been checked.'
'Well, whatever,' said Watson, 'let's tread carefully, eh? Get on to the hire firms first.'
'What about Steele?' Rebus asked.
'Until we know what we're dealing with, we still want to talk to him.'
'Agreed,' said Lauderdale. He seemed aware that Watson was back in control, at least for now.
'Well,' said Watson, 'what are you all waiting for? Jump to it!'
They jumped.
There weren't that many hire firms in Edinburgh, and the third call brought a result. Yes, Mr Jack had hired a car for a few days. Yes, a blue Ford Escort. Did he give any reason for the hire? Yes, his own car was going in for a service.
And, thought Rebus, he needed a change of cars so he could escape the attentions of the press. Christ, hadn't Rebus put the idea into his head himself? Your car's out there… being photographed… everyone'll know what it looks like. So Jack had hired another car for a few days, just to help him get around incognito.
Rebus stared at the office wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He would have banged his head against the wall if he could have been sure it wouldn't fall down…
It had been a devil of a job, the man from the hire firm said. The client had wanted his car-phone transferred from his own car to the hire car.
Of course: how else could Liz Jack have contacted him? He had been on the move all day, hadn't he?
Had the hire car been cleaned since its return? Naturally, a full valet service. What about the boot? The boot? The boot, had it been cleaned too? A bit of a wipe maybe… Where was the car now? On hire again, a London businessman. A forty-eight-hour hire only, and due back by six o'clock. It was now a quarter to five. Two CID men would be waiting to drive it from the car-hire offices to the police pound. Were there any forensics people available at Fettes HQ…?
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not the same car returning to the lay-by, but another car. Holmes had asked the question: what had Liz Jack been waiting for? She'd been waiting for her husband. She must have telephoned him from the box in the lay-by. She'd just had the argument with Steele. Too upset to drive herself home maybe. So he'd told her to wait there and he'd pick her up. He had a free afternoon anyway. He'd pick her up in the blue Escort. But when he'd arrived there had been another argument. About what? It could have been anything. What would it take to smash the ice that was Gregor Jack? The original newspaper story? The police finding evidence of his wife's lifestyle? Shame and embarrassment? The thought of further public scrutiny, of losing his precious constituency?
There was enough there to be going on with.
'Okay,' said Lauderdale, 'so we've got the car. Let's see if Jack's at home.' He turned to Rebus. 'You phone, John.'
Rebus phoned. Helen Greig answered.
'Hello, Miss Greig. It's Inspector Rebus.'
'He's not here,' she blurted out. 'I haven't seen him all day, or yesterday come to that.'
'But he's not in London?'
'We don't know where he is. He was with you yesterday morning, wasn't he?'
'He came into the station, yes.'
'Ian's going up the wall.'
'What about the Saab?'
'It's not here either. Hold on…' She placed her hand over the mouthpiece, but not very effectively. 'It's that Inspector Rebus,' he heard her say. Then a frantic hiss: 'Don't tell him anything!' And Helen again: 'Too late, Ian.' Followed by a sort of snarl. She removed her hand.
'Miss Greig,' said Rebus, 'how has Gregor seemed?'
'Same as you might expect of a man whose wife's been murdered.'
'And how's that?'
'Depressed. He's been sitting around in the living room, just staring into space, not saying much. Like he was thinking. Funny, the only time I got a conversation out of him was when he asked me about last year's holiday.'
'The one you went on with your mum?'
'Yes.'
'Remind me, where did you go again?'
'Down the coast,' she said. 'Eyemouth, round there.'
Yes, of course. Jack had uttered the name of the first town that had come to mind. Then he'd pumped Helen for details so he could prop up his rickety story…
He put down the receiver.
'Well?' asked Watson.
'His car's gone, and Gregor Jack with it. All that stuff he told us about Eyemouth… eye wash more like… he got it all from his secretary. She went there on holiday last year.'
The room was stuffy, the late afternoon outside preparing itself for thunder. Watson spoke first.
'What a mess.'
'Yes,' said Lauderdale.
Holmes nodded. He was a relieved man; more than that, inwardly he was rejoicing: the hire car had turned out to be fact. He'd proved his worth.
'What now?'
'I'm just thinking,' said Rebus, 'about that lay-by. Liz Jack has an argument with Steele. She tells him she's going back to her husband. Steele buggers off. What's the next he hears of her?'
That she's dead,' answered Holmes.
Rebus nodded. Throwing all those books around the shop in his grief and his anger… 'Not only dead, but murdered. And the last he saw of her, she was waiting for Gregor.'
'So,' said Watson, 'he must know Jack did it? Is that what you're suggesting?'
'You think,' Lauderdale said, 'Steele's run off to protect Gregor Jack?'
'I don't think anything of the sort,' said Rettus. 'But if Gregor Jack is the murderer, then Ronald Steele has known for some time that he is. Why hasn't he done anything? Think about it: how could he come to the police He was in way too deep himself. It would mean explaining everything, and explaining it would make him if anything a bigger suspect than Gregor Jack himself!'
'So what would he do?'
Rebus shrugged. 'He might try persuading Jack to come forward.'
'But that would mean admitting to Jack that -'
'Exactly, that he was Elizabeth Jack's lover. what would you do in Jack's position?'
Holmes dared to supply the answer. 'I'd kill him. I'd kill Ronald Steele.'
Rebus sat all that evening in Patience's living room, an arm around her as they both watched a video. A romantic comedy; only there wasn't much romance and precious little comedy. You knew from reel one that the secretary would go off with the bucktoothed student and not with her bloodsucking boss. But you kept on watching anyway. Not that he was taking much of it in. He was thinking about Gregor Jack about the person he'd seemed to be and the person he really was. You peeled away layer after layer, stripped the bone and beyond… and never found the truth. Strip Jack Naked: a card game, also known as Beggar my neighbour. Patience was a card game, too. He stroked her hair, her forehead.
'That's nice.'
Patience was a game easily won.
The film rolled past him. Another foil had entered the picture, a big-hearted con man. Rebus had yet to meet a con man in real life who was anything but the most predatory shark. What was the phrase? – they'd steal your false teeth and drink the water out of the glass. Well, mabye this con man was in with a chance. The secretary was interested, but she was loyal to her boss too, and he was doing everything short of whipping his sausage out and slapping it on her desk.
'A penny for them.'
'They're not worth it, Patience.' They'd find Steele, they'd find Jack. Why couldn't he relax? He kept thinking of a
