`What about it?’
`Maybe Candice was there. Her city of bridges. She might link Telford to this Geordie gangster.’
Ormiston and Claverhouse looked at one another.
`She'll need a safe place to stay,' Rebus told them. `Money, somewhere to go afterwards.’
`A first-class flight home if she helps us nail Telford.’
`I'm not sure she'll want to go home.’
`That's for later,' Claverhouse said. `First thing is to talk to her.’
`You'll need a translator.’
Claverhouse looked at him. `And of course you know just the man…?’
She was asleep in her cell, curled under the blanket, only her hair visible. The Mothers of Invention: `Lonely Little Girl'. The cell was in the women's block. Painted pink and blue, a slab to sleep on, graffiti scratched into the walls.
'Candice,' Rebus said quietly, squeezing her shoulder. She started awake, as if he'd administered an electric shock. `It's okay, it's me, John.’
She looked round blindly, focused on him slowly. `John,' she said. Then she smiled.
Claverhouse was off making phone calls, squaring things.,Ormiston stood in the doorway, appraising Candice. Not that Ormiston was known to be choosy. Rebus had tried Colquhoun at home, but there'd been no answer. So now Rebus was gesturing, letting her know they wanted to take her somewhere.
`A hotel,' he said.
She didn't like that word. She looked from him to Ormiston and back again.
`It's okay,' Rebus said. `It's just a place for you to sleep, that's all, somewhere safe. No Telford, nothing like that.’
She seemed to soften, came off the bed and stood in front of him. Her eyes seemed to say, I'll trust you, and if you let me down I won't be surprised.
Claverhouse came back. `All fixed,' he said, his examination falling on Candice. `She doesn't speak any English?’
`Not as practised in polite society.’
`In that case,' Ormiston said, `she should be fine with us.’
Three men and a young woman in a dark blue Ford Orion, heading south out of the city. It was late now, past midnight, black taxis cruising. Students were spilling from pubs.
`They get younger every year.’
Claverhouse was never short of a cliche.
`And more of them end up joining the force,' Rebus commented.
Claverhouse smiled. `I meant prossies, not students. We pulled one in last week, said she was fifteen. Turned out she was twelve, on the run. All grown up about it.’
Rebus tried to remember Sammy at twelve. He saw her scared, in the clutches of a madman with a grievance against Rebus. She'd had lots of nightmares afterwards, till her mother had taken her to London. Rhona had phoned Rebus a few years later. She just wanted to let him know he'd robbed Sammy of her childhood.
`I phoned ahead,' Claverhouse said. `Don't worry, we've used this place before. It's perfect.’
`She'll need some clothes,' Rebus said.
'Siobhan can fetch her some in the morning.’
`How is Siobhan?’
`Seems fine. Hasn't half cut into the jokes and the language though.’
`Ach, she can take a joke,' Ormiston said. `Likes a drink, too.’
This last was news to Rebus. He wondered how much Siobhan Clarke would change in order to blend with her new surroundings.
`It's just off the bypass,' Claverhouse said, meaning their destination. `Not far now.’
The city ended suddenly. Green belt, plus the Pentland Hills. The bypass was quiet, Ormiston doing the ton between exits. They came off at Colinton and signalled into the hotel. It was a motorist's stop, one of a nationwide chain: same prices, same rooms. The cars which crowded the parking area were salesmen's specials, cigarette packets littering the passenger seats. The reps would be sleeping, or lying in a daze with the TV remote to hand.
Candice seemed reluctant to get out of the car, until she saw that Rebus was coming, too.
`You light up her life,' Ormiston offered.
At reception, they signed her in as one half of a couple – Mrs Angus Campbell. The two Crime Squad cops had the routine off pat. Rebus watched the hotel clerk, but a wink from Claverhouse told him the man was okay.
`Make it the first floor, Malcolm,' Ormiston said. `Don't want anyone peeking in the windows.’
Room number 20. `Will someone be with her?’
Rebus asked as they climbed the stairs.
`Right there in the room,' Claverhouse said. `The landing's too obvious, and we'd freeze our bums off in the car. Did you give me Colquhoun's number?’
'Ormiston has it.’
Ormiston was unlocking the door. `Who's on first watch?’
Claverhouse shrugged. Candice was looking towards Rebus, seeming to sense what was being discussed. She snatched at his arm, jabbering in her native tongue, looking first to Claverhouse and then to Ormiston, all the time waving Rebus's arm.
`It's okay, Candice, really. They'll take care of you.’
She kept shaking her head, holding him with one hand and pointing at him with the other, prodding his chest to make her meaning clear.
`What do you say, John?’
Claverhouse asked. `A happy witness is a willing witness.’
`What time's Siobhan expected?’
`I'll hurry her up.’
Rebus looked at Candice again, sighed, nodded. `Okay.’
He pointed to himself, then to the room. `Just for a little while, okay?’
Candice seemed satisfied with this, and went inside. Ormiston handed Rebus the key.
`I don't want you young things waking the neighbours now…’
Rebus closed the door on his face.
The room was exactly as expected. Rebus filled the kettle and switched it on, dumped a tea-bag into a cup. Candice pointed to the bathroom, made turning motions with her hands.
`A bath?’
He gestured with his arm. `Go ahead.’
The curtain over the window was closed. He parted it and looked out. A grassy slope, occasional lights from the bypass. He made sure the curtains were closed tight, then tried adjusting the heating. The room was stifling. There didn't seem to be a thermostat, so he went back to the window and opened it a fraction. Cold night air, and the swish of nearby traffic. He opened the pack of custard creams, two small biscuits. Suddenly he felt ravenous. He'd seen a snack machine in -the lobby. Plenty of change in his pockets. He made the tea, added milk, sat down on the sofa. For want of any other distractions, he turned the TV on. The tea was fine. The tea was absolutely fine, no complaints there. He picked up the phone and called Jack Morton.
`Did I wake you?’
`Not really. How's it going?’
`I wanted a drink today.’
`So what's new?’
Rebus could hear his friend making himself comfortable. Jack had helped Rebus get off the booze. Jack had said he could phone any time he liked.
`I had to talk to this scumbag, Tommy Telford.’
`I know the name.’
Rebus lit a cigarette. `I think a drink would have helped.’
`Before or after?’
