Standing in another's man grave

‘Not these days.’

She grew thoughtful again. ‘Working cold cases, you must meet a lot of families who’ve lost loved ones. .’ She watched him nod. ‘I talk to a lot of them, too. Over the internet mostly. You know that in England and Wales they can’t issue a death certificate, no matter how long the person’s been missing? It’s hell for the families — means they can’t sort out the estate. Up here, you wait seven years and the court gives you a Presumption of Death certificate.’

‘And that’s what happened to you?’

She shook her head. ‘Presumption’s not what I want. I need to know what happened to her.’

‘Even after all this time?’

‘Even after all this time,’ she echoed. Then she sighed, finished her drink in two gulps and asked if he would walk her back to the hotel.

‘My pleasure,’ he said.

As they walked back up Victoria Street, he told her he’d not been in the Missoni before.

‘I doubt I’d be able to afford it normally,’ she explained, ‘but I got a late deal.’

The kilted doorman didn’t seem to be around. They stopped at the steps, both lighting cigarettes, standing in companionable silence as the traffic and pedestrians rolled past.

‘The rooms are nice,’ she said eventually. ‘In fact. .’ She looked in her bag. ‘There was something I wanted to give you, but it’s upstairs.’ She looked up at him. ‘Do you want to. .?’ But he was already shaking his head.

‘Then will you wait here while I fetch it?’

‘Sure.’

So she stubbed out her cigarette and headed indoors. Three minutes later she was back, holding a book.

‘Here,’ she said, handing it over.

Rebus read the title aloud: ‘The British Isles: Myth and Magic. Is this the one you did research for?’

She nodded, watching as he flicked through a few pages.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I mean it. I’ll start it tonight.’

‘Look, about earlier. . I hope you don’t think I was trying to proposition you?’

He shook his head again. ‘Not a problem, Nina. It would have been flattering if you had. Are you heading back in the morning?’

She gestured towards the building across the street. ‘Bit of research I need to do.’

‘The National Library?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is this for work?’

She nodded. ‘I was thinking of staying another night. .’

There was an invitation there — or at least an opening — but Rebus ignored it.

‘You know you’ll be the first person I call — supposing I make any progress,’ he said instead.

‘You seem to be my best hope, John. I can’t thank you enough.’ She moved forward to kiss him, but he leaned back a little at the waist, and instead took her hand in his, shaking it. Her grip was almost fierce. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating.

‘Maybe next time we can compare myths and legends,’ he said.

She nodded, averting her eyes, then turned and hurried back into the hotel. Rebus got into his car, turned the key in the ignition and signalled to make a U-turn.

All the way home he was anticipating her call, but it never came.

18

Lochend at midnight.

Darryl Christie slipped out of the house. He’d been home less than an hour. His mum was dead to the world, having been prescribed sleeping pills. Darryl’s two younger brothers, Joseph and Cal, shared the bedroom next to Annette’s. Darryl’s own room was downstairs, in what had been built as a conservatory. He’d added blackout blinds when he’d taken it over. Several times Frank Hammell had offered to find them a bigger and nicer place, but Darryl’s mum had grown up in Lochend, as had her parents before her. All her friends lived within walking distance of the house — and besides, Darryl and Annette would be moving out before long. Growing up, with their own lives to live.

Darryl had examined every inch of his sister’s bedroom, finding nothing to help explain her disappearance. He’d even contacted a few of her very closest pals, but nobody seemed to have any ideas. It had been Darryl, too, who had broken the news to his father, having reminded Gail that someone needed to do it.

‘You’re the man of the house, Darryl,’ she’d said, reaching for the vodka bottle.

The house had seen more than its fair share of visitors. Faces Darryl hardly knew wanted to offer sympathy, sit with Gail for a while and feed on her grief. Her closest friends had become like bodyguards, fending off curious neighbours and rubberneckers. The landline rang dozens of times a day, and Gail’s mobile was always needing to be recharged.

Darryl had tried his best to stay out of it, retreating to his room. He could hear the voices in the living room and kitchen, and often they tried offering him tea and beer and a sandwich, tapping on his door and calling out to him. And when everyone had departed for the day, the house felt cold and empty, Joseph and Cal walking on tiptoe so as not to disturb their mother, doing homework without needing reminding, making their own dinner if necessary. When Darryl was required elsewhere, he would tell them: ‘You’re in charge. Anything urgent, phone me.’

Frank Hammell had asked him if he needed time off, but he had shaken his head.

‘Cops are useless, Darryl,’ Hammell had said. ‘But I’ve got feelers out. We’ll get to the bottom of this, one way or the other. .’

Outside the house, Darryl paused to examine the sky overhead. You never saw many stars — too much light pollution. There was the beginning of an overnight frost on the pavement and the car windscreens. Plenty of people still awake — TVs glowing from living room windows; some music from a distant party; a dog barking, desperate to be allowed back indoors. Darryl walked to the corner and shook the hand of the man standing there.

‘I thought we might walk,’ Cafferty said. ‘Not far — just to stop us freezing our backsides off.’

‘Sure,’ Darryl said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

‘We’ve not met before, have we?’ Cafferty asked him.

‘No.’

‘It’s just that sometimes I forget a face, and that looks like a lack of respect next time I see the person.’ He glanced towards the young man. ‘Don’t want that happening between us, Darryl.’

‘Okay, Mr Cafferty.’

‘How long have you been working for Frank?’

‘A while.’

‘He used to work for me, you know.’

‘Your name’s been mentioned.’

‘Probably not with any great enthusiasm.’ A taxi rumbled past, driver’s-side window down, seeking an address. Cafferty watched it, as did Darryl.

‘Can’t be too careful, eh?’ the older man said with a thin smile. Then: ‘I should have said at the start, I’m sorry about your sister. Anything I can do to help, you only have to ask.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Frank doesn’t need to know — it can be between us. If that’s okay with you, Darryl.’ Cafferty seemed to study the young man. ‘I met your dad a few times, back in the day.’

‘Really?’

‘Just in the pub, you know. He was friends with Frank.’

‘Aye, he was.’