Back at his flat, Rebus tapped the number he had for Frank Hammell into his phone. It rang and rang without anyone answering. He tipped the dregs of the whisky bottle into his mouth and swallowed them down. He was standing by the living room window, its view unchanged. The two kids in the flat opposite were cross-legged on the carpet watching TV. He wondered what life held in store for them. An absent parent, perhaps. College or straight into work? Maybe unemployment. Meeting someone they really loved. And the last-chance saloon of IVF. Then they might become parents themselves, worrying about the future and wishing they could see what it held. His phone buzzed, Hammell’s name appearing on the screen. Rebus hesitated, then decided to answer.
‘I think we should meet,’ he said.
‘Why?’ The voice sounded dry and hollow.
‘Because I’ve heard about you and Darryl.’
‘I never want to hear that little prick’s name again!’
‘You might have to,’ Rebus stated calmly. ‘What’s more, I think it’ll be worth it.’
‘I’m not a grass, Rebus.’
‘I’m not asking you to be one. I just need you to answer a question — it’s not even a question about Darryl.’
‘And?’
‘And a spot of payback might well be forthcoming.’
There was silence on the line as Hammell considered this. Rebus listened to him exhale. ‘What’s the question?’
‘There may be a follow-up, depending on how you answer.’
‘Just ask me the damned question.’
‘Okay, then.’ One of the kids opposite had come to the window. They waved at Rebus. He waved back. ‘Where would you bury a body?’ he asked Hammell, as the kid waved again, this time with a huge gap-toothed grin.
Rebus was leaving his tenement building, pulling the door shut behind him, when he saw Siobhan Clarke standing on the pavement.
‘Got Page with you?’ he asked, looking to left and right.
‘No.’
‘So what can I do for you?’
‘I was a bit worried, that’s all.’
‘Worried?’
‘You’ve fallen off the radar.’
‘Maybe it escaped your attention, but I’m not on the books any more.’
‘All the same. .’
‘What?’
She studied him closely. ‘I was right. You’ve got that look in your eyes. Something’s brewing.’
‘Nothing’s brewing.’
‘And suddenly he gets all defensive. .’
He opened his arms in a show of innocence, but he wasn’t fooling her.
‘Where are you off to?’ she asked.
‘Just out.’
‘Mind if I tag along?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not heading to the pub, then.’
‘Christ’s sake, Siobhan. .’ Rebus made an exasperated sound. ‘There’s just something I have to do.’
‘Does it happen to involve Kenny Magrath?’
‘It might,’ he conceded.
‘And naturally you’ll be sticking to the letter of the law?’
‘I’m not the police; I’m not even a civvy
‘And having a real-life detective along for the ride wouldn’t help at all?’
He stared at her, then shook his head slowly. ‘You should listen to Fox, Siobhan. To keep rising through the ranks, you need to steer well clear of the likes of me.’ He prodded his chest with his thumb to drive the point home.
‘A rise through the ranks that turns me into the likes of James Page or Malcolm Fox?’ She made show of considering this. ‘Somehow your way of doing things is just that bit more fun.’
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head again.
‘Yes,’ Clarke countered. ‘Tell me what you’ve got in mind.’
Rebus rubbed at his jaw. ‘If I do, will you bugger off home and leave me to it?’
It was her turn to shake her head.
‘Thought not,’ he said.
Frank Hammell was waiting for them in a fast-food restaurant next to a petrol station. The place was brightly lit, showing how much colour Hammell had lost from his face. His hair needed combing, and grey stubble showed on his cheeks. He was nursing a coffee, the burger in front of him not even half eaten, and his eyes darted everywhere, his whole body seeming to tense with each new customer through the door.
‘You reckon he’ll come after you?’ Rebus asked, sliding into the cubicle. Clarke was fetching drinks from the counter — orange juice for her and tea for him.
‘You didn’t say you’d be bringing anyone,’ Hammell snapped back.
‘She’s not here — not officially.’ Rebus slid further over to make room for Clarke, who offered a nod of greeting to Hammell, a greeting he ignored, focusing on a couple of newcomers to the restaurant.
‘I reckon the little turd’s capable of anything,’ he muttered eventually, in answer to Rebus’s original question.
‘Wouldn’t he have made his move at the club?’
Hammell shook his head. ‘Too many witnesses.’
‘You’ve obviously given it some thought.’
‘What else am I going to do? If I so much as pick up the phone to Gail, he says he’ll tell her about Annette and me. He’s even got keys to my house. .’ Hammell’s eyes were filling with anger. ‘If I can just get him on his own, I’ll throttle the bastard.’
‘Duly noted. But how about if
Hammell looked at Rebus, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Is this a set-up?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘What, then?’
‘There’s a result I’m after, and Darryl Christie’s part of it.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Best keep it that way.’
Hammell studied Rebus intently, then switched to Clarke and back to Rebus again. ‘What do you need me to do?’
‘Remember that question I asked?’
‘Yes.’
Rebus reached into his pocket and took out the road map of Scotland.
‘Just show me,’ he said.
Afterwards, they walked Hammell back to the car park. He had yet to get rid of the Range Rover.
‘Bit conspicuous,’ Rebus warned him.
‘Garage that sold me it offered fifteen to take it back,’ Hammell complained. ‘It’s worth three times that.’
‘All the same. .’
