Ian Rankin - Hide And Seek

‘Yes, why not?’

‘It’s quite a place.’ McCall turned to Rebus. ‘Shall we start upstairs in the billiards room, or downstairs at the swimming pool?’

Rebus laughed and shook his empty glass. ‘I think the first place to visit is the bar, don’t you?’

The house was stunning, there was no other word for it. Rebus thought briefly of poor Brian Holmes, and smiled. You and me both, kid. The guests were nice, too. He recognised some of them by face, some by name, a few by reputation, and many by the titles of the companies they headed. But of the host there was no sign, though everyone claimed to have spoken with him ‘earlier in the evening’.

Later, as Tommy McCall was becoming noisy and inebriated, Rebus, by no means on his steadiest legs himself, decided on another tour of the house. But alone this time. There was a library on the first floor, which had received cursory attention on the first circuit. But there was a working desk in there, and Rebus was keen to take a closer look. On the landing, he glanced around him, but everyone seemed to be downstairs. A few guests had even donned swimsuits, and were lounging by (or in) the twenty-foot-long heated pool in the basement.

He turned the heavy brass handle and slipped into the dimly lit library. In here there was a smell of old leather, a smell which took Rebus back to past decades — the ‘twenties, say, or perhaps the ’thirties. There was a lamp on the desktop, illuminating some papers there. Rebus was at the desk before he realised something: the lamp had not been lit on his first visit here. He turned and saw Lanyon, standing against the far wall with his arms folded, grinning.

‘Inspector,’ he said, his voice as rich as his tailoring. ‘What an interesting jacket that is. Saiko told me you’d arrived.’

Lanyon walked forward slowly and extended a hand, which Rebus took. He returned the firm grip.

‘I hope I’m not …’ he began. ‘I mean, it was kind of you….’

‘Good lord, not at all. Is the Superintendent coming?’

Rebus shrugged his shoulders, feeling the jacket tight across his back.

‘No, well, never mind. I see that like me you are a studious man.’ Lanyon surveyed the shelves of books. ‘This is my favourite room in the whole house. I don’t know why I bother holding parties. It is expected, I suppose, and that’s why I do it. Also of course it is interesting to note the various permutations, who’s talking with whom, whose hand just happened to squeeze whose arm a touch too tenderly. That sort of thing.’

‘You won’t see much from here,’ Rebus said.

‘But Saiko tells me. She’s marvellous at catching that sort of thing, no matter how subtle people think they are being. For example, she told me about your jacket. Beige, she said, cord, neither matching the rest of your wardrobe nor quite fitting your figure. Therefore borrowed, am I right?’

Rebus applauded silently. ‘Bravo,’ he said. ‘I suppose that’s what makes you such a good lawyer.’

‘No, years and years of study are what have made me a good lawyer. But to be a known lawyer, well, that demands a few simple party tricks, such as the one I’ve just shown you.’

Lanyon walked past Rebus and stopped at the writing desk. He sifted through the papers.

‘Was there anything special you were interested in?’

‘No,’ said Rebus. ‘Just this room.’

Lanyon glanced towards him, smiling, not quite believing. ‘There are more interesting rooms in the house, but I keep those locked.’

‘Oh?’

‘One doesn’t want everyone to know just what paintings one has collected for example.’

‘Yes, I see.’

Lanyon sat at the desk now, and slipped on a pair of half-moon glasses. He seemed interested in the papers before him.

‘I’m James Carew’s executor,’ he said. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to sort out, who will benefit from his will.’

‘A terrible business.’

Lanyon seemed not to understand. Then he nodded. ‘Yes, yes, tragic.’

‘I take it you were close to him?’

Lanyon smiled again, as though he knew this same question had been asked of several people at the party already. ‘I knew him fairly well,’ he said at last.

‘Did you know he was homosexual?’

Rebus had been hoping for a response. There was none, and he cursed having played his trump card so soon in the game.

‘Of course,’ Lanyon said in the same level voice. He turned towards Rebus. ‘I don’t believe it’s a crime.’

‘That all depends, sir, as you should know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘As a lawyer, you must know that there are still certain laws….’

‘Yes, yes, of course. But I hope you’re not suggesting that James was involved in anything sordid.’

‘Why do you think he killed himself, Mr Lanyon? I’d appreciate your professional opinion.’

‘He was a friend. Professional opinions don’t count.’ Lanyon stared at the heavy curtains in front of his desk. ‘I don’t know why he committed suicide. I’m not sure we’ll ever know.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on that, sir,’ said Rebus, going to the door. He stopped, hand on the handle. ‘I’d be interested to know who will benefit from the estate, when you’ve worked it all out of course.’

Lanyon was silent. Rebus opened the door, closed it behind him, and paused on the landing, breathing deeply. Not a bad performance, he thought to himself. At the very least it was worthy of a drink. And this time he would toast — in silence — the memory of James Carew.

Nursemaid was not his favourite occupation, but he’d known all along that it would come to this.

Tommy McCall was singing a rugby song in the back of the car, while Rebus waved a hasty goodbye to Saiko, who was standing on the doorstep. She even managed a smile. Well, after all he was doing her a favour in quietly removing the loud drunkard from the premises.

‘Am I under arrest, John?’ McCall yelled, interrupting his song.

‘No, now shut up, for Christ’s sake!’

Rebus got into the car and started the engine. He glanced back one last time and saw Lanyon join Saiko on the doorstep. She seemed to be filling him in on events, and he was nodding. It was the first Rebus had seen of him since their confrontation in the library. He released the handbrake, pulled out of the parking space, and drove off.

‘Left here, then next right.’

Tommy McCall had had too much to drink, but his sense of direction seemed unimpaired. Yet Rebus had a strange feeling….

‘Along to the end of this road, and it’s the last house on the corner.’

‘But this isn’t where you live,’ Rebus protested.

‘Quite correct, Inspector. This is where my brother lives. I thought we’d drop in for a nightcap.’

‘Jesus, Tommy, you can’t just — ’

‘Rubbish. He’ll be delighted to see us.’

As Rebus pulled up in front of the house, he looked out of his side window and was relieved to see that Tony McCall’s living room was still illuminated. Suddenly, Tommy’s hand thrust past him and pushed down on the horn, sending a loud blare into the silent night. Rebus pushed the hand away, and Tommy fell back into his seat, but he’d done enough. The curtains twitched in the McCall living room, and a moment later a door to the side of the house opened and Tony McCall came out, glancing back nervously. Rebus wound down the window.

‘John?’ Tony McCall seemed anxious. ‘What’s the matter?’

But before Rebus could explain, Tommy was out of the car and hugging his brother.

‘It’s my fault, Tony. All mine. I just wanted to see you, that’s all. Sorry though, sorry.’

Tony McCall took the situation in, glanced towards Rebus as if to say I don’t blame you, then turned to his brother.