‘I’m fine,’ Rebus assured her. ‘How about you?’
‘I ate on the train.’
One of the bar staff asked her what she was drinking. She studied Rebus. ‘Not really your kind of place?’ she guessed.
‘Not really,’ he agreed.
‘Maybe we should go somewhere else.’
‘There’s the Bow Bar, right around the corner.’
She waited for him to finish the whisky, and placed her arm in his as they exited the hotel.
‘How’s your brother?’ Rebus asked.
She looked flustered, as if trying to remember how Rebus knew about him.
‘He answered the phone that night,’ Rebus explained.
‘Ah,’ she said. Then: ‘He’s all right.’
‘Does he have a name?’
‘Alfie.’
‘Is he just visiting, or. .?’
‘Are you always this inquisitive?’ she asked with a laugh. Then, stretching out an arm to point at the Bow Bar: ‘Is this the place?’
Rebus opened the door for her. She took one look at the interior and declared it ‘charming’. There was a table by the window, recently vacated. Rebus took the empties to the bar and ordered IPA for himself and a vodka tonic for her. The place was just noisy enough — no chance of anyone eavesdropping on their conversation. Back at the table, they chinked glasses.
‘So, how are things?’ she asked.
‘Things are interesting. I’ve got a foot in the door with the Annette McKie inquiry.’
‘They accept there’s a connection?’
‘They accept the possibility.’
‘Well, that’s progress.’ She seemed immediately more energised, pulling her shoulders back, eyes gleaming.
‘There’s no proof yet. And to be honest, the McKie case is throwing up other possibilities. The photos are the real link.’
‘Photos?’
He realised she didn’t yet know. ‘Annette McKie’s phone was used to send a photograph of a landscape at dusk. Same thing happened with Zoe Beddows.’
She took a moment to digest the information. ‘That can’t be coincidence. What about Brigid Young?’
‘The technology wasn’t around back then.’
‘Sally had her phone with her in Aviemore.’
‘Yes, I remember you saying.’
‘I don’t think it could take pictures though. .’ She thought for a moment. ‘Some of the people she knew at school keep a page for her on Friends Reunited.’
‘That’s kind of them.’
‘It has photos of her — school trips, parties, concerts. .’
‘Any way to know who visits it?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Might be worth finding out.’
She stared at him, eyes narrowing. ‘Why?’ But before he could answer, she had worked it out. ‘You think someone took her? One person stalking all these girls and then sending out photos? And he might have gone online posing as a friend. .?’ Her voice was rising, and Rebus gestured for her to bring it down a little. She took a couple of sips of her drink, trying to compose herself.
‘I’ll ask,’ she said, voice trembling. ‘I’ll ask Sally’s friends.’
Rebus thanked her and decided to try for a change of tack, asking what brought her back to Edinburgh.
‘You, of course,’ she eventually answered.
‘Me?’
‘You’re the first person in such a long while who’s taken me seriously. And when you phoned the other night. .’
‘You decided to drop everything?’
‘I’m self-employed. Wherever I lay my laptop, that’s my office.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Publishing, sort of. I edit people’s books, do proofreading, sometimes research.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
She managed a laugh. ‘You’re not a very convincing liar — but it
‘Oh aye?’
‘Did you know there’s a dragon buried beneath the Royal Mile?’ She did a quick calculation. ‘We might be perched on one of its wings.’
‘No shortage of stories in this city — I’ve heard alibis that were harder to swallow.’
She smiled. ‘I was a teacher for a while, same as Tom, except primary school. Used to love telling my class a folk tale. Once you had their attention, you kept it.’ Her voice trailed off. He knew she was thinking of her daughter again; doubted Sally was ever out of her thoughts for more than a few minutes at a time on any given day. She kept threatening to place her glass on the table, but it hadn’t quite happened yet. It was almost reduced to ice in any case.
‘Get you another?’ Rebus asked.
‘My turn.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, having hardly touched the pint. ‘Got the car outside, and this isn’t my first tonight.’
She decided to have another drink anyway, reaching into her bag for money. Rebus played with a beer mat while he waited for her to return.
‘So, anyway,’ she said, squeezing around the table and sitting down again, ‘you’ve managed to unearth the files on those other poor women?’
‘The records aren’t as complete as I’d like.’ He saw her look. ‘It happens — things get mislaid; notes that should have been written up aren’t. .’
‘Oh.’
‘Not that there were gaps in Sally’s case,’ he sought to reassure her.
‘Is there any possibility that I. .? No, I suppose not.’ She lowered her eyes.
‘I doubt they’d come as any consolation. You might find them a bit. .’
‘Upsetting?’
‘I was going to say “cold”. Nobody working the case
She nodded her understanding. ‘You’re trying to protect me.’
‘I’m not sure I’d put it like that.’
They focused on their drinks for a minute. Rebus didn’t know what else to say to her. He didn’t like to think of her as being trapped in limbo, but that’s where she was. The past had its grip on her and wasn’t letting go. He worked with the past, too, but he could always put it back in a box and have it delivered to a storeroom or warehouse.
‘Is there a draught?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Thought you were shivering.’
‘It happens sometimes. You know that saying about someone walking over your grave?’
‘Never really understood it, though.’
‘Now you come to mention it, I’m not sure I understand it either. Sure you don’t want another?’
‘Trying to get me arrested for drunk-driving?’
‘Couldn’t you talk your way out of it?’
