walked over.
'Have you talked to your boss yet, Kevin?’
'I keep getting his answering machine.’
'Bad one.’
Kevin Strang nearly bit through the glass. 'How do you mean?’
'Bad for business.’
'Aye, right enough.’
'Mairie tells me you and her are friends?’
'Went to school together. She was a couple of years above me, but we were both in the school orchestra.’
'That's good, you'll have something to fall back on.’
'Eh?’
'If Bothwell sacks you, you can always busk for a living. Did you ever see her? Talk to her?’
Kevin knew who he meant. He was shaking his head before Rebus had finished asking.
'No?’
Rebus persisted. 'You weren't even a wee bit curious? Didn't want to see what she looked like?’
'Never thought about it.’
Rebus looked across to the distant table where Mairie was being questioned by one of the Torphichen squad, with a WPC in close attendance. 'Bad one,' he said again. He leaned closer to Kevin Strang. 'Just between us, Kevin, who did you tell?’
'I didn't tell anyone.’
'Then you're going down, son.’
'How do you mean?’
'They didn't find her by accident, Kevin. They knew she was there. Only two people could have provided that information: Mairie or you. C Division are hard bastards. They'll want to know all about you, Kevin. You're about the only suspect they've got.’
'I'm not a suspect.’
'She died about six hours ago, Kevin. Where were you six hours ago?’
Rebus was making this up: they wouldn't know for sure until the pathologist took body temperature readings. But he reckoned it was a fair guess all the same.
'I'm telling you nothing.’
Rebus smiled. 'You're just snot, Kevin. Worse, you're hired snot.’
He made to pat Kevin Strang's face, but Strang flinched, staggered back, and hit the spittoon. They watched it tip with a crash to the floor, rock to and fro, and then lie there. Nothing happened for a second, then with a wet sucking sound a thick roll of something barely liquid oozed out. Everyone looked away. The only thing Strang found to look at was Rebus. He swallowed.
'Look, I had to tell Mr Bothwell, just to cover myself. If I hadn't told him, and he'd found out…’
'What did he say?’
'He just shrugged, said she was my responsibility.’
He shuddered at the memory.
'Where were you when you told him?’
'In the office, off the foyer.’
'This morning?’
Strang nodded. 'Tell me, Kevin, did Mr Bothwell go check out the lodger?’
Strang looked down at his empty glass. It was answer enough for Rebus.
There were strict rules covering the investigation of a serious crime such as murder. For one, Rebus should talk to the officer in charge and tell him everything he knew about Millie Docherty. For two, he should also mention his conversation with Kevin Strang. For three, he should then leave well alone and let C Division get on with it.
But at two in the morning, he was parked outside Frankie Bothwell's house in Ravelston Dykes, giving serious thought to going and ringing the doorbell. If nothing else, he might learn whether Bothwell's night attire was as gaudy as his daywear. But he dismissed the idea. For one thing, C Division would be speaking with Bothwell before the night was out, always supposing they managed to get hold of him. They would not want to be told by Bothwell that Rebus had beaten them to it.
For another, he was too late. He heard the garage doors lift automatically, and saw the dipped headlights as Bothwell's car, a gloss-black Merc with custom bodywork, bounced down off the kerb onto the road and sped away.
So he'd finally got the message, and was on his way to the Hose. Either that or he was fleeing.
Rebus made a mental note to do yet more digging on Lee Francis Bothwell.
But for now, he was relieved the situation had been taken out of his hands. He drove back to Oxford Terrace at a sedate pace, trying hard not to fall asleep at the wheel. No one was waiting in ambush outside, so he let himself in quietly and went to the living room, his body too tired to stay awake but his mind too busy for sleep. Well, he had a cure for that: a mug of milky tea with a dollop of whisky in it. But there was a note on the sofa in Patience's handwriting. Her writing was better than most doctors', but not by much. Eventually Rebus deciphered it, picked up the phone, and called Brian Holmes.
'Sorry, Brian, but the note said to call whatever the time.’
'Hold on a sec.’
He could hear Holmes getting out of bed, taking the cordless phone with him. Rebus imagined Nell Stapleton awake in the bed, rolling back over to sleep and cursing his name. The bedroom door closed. 'Okay,' said Holmes, 'I can talk now.’
'What's so urgent? Is it about our friend?’
'No, all's quiet on that front. I'll tell you about it in the morning. But I was wondering if you'd heard the news?’
'I was the one who found her.’
Rebus heard a fridge opening, a bottle being taken out, something poured into a glass.
'Found who?’
Brian asked.
'Millie Docherty. Isn't that what we're talking about?’
But of course it wasn't; Brian couldn't possibly know so soon. 'She's dead, murdered.’
'They're piling up, aren't they? What happened to her?’
'It's not a bedtime story. So what's your news?’
'A breakout from Barlinnie. Well, from a van actually, stopped between Barlinnie and a hospital. The whole thing was planned.’
Rebus sat down on the sofa. 'Cafferty?’
'He does a good impersonation of a perforated ulcer. It happened this evening. The prison van was sandwiched between two lorries. Masks, sawn-offs and a miracle recovery.’
'Oh Christ.’
'Don't worry, there are patrols all up and down the M8.’
'If he's coming back to Edinburgh, that's the last road he'll use.’
'You think he'll come back?’
'Get a grip, Brian, of course he's coming back. He's going to have to kill whoever butchered his son.’
24
He didn't get much sleep that night, in spite of the tea and whisky. He sat by the recessed bedroom window wondering when Cafferty would come. He kept his eyes on the stairwell outside until dawn came. His mind made up, he started packing. Patience sat up in bed.
'I hope you've left a note,' she said.
'We're both leaving, only not together. What's the score in an emergency?’
