Standing in another's man grave

‘Is it to do with Annette?’

‘Just a progress report,’ Hammell reassured him. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

Christie’s phone buzzed and he checked the message on the screen. He was a handsome enough lad, and his tailored suit looked brand new. A suit was an interesting choice. It belonged to the world of grown-ups, of serious business. Hammell dressed sloppily because he could afford to: no one was going to misjudge him, whatever he chose to wear. Darryl had to work that bit harder. In denims, there was always the chance he would be mistaken for a nobody.

‘What’s this I hear about photographs?’ Christie asked.

‘Your sister sent one,’ Rebus explained. ‘Or at least, one was sent from her phone. Same thing with a missing person from a few years back. Right now, that’s about as much as we have.’

‘Plus a suspect who’s gone AWOL,’ Hammell interrupted. ‘We’ve not got him locked in the cellar, have we, Darryl?’

‘Not last time I looked.’ Christie’s phone buzzed again, alerting him to a new message.

‘Always the fucking texts,’ Hammell complained. ‘Take him to a show or the best restaurants, he hardly looks up from that bloody phone.’

‘It’s how business gets done,’ Christie muttered, his fingertips busy on the touchscreen.

Hammell wrinkled his nose and caught Rebus’s eye. ‘People like you and me, we prefer things face to face. That was all you had in the old days. Tonight you could have phoned me, but you came in person.’ He nodded his approval. ‘Sure you won’t take that drink?’

‘I’m fine,’ Rebus said.

‘You could offer me one,’ Darryl Christie commented.

‘But then I’d have to pour you into a cab at the end of the night.’

Christie ignored this. He waved his phone in his employer’s direction. ‘I have to deal with this,’ he said, turning and exiting the room.

‘Not even a word of goodbye, eh?’ Hammell shook his head in mock despair. ‘He’s a good kid, though.’

‘How long have you known his mother?’

‘Didn’t you ask me that already?’

‘I don’t recall you answering.’

‘Maybe because it’s still none of your business.’

‘Line of work I’m in, every little detail counts. You knew Darryl’s dad?’

‘Derek was a mate.’ Hammell offered a shrug.

‘Any truth in the rumour you ran him out of town?’

‘Is this coming from your mouth or your pal Cafferty’s?’

‘I’ve told you, he’s not my pal.’

Hammell poured himself another generous shot of vodka. Rebus could smell it. Wasn’t the worst aroma in the world. .

‘Cafferty’s finished anyway. Game over.’ Hammell tipped the glass and drained it.

‘Can you tell me what Annette’s like?’ Rebus asked. ‘Or is that none of my business either?’

‘Annette’s a proper little madam — always needs to get her own way.’

‘I was thinking that,’ Rebus said, nodding his agreement. ‘Her bussing it to Inverness. .’

‘One of my guys would have driven her!’ Hammell growled.

‘You suggested as much?’

‘But she had to do it her way — and see where that got her!’ Hammell made an exasperated sound and started refilling the glass again.

‘You blame her?’

‘If she’d just listened to reason, none of this would be happening.’ He paused, stared down into his glass, swirling its contents. ‘Look, you know me, right? You know who I am. . It annoys me that I can’t do anything to help.’

‘You put up the reward.’

‘And all that’s done is flushed out every nut job and greedy bastard in a four-hundred-mile radius.’

‘I doubt you could be doing anything we’re not. It only gets problematic if you decide to go your own way.’

‘I’ll say it one more time: I don’t know anything about this guy Robertson. But if you need a hand getting him back. .’ Hammell fixed Rebus with a look.

‘I don’t think that’s necessary — or wise.’

Hammell gave a shrug. ‘The offer’s there. And how about that bonus? Bankers can’t be the only ones, eh?’ He had reached into one of the pockets in his jeans and produced a fat wad of what looked like fifty-pound notes.

‘No,’ Rebus said.

‘Aye,’ Hammell stated, reckoning he knew the truth of it. ‘Cafferty already pays you a big enough retainer.’

Rebus decided it was time to go, but Hammell had other ideas.

‘I’d been told you’re like him, and it’s true. You could almost be brothers.’

‘Now I’m feeling insulted.’

Hammell smiled. ‘Don’t be. It’s just that one like Cafferty has always seemed too many.’ He stared into his drink before lifting it to his lips. ‘Shame you didn’t leave well alone in that hospital when you had the chance.’

28

It was two a.m. when Darryl Christie got back to the house in Lochend. His mother had dozed off in front of one of the TV shopping channels. He roused her and sent her to bed, though she’d demanded a hug first. The hug had been forthcoming, in exchange for a promise to take things easy with the booze and the pills.

Joseph and Cal had tidied the kitchen and washed up after dinner. Darryl checked the fridge — plenty of ready meals and milk. He’d placed a twenty-pound note on the table for groceries, and it was still there. Upstairs his brothers were in their bunk beds, but the small TV was warm to the touch and there were video games strewn across the floor. Some of them looked like they belonged to Annette. Joseph had asked permission to borrow one or two, and Darryl had agreed.

‘I hope you two are asleep,’ he warned them, though they weren’t about to open their eyes and give up the pretence. Closing the door, he slipped into his sister’s room and switched on the light. The walls had been painted black, but then decorated with posters and stickers. There were little stars and planets on the ceiling that glowed in the dark — those had been a Christmas present from Darryl. He sat for a moment on her single bed. He could smell her perfume, reckoned it was coming from the pillow. He lifted it and sniffed. There was no real sense of absence — at any moment she could come bounding in, demanding to know what he was doing there. They’d been competitive when younger, landed a few slaps, kicks and bites. But not recently, having come to inhabit different worlds.

‘Just come home, you silly bitch,’ Darryl said quietly, rising to his feet and heading back downstairs. He lay down fully dressed on his narrow bed, leaving the lights off in the conservatory so he didn’t need to close the blinds. Then he tapped a name into his phone and waited until his father picked up.

‘It’s me,’ he said.

‘Any news?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It’s been two weeks.’

‘I know.’

‘How’s your mum?’

‘Not great.’

‘I can’t come back, Darryl.’

‘Why not? Hammell wouldn’t dare touch you.’

‘This is my life now.’