`What makes you think I'm disappointed?’
'Sammy has a good rapport with all her clients. None of them would have wanted her hurt.’
`What about the ones who didn't want to be her clients?’
Crumley hesitated. `There was one man… When he was told Sammy had a police inspector for a father, he'd have nothing to do with her.’
`What's his name?’
`It couldn't have been him though.’
`Why not?’
`Because he killed himself. His name was Gavin Tay. He used to drive an ice-cream van…’
Rebus thanked her for her call, and put down the phone. If someone had tried to kill Sammy on purpose, the question was: why? Rebus had been investigating Lintz; Ned Farlowe had been following him. Rebus had twice confronted Telford; Ned was writing a book about organised crime. Then there was Candice… Could she have told Sammy something, something which might have threatened Telford, or even Mr Pink Eyes? Rebus just didn't know. He knew the most likely culprit – the most vicious – was Tommy Telford. He remembered their first meeting, and the young gangster's words to him: That's the beauty of games. You can always start again after an accident. Not so easy in real life. At the time it had sounded like bravado, a performance for the troops. But now it sounded like a plain threat.
And now there was Mr Taystee, connecting Sammy to Telford.
Mr Taystee had worked Telford's clubs; Mr Taystee had rejected Sammy. Rebus knew he'd have to talk to the widow.
There was just the one problem. Mr Pink Eyes had intimated that if Telford wasn't left alone, Candice would suffer. He kept seeing images of Candice: torn from home and homeland; used and abused; abusing herself in the hope of respite; clinging to a stranger's legs… He recalled Levy's words: Can time mash array responsibility? Justice was a fine and noble thing, but revenge… revenge was an emotion, and so much stronger than an abstract like justice. He wondered if Sammy would want revenge. Probably not. She'd want him to help Candice, which meant yielding to Telford. Rebus didn't think he could do that.
And now there was Lintz's murder, unconnected but resonant.
`I've never felt comfortable with the past, Inspector,' Lintz had said once. Funny, Rebus felt the same way about the present.
Joanne Tay lived in Colinton: a newish three-bedroomed semi with the Merc still parked in the drive.
`It's too big for me,' she explained to Rebus. `I'll have to sell it.’
He wasn't sure if she meant the house or the car. Having declined her offer of tea, he sat in the busy living- room, ornaments on every flat surface. Joanne Tay was still in mourning: black skirt and blouse, dark grooves beneath her eyes. He'd interviewed her back at the start of the inquiry.
`I still don't know why he did it,' she said now, reluctant to see her husband's death as anything other than suicide.
But the pathology and forensic tests had cast this into doubt.
`Have you ever heard,' Rebus asked, `of a man called Tommy Telford?’
`He runs a nightclub, doesn't he? Gavin took me there once.’
`So Gavin knew him?’
`Seemed to.’
Yes: because no way was Mr Taystee setting up his hot-dog pitch outside Telford's premises without Telford's okay. And Telford's okay almost certainly meant payment of some kind. A percentage maybe… or a favour.
`The week before Gavin died,' Rebus went on, `you said he'd been busy?’
`Working all hours.’
`Days as well as nights?’
She nodded. `The weather was lousy that week.’
`I know. I told him: you'll never get them buying ice-cream, a day like this. Pelting down outside. But still he went out.’
Rebus shifted in his chair. `Did he ever mention SWEEP, Mrs Tay?’
`He had some woman would visit him… red hair.’
'Mae Crumley?’
She nodded, eyes staring at the coal-effect fire. She asked him again if he wanted some tea. Rebus shook his head and made to leave. Did pretty well: knocked over just the two ornaments on his way to the door.
The hospital was quiet. When he pushed open the door to Sammy's room, he saw that another bed had been added, a middle-aged woman sleeping in it. Her hands lay on the bedcovers, a white identity tag around one wrist. She was hooked up to a machine, and her head was bandaged.
Two women were sitting by Sammy's bed. Rhona, and Patience Aitken. Rebus hadn't seen Patience in a while. The women were sitting close together. Their whispered conversation stopped as he came in. He lifted a chair and placed it beside Patience's. She leaned over and squeezed his hand.
`Hello, John.’
He smiled at her, spoke to Rhona. `How is she?’
`The specialist says those last tests were very positive.’
`What does that mean?’
`It means there's brain activity. She's not in deep coma.’
`Is that his version?’
`He thinks she'll come out of it, John.’
Her eyes were bloodshot. He noticed a handkerchief gripped in one hand.
`That's good,' he said. `Which doctor was it?’
`Dr Stafford. He's just back from holiday.’
`I can't keep track of them all.’
Rebus rubbed his forehead.
`Look,' Patience said, checking her watch, `I really should be going. I'm sure the two of you…’
`Stay as long as you like,' Rebus told her.
`I'm already late for an appointment, actually.’
She got to her feet. `Nice to meet you, Rhona.’
`Thanks, Patience.’
The two women shook hands a little awkwardly, then Rhona got up and they hugged, and the awkwardness vanished. `Thanks for coming.’
Patience turned to Rebus. She looked radiant, he decided. Light really seemed to emanate from her skin. She was wearing her usual perfume, and had had her hair restyled.
`Thanks for looking in,' he said.
`She's going to be fine, John.’
She took his hands in hers, leaned towards him. A peck on the cheek, a kiss between friends. Rebus saw Rhona watching them.
`John,' she said, `see Patience out, will you?’
`No, that's all -'
`Of course, yes,' Rebus said.
They left the room together. Walked the first few steps in silence. Patience spoke first.
`She's great, isn't she?’
'Rhona?’
`Yes.’
Rebus was thoughtful. `She's terrific. Have you met her paramour?’
`He's gone back to London. I've… I asked Rhona if she wanted to come stay with me. Hotels can be…’
Rebus smiled tiredly. `Good idea. Then all you'd have to do is invite my brother over and you'd have the whole set.’
Her face cracked into an embarrassed grin. `I suppose it must look a bit like I'm collecting you all.’
`The perfect hand of Unhappy Families.’
She turned to him. They were at the main doors of the hospital. She touched his shoulder. `John, I'm really
