Ian Rankin - Hide And Seek

‘The quicker the better. Ronnie’s girlfriend told me an interesting story.’

‘Oh?’

‘She said Ronnie was murdered.’ Rebus kept on walking, but McCall had stopped.

‘Wait a minute!’ He caught Rebus up. ‘Murdered? Come on, John, you saw the guy.’

‘True. With a needle’s worth of rat poison scuppering his veins.’

McCall whistled softly. ‘Jesus.’

‘Quite,’ said Rebus. ‘And now I need to talk to Charlie. He’s young, could be a bit scared, and interested in the occult.’

McCall sorted through a few mental files. ‘I suppose there are one or two places we could try looking,’ he said at last. ‘But it’d be a slog. The concept of neighbourhood policing hasn’t quite stretched this far yet.’

‘You’re saying we won’t be made very welcome?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Well, just give me the addresses and point me in the right direction. It’s your day off after all.’

McCall looked slighted. ‘You’re forgetting, John. This is my patch. By rights, this should be my case, if there is a case.’

‘It would’ve been your case if you hadn’t had that hangover.’ They smiled at this, but Rebus was wondering whether, in Tony McCall’s hands, there would have been anything to investigate. Wouldn’t Tony just have let it slip? Should he, Rebus, let it slip, too?

‘Anyway,’ McCall was saying on cue, ‘surely you must have better things to do?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘Nothing. All my work’s been farmed out, with the emphasis on “farmed”.’

‘You mean Superintendent Watson?’

‘He wants me working on his anti-drugs campaign. Me, for Christ’s sake.’

‘That could be a bit embarrassing.’

‘I know. But the idiot thinks I’ve got “personal experience”.’

‘He’s got a point, I suppose.’ Rebus was about to argue, but McCall got in first. ‘So you’ve nothing to do?’

‘Not until summoned by Farmer Watson, no.’

‘You jammy bugger. Well, that does change things a bit, but not enough, I’m sorry to say. You’re my guest here, and you’re going to have to put up with me. Until I get bored, that is.’

Rebus smiled. ‘I appreciate it, Tony.’ He looked around them. ‘So, where to first?’

McCall inclined his head back the way they had just come. They turned around and walked.

‘So tell me,’ said Rebus, ‘what’s so awful at home that you’d think of coming here on your day off?’

McCall laughed. ‘Is it so obvious then?’

‘Only to someone who’s been there himself.’

‘Ach, I don’t know, John. I seem to have everything I’ve never wanted.’

‘And it’s still not enough.’ It was a simple statement of belief.

‘I mean, Sheila’s a wonderful mother and all that, and the kids never get into trouble, but….’

‘The grass is always greener,’ said Rebus, thinking of his own failed marriage, of the way his flat was cold when he came home, the way the door would close with a hollow sound behind him.

‘Now Tommy, my brother, I used to think he had it made. Plenty of money, house with a jacuzzi, automatic-opening garage….’ McCall saw that Rebus was smiling, and smiled himself.

‘Electric blinds,’ Rebus continued, ‘personalised number plate, car phone…’

‘Time share in Malaga,’ said McCall, close to laughter, ‘marble-topped kitchen units.’

It was too ridiculous. They laughed out loud as they walked, adding to the catalogue. But then Rebus saw where they were, and stopped laughing, stopped walking. This was where he’d been heading all along. He touched the torch in his jacket pocket.

‘Come on, Tony,’ he said soberly. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’

‘He was found here,’ Rebus said, shining the torch over the bare floorboards. ‘Legs together, lying on his back, arms outstretched. I don’t think he got into that position by accident, do you?’

McCall studied the scene. They were both professionals now, and acting almost like strangers. ‘And the girlfriend says she found him upstairs?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You believe her?’

‘Why would she lie?’

‘There could be a hundred reasons, John. Would I know the girl?’

‘She hasn’t been in Pilmuir long. Bit older than you’d imagine, midtwenties, maybe more.’

‘So this Ronnie’s already dead, and he’s brought downstairs and laid out with the candles and everything.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m beginning to see why you need to find the friend who’s into the occult.’

‘Right. Now come and look at this.’ Rebus led McCall to the far wall and shone the torch onto the pentagram, then further up the wall.

‘ “Hello Ronnie“,’ McCall read aloud.

‘And this wasn’t here yesterday.’

‘Really?’ McCall sounded surprised. ‘Kids, John, that’s all.’

‘Kids didn’t draw that pentagram.’

‘No, agreed.’

‘Charlie drew that pentagram.’

‘Right.’ McCall slipped his hands into his pockets and drew himself upright. ‘Point taken, Inspector. Let’s go squat hunting.’

But the few people they found seemed to know nothing, and to care even less. As McCall pointed out, it was the wrong time of day. Everyone from the squats was in the city centre, stealing purses from handbags, begging, shoplifting, doing deals. Reluctantly, Rebus agreed that they were wasting their time.

Since McCall wanted to listen to the tape Rebus had made of his interview with Tracy, they headed back to Great London Road. McCall had the idea that there might be some clue on the tape that would lead them to Charlie, something that would help him place the guy, something Rebus had missed.

Rebus was a weary step or two ahead of McCall as they climbed the front steps to the station’s heavy wooden door. A fresh duty officer was beginning his shift at the desk, still fussing with his shirt collar and his clip-on tie. Simple but clever, Rebus thought to himself. Simple but clever. All uniformed officers wore clip-on ties, so that in a clinch, if the attacker tried to yank the officer’s head forwards, the tie would simply come away in his hands. Likewise, the desk sergeant’s glasses had special lenses which, if hit, would slip out of their frame without shattering. Simple but clever. Rebus hoped that the case of the crucified junkie would be simple.

He didn’t feel very clever.

‘Hello, Arthur,’ he said, passing the desk, making towards the staircase. ‘Any messages for me?’

‘Give me a break, John. I’ve only been on two minutes.’

‘Fair enough.’ Rebus pushed his hands deep into his pockets, where the fingers of his right hand touched something alien, metal. He brought the brooch-clip out and studied it. Then froze.

McCall looked at him, puzzled.

‘Go on up,’ Rebus told him. ‘I’ll just be a second.’

‘Right you are, John.’

Back at the desk, Rebus held his left hand out to the sergeant. ‘Do me a favour, Arthur. Give me your tie.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

Knowing that he would have a story to tell tonight in the canteen, the desk sergeant pulled at his tie. As it came away from his shirt, the clip made a single snapping sound. Simple but clever, thought Rebus, holding the tie between finger and thumb.

‘Thanks, Arthur,’ he said.

‘Anytime, John,’ the sergeant called, watching carefully as Rebus walked back towards the stairs. ‘Anytime.’

‘Know what this is, Tony?’

McCall had seated himself in Rebus’s chair, behind Rebus’s desk. He had one fist in a drawer, and looked up, startled. Rebus was holding the necktie out in front of him. McCall nodded, then brought his hand out of the drawer. It was curved around a bottle of whisky.