Rebus's shoulder.

'I'm impressed,' said Cousins, sounding neither impressed nor unimpressed.

'It was luck,'' said Rebus, as he felt he ought. Not that he believed what he was saying. Cousins's eyes on him were like packs of ice, so that the room temperature seemed to drop with every glance.

'So what do we have?'

'Well,' said Flight, 'we've got someone who claims she was attacked by the Wolfman but escaped from him.'

'Fortunate creature,' said Cousins.

'And,' continued Flight, 'one of the … people helping us on the case this morning received a letter claiming to be from the Wolfman.'

'Good God.'

'We think it's kosher,' Flight concluded.

'Well,' said Cousins, 'this is something. Wait till I tell Penny. She'll be thrilled.'

'Philip, we don't want it getting out — '

'Not a word, George, not a word. You know it's all one-way traffic with me But Penny should be told."

'Oh, tell Isobel by all means,' said Flight, 'only warn her it's not to go any further.'

'Total secrecy,' said Cousins. I quite understand. Mum's the word. Who was it, by the way?' Flight appeared not to understand. 'To whom was this threatening letter addressed?'

Flight was about to speak, but Rebus beat him to it. 'Just someone on the case, as Inspector Flight says.' He smiled, trying to alleviate the brusqueness of his response. Oh yes, his mind was working now, working in a fever nobody had told Cousins the letter was threatening, so how did he know it was? Okay, it was simple enough to work out that it wouldn't exactly have been fan mail, but all the same.

'Well then,' said Cousins, choosing not to press for details. 'And now gentlemen,' he scooped up two manila files from the desk and tucked them under his arm, then stood, the joints of his knees cracking with the effort, 'if you'll excuse me, Court Eight awaits. Inspector Rebus,' Cousins held out his free hand, 'it sounds as though the case may be drawing towards its conclusion. Should we fail to meet again, give my regards to your delightful city.' He turned to Flight. 'See you soon, George. Bring Marion round for supper some evening. Give Penny a tinkle and we'll try to find one night in the calendar when all four of us are free. Goodbye.'

'Bye, Philip.'

'Goodbye.'

'Goodbye.'

'Oh.'. Cousins had stopped in the doorway.. 'There is just one thing.' He turned pleading eyes on Flight,'You don't have a spare driver, do you, George? It's going to be hell getting a taxi at this time of day.'

.'Well,' Flight thought hard, then had an idea, 'if you can hang on for a couple of minutes, Philip, I've got a couple of men here in the building.' He turned to. Rebus, whose eyes had widened. 'Lisa won't mind, will she, John? I mean, if her car drops Philip off at the Old Bailey?'

Rebus could do little but shrug.

'Excellent' said Cousins, clasping his hands together. 'Thank you so much.'

'I'll take you to, them,' Flight said. 'But first I need to make a phone call.'

Cousins nodded towards the corridor. 'And I must visit the WC. Be back-in a tick.'

They watched him leave. Flight was grinning, shaking his head in wonderment. 'Do you know,' he said, 'he's been like that ever since I met him? I mean, the sort of ambassadorial air, the aged aristocrat. Ever since I've known him.'

'He's a gentleman all right,' said Rebus.

'But that's just the thing,' said Flight. 'His background is every bit as ordinary as yours or mine.' He turned to the lab man. 'All right if I use your phone?'

He did not wait for an answer, but started dialling straight away. 'Hello?' he said into the receiver when he was finally connected. 'Who's that? Oh, hello, Deakin, is Lamb there? Yes, put him on, will you? Thanks.' While he was waiting, Flight picked invisible threads from his trousers. The trousers were shiny from too many wearings. Everything about Flight, Rebus noticed, seemed worn: his shirt collar had an edge of grime to it and the collar itself was too tight, constricting the loose flesh of the neck, pinching it into vertical folds. Rebus found himself transfixed by that neck, by the tufts of grey sprouting hair where the razor had failed in its duty. Signs of mortality, as final as a hand around a throat. When Flight got off the phone, Rebus. would protest about sending Cousins off with Lisa. Ambassadorial Aristocrat. One of the earlier mass killers had been an aristocrat, too.

'Hello, Lamb? What have you found on Miss Crawford?' Flight listened, his eyes on Rebus, ready to communicate anything of interest. 'Uh-huh, okay. Mm, I see. Yes. Right.' All the time his eyes told Rebus that everything was checking out, that Jan Crawford was reliable, that she was telling the truth. Then Flight's eyes, widened a little. 'What's that again?' And he listened more intently, moving his eyes from Rebus to study the telephone, apparatus itself 'Now that is interesting.'