bonnet was still warm to the touch. ‘Sorry, old-timer,’ he apologised. ‘We’re not quite done yet.’
The address was a flat above a charity shop in the city centre. Rebus pressed the bell and waited. He had been forced to leave his car on a double yellow line. Parking didn’t seem to be possible otherwise. He pressed the bell again, checking the name beneath it: Mercer. There was one other buzzer, the name next to it scored out. Rebus tried it anyway, and a minute later the door opened. A man in his mid twenties stood at the foot of the stairs, chewing a mouthful of dinner.
‘Sorry,’ Rebus said. ‘I was looking for Susie Mercer.’
‘Haven’t seen her today.’
‘She’s been off sick. Workmates are a bit worried.’
The man seemed to accept this. ‘I’m in the flat next to hers. I can usually hear her television.’ He was leading Rebus up the narrow flight of uncarpeted stairs. There were two doors at the top, one standing open, revealing what looked to Rebus like a bedsit: sofa, bed, cooker all visible. The man tapped on Susie Mercer’s door. After a moment, Rebus tried the handle, without success. There was no letter box for him to peer through.
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘Few days back. You think she’s in there?’
‘Could be.’
‘I hope she’s all right.’
‘Is there a landlord? He’d have a key, wouldn’t he?’
The tenant nodded his agreement. ‘Want me to fetch him?’
‘He lives nearby?’
‘Few streets away.’
‘I’d appreciate that. Sorry again to interrupt your dinner.’
‘It’s fine,’ the man said, heading indoors to fetch his jacket. He hesitated, about to lock his door, then told Rebus he could wait inside if he liked.
‘That’s good of you,’ Rebus said, accepting the offer.
The room was small, the only available window open a few inches, presumably to release the smell of cooking. Looked like chilli from a tin, with a bag of nachos to accompany it. There was no TV, just a computer on a desk, and the bowl of leftover food next to it. A movie had been paused. Rebus recognised the actor but couldn’t put a name to him. He plucked a nacho from the bag and popped it into his mouth. From envelopes on a ledge behind the door, it seemed the tenant’s name was G. Fortune. Rebus could only presume the G stood for something other than Good.
Next to the narrow single bed were a reading lamp and some well-used paperbacks. Thrillers, picked up for between ten and fifty pence, possibly from the charity shop downstairs. No music system other than an MP3 player attached to a large pair of headphones. No wardrobe either, just a rail for jackets, shirts and trousers, and a chipped chest of drawers for everything else. Rebus heard the downstairs door open and close, and two sets of feet begin to climb the stairs.
The landlord took Rebus’s hand when it was offered, but he had a question ready.
‘You’re from the hotel?’
‘I never said that,’ Rebus commented.
‘Geoff here says you did.’
Rebus shook his head. ‘He may have got that impression.’ He took out his ID. ‘I work for the police, Mr. .?’
‘Ralph Ellis. So what’s going on here?’
‘Just a few questions for Ms Mercer. She’s not been seen at work for a few days. Called in sick but hasn’t provided a doctor’s line.’
‘You think maybe she’s. .?’ Ellis nodded towards the locked door.
‘Only one way to find out, sir.’
Ellis debated with himself for a few seconds, then produced a bunch of keys from his pocket and found the right one, opening the door, calling out to Susie Mercer as he did so.
The room was dark. Rebus switched the light on. The curtain was closed, the bed unmade. The place was very similar to Fortune’s, down to the clothes rack and chest of drawers. But the hangers had been stripped and the drawers emptied.
‘Looks like she’s done a flit,’ Fortune said.
Rebus made a circuit of the room and the shower room off. Toiletries gone. Some women’s magazines left on the floor next to the bed. Pinholes on the wall above the headboard of the bed. Rebus pointed to them.
‘Any idea what the pictures were?’
‘A couple of postcards,’ Fortune said. ‘One or two photos of her and her friends.’
‘What friends?’
Fortune shrugged. ‘I never saw them in the flesh.’
‘What about a boyfriend?’
‘I’ve heard guys’ voices from time to time-’
‘Well,’ the landlord interrupted, ‘she’s not here and she’s not dead, so I think we can lock up again.’ He looked at Rebus. ‘Unless you’ve brought a search warrant with you. .’
Rebus didn’t want to leave. On the other hand, he couldn’t see anything worth lingering for. ‘Is the TV hers?’ he asked.
‘I think so,’ Fortune said.
‘It’s not mine,’ Ellis added.
‘It might be now,’ Rebus said quietly. Susie Mercer had left in a hurry, taking only what she could carry. He handed business cards to both men.
‘In case she gets in touch,’ he explained.
‘You don’t think she’s coming back, though?’ the landlord asked.
Rebus shook his head slowly in reply. Not now her e-fit was out there. .
36
He sat in his car and considered the situation. Then he remembered the cop he’d spoken to in Northern Constabulary, when he’d been tracking down the case files on Sally Hazlitt and Brigid Young. He had a name and contact number in his notebook, so he made the call. The police switchboard answered and he told them who he was and that he needed to speak to Sergeant Gavin Arnold.
‘He’s not on shift,’ he was eventually told.
‘It’s a bit urgent. Would he mind you giving me his home or mobile number?’
‘We can’t do that.’
‘Maybe if I give you my number then, and you can get a message to him?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
After ending the call, Rebus knew that all he could do was wait. In Inverness. Aka Dolphinsludge. On a dreich weekday evening with the temperature falling rapidly. He drove around without taking much of it in. A couple of supermarkets were open and looked busy. Men stood outside pubs, sucking hard at cigarettes, keen to get back inside. When his phone rang, he pulled over to the kerb.
‘What is it I can do for you?’ Gavin Arnold asked.
‘Do you remember me, Sergeant?’
‘You’re the reason I spent almost half a day covered in the dust of ages while I hunted those damned files. Haven’t stopped sneezing yet.’
‘I’m grateful to you.’
‘So has there been some progress?’
‘It’d be easier if I explained in person.’
‘You’re planning to drive up?’
‘I’m already here.’
