gallery, a sheen of sweat on his face. A nice big smile for the camera, a man with not a care in the world and about two hours to live.
“You probably don’t go in for second names around here,” Siobhan said. “He might’ve called himself Edward or Eddie.”
“Oh?”
“We know he was a customer.”
“Do you now?” The young man glanced at the picture. “And what’s he done?”
“Someone killed him.”
The young man’s eyes were on Hynds, who was over at the back doorway.
“Did they now?” he said, his mind elsewhere.
Siobhan decided enough was enough. “Okay, you’re not telling me anything. That means I have to talk to all the girls, find out who knew him. You better call your boss and tell him the place is shutting down for the night.”
She had his attention now. “This is my place,” he said.
She smiled. “Sure it is. Every inch of you’s a born entrepreneur.”
He just looked at her. She held the photograph in front of his nose. “Take another look,” she said. A couple of the sauna’s customers, dressed now, brushed past, averting their eyes as they escaped to the outside world. A woman’s face appeared at the back doorway, then another.
“What’s going on, Ricky?”
The young man shook his head at them, then met Siobhan’s gaze. “I might have seen him,” he admitted. “But that could just be because his face was in the paper.”
“It was,” Siobhan agreed, nodding.
“I mean, we get a lot of faces in here.”
“And you take down their details?” Siobhan was looking at the ledger.
“Just the first name, plus the girl’s.”
“How does it work, Ricky? Punters sit in here, choose a girl . . . ?”
Ricky nodded. “What goes on once they’re in a suite is their business. Maybe they just want a back rub and a bit of chat.”
“How often did he come in?” Siobhan was still holding up the photograph.
“Couldn’t tell you.”
“More than once?”
The doorbell rang. Ricky ignored it. He’d missed his morning shave, started rubbing the back of his hand against his chin. More men, carrying their jackets, shoes not quite laced, were making to exit. As they pulled open the door, the clients outside — a couple of drunken businessmen — stumbled in.
“Laura on tonight?” one of them asked. He noticed Siobhan and proffered a smile, his eyes running the length of her. The phone started ringing.
“Ricky will be with you in a minute, gentlemen,” Siobhan said coldly, “as soon as he’s finished helping me with my inquiries.”
“Christ,” the man hissed. His friend had flopped into a chair, was asking where “the burdz” were. The first man hauled him back to his feet.
“Polis, Charlie,” was the explanation.
“Come back in ten minutes!” Ricky called out, but Siobhan doubted the men would be back, not for a while.
“I seem to be bad for business,” Siobhan said with a smile.
Hynds appeared at the inner doorway. “It’s a bloody maze back there. Stairs and doors and I don’t know what. There’s even a sauna, would you believe. How are we doing?”
“Ricky here was just about to tell me if Mr. Marber was a regular.”
Hynds nodded, reached over and picked up the still-ringing phone. “Sauna Paradiso, DC Hynds speaking.” He waited, then looked at the receiver. “Hung up,” he said with a shrug.
“Look, he came in a few times,” Ricky burst out. “I’m not always on shift, you know.”
“Daytime or evenings?”
“Evenings, I think.”
“What did he call himself?”
Ricky shook his head. “Eddie, maybe.”
Hynds had a question. “Did he take a shine to any one girl in particular?”
Ricky shook his head again. Another phone was sounding: the theme to
“Hello?” He listened for a few moments, his back straightening. “It’s under control,” he said. Then he looked up at Siobhan. “Still here, yes.”
Siobhan knew: it was the owner of the sauna. Maybe one of the girls had called him. She held out a hand.
“She wants to talk to you,” Ricky said, then he listened again and shook his head, eyes still on Siobhan. “Do I need to show them the books?” He blurted this out, as Hynds started prizing a hand beneath the ledger. Ricky’s free hand came down and stopped him.
“I said I can handle it,” Ricky said more firmly, before terminating the call. His face had hardened.
“I’ve told you what I know,” he said, clipping the phone back on his belt, his free hand still resting on the closed ledger.
“Mind if I talk to the girls?” Siobhan asked.
“Be my guest,” Ricky said, his face breaking into a smile.
When Siobhan stepped over the threshold, she knew the place was empty. She saw shower cubicles, lockers, a wooden coffin of a sauna. Stairs down to the rooms where the girls worked. No windows: the downstairs was below ground level. She peered into one room. It smelled perfumed. There was a deep bath in one corner, lots of mirrors. The lighting was almost nonexistent. Sounds of grunts and moans — a TV high up on one wall, playing a hard-core video. Back out in the corridor, she noticed a curtain at the far end. Walked towards it and pulled it open. A door. Emergency exit. It led out into a narrow alley. The girls were gone.
“Done a runner,” Hynds confirmed. “So what do we do now?”
“We could charge him with possession of illegal videos.”
“We could,” Hynds acknowledged. He glanced at his watch. “Or we could call it a day.”
Siobhan started climbing the narrow stairs. The sauna’s phone was ringing again. Ricky was about to answer, but thought better of it when he saw Siobhan.
“Who’s your boss?” she asked.
“Solicitor’s on his way,” Ricky told her.
“Good,” she said, making for the exit. “I hope he charges through the nose.”
The Resurrection Men had moved from the bar to the break-out area, and from alcohol to soft drinks. A lot of the probationers at Tulliallan would be staying through the weekend, but those who were allowed would be heading home. Jazz McCullough and Allan Ward had left already, Ward complaining of the long drive ahead. The others were trying to rouse themselves, or maybe it was that there was nothing about the weekend that they couldn’t live without. The break-out area was an open lounge of leather chairs and sofas, just outside the lecture theater. Rebus had known men get too comfortable there and end up falling asleep, waking stiffly next morning.
“Got plans, John?” Francis Gray asked.
Rebus shrugged. Jean was off to a family wedding south of the border. She’d asked if he wanted to go, but he’d declined.
“How about you?” he asked.
“I’ve been away five days. Pound to a penny things have started to break, drip or leak.”
“You’re a bit of a DIY man then?”
“Christ, no. Why do you think things go wrong in the first place?”
There was tired laughter at this. Five days they’d been at Tulliallan. They felt like they knew each other.
“Suppose I’ll go watch my team tomorrow,” Tam Barclay said.
“Who’s that? Falkirk?”
