`White decorator's van?’
`This definitely isn't a good idea…’
`You want to hear what I've got?’
`Sell me the idea.’
`It clears everything up,' Rebus lied.
Claverhouse waited for more, but Rebus wasn't obliging. Theatrical sigh: life was hard on Claverhouse.
`I'll be there in half an hour,' Rebus said. He put down the phone, looked around the office. `Anyone got a set of overalls?’
`Nice disguise,' Claverhouse said, as Rebus squeezed into the front seat.
Ormiston was in the driver's seat, plastic piece-box open in front of him. A flask of tea had been opened, steaming up the windscreen. The back of the van was full of paint-tins, brushes and other paraphernalia. A ladder was strapped to the roof, and another was leaning against the wall of the tenement beside which the van had been parked. Claverhouse and Ormiston were in white overalls, daubed with swatches of old paint. The best Rebus could come up with was a blue boilersuit, tight at the waist and chest. He pulled the first few studs open as he settled in.
`Anything happening?’
`Jack's been in twice this morning.’
Claverhouse looked towards the shop. `Once for ciggies and a paper, once for a can of juice and a filled roll.’
`He doesn't smoke.’
`He does for this operation: perfect excuse to nip to the shop.’
`He hasn't given you any signal?’
`You expecting him to put the flags out?’
Ormiston exhaled fishpaste.
`Just asking.’
Rebus checked his watch. `Either of you want a break?’
`We're fine,' Claverhouse said.
`What's Siobhan up to?’
`Paperwork,' Ormiston said with a smile. `Ever come across a woman house painter?’
`Done much house painting yourself, Ormie?’
This brought a smile from Claverhouse. `So, John,' he said, `what is it you've got for us?’
Rebus filled them in quickly, noting Claverhouse's mounting interest.
`So Tarawicz is planning to double-cross Telford?’
Ormiston said at the end.
Rebus shrugged. `That's my guess.’
`Then why the hell are we bothering to set up a sting? Just let them get on with it.’
`That wouldn't give us Tarawicz,' Claverhouse said, his eyes slitted in concentration. `If he sets up Telford for a fall, he's home and dry. Telford gets put away, and all we've done is replace one villain with another.’
`And an altogether nastier species at that,' Rebus said.
`What? And Telford's Robin Hood?’
`No, but at least with him, we know what we're dealing with.’
`And the old dears in his flats love him,' Claverhouse said.
Rebus thought of Mrs Hetherington, readying herself for her trip to Holland. The only drawback: she had to fly from Inverness… Sakiji Shoda had flown from London to Inverness…
Rebus started laughing.
`What's so funny?’
He shook his head, still laughing, wiping his eyes. It wasn't funny, not really.
`We could let Telford know what we know,' Claverhouse said, studying Rebus. `Set him against Tarawicz, let them eat each other alive.’
Rebus nodded, took a deep breath. `That's certainly one option.’
`Give me another.’
`Later,' Rebus said. He opened the door. `Where are you off to?’
Claverhouse asked. `Got to fly.’
32
But in fact he was driving. A long drive, too. North through Perth and from there into the Highlands, taking a route which could be cut off during the worst of the winter. It wasn't a bad road, but traffic was heavy. He'd get past one slowmoving lorry only to catch up with another. He knew he should be thankful for small mercies: in the summer, caravans could end up fronting mile-long tailbacks.
He did pass a couple of caravans outside Pitlochry. They were from the Netherlands. Mrs Hetherington had said it was out of season for a trip to Holland. Most people her age would go in the spring, ready to fill their senses with the bulb-fields. But not Mrs Hetherington. Telford's offer: go when I say. Telford probably provided spending money, too. Told her to have a good time, not worry about a thing…
As he neared Inverness, Rebus hit dual carriageway again. He'd been on the road well over two hours. Sammy might be coming round again; Rhona had his mobile number. Inverness Airport was signposted from the road into town. Rebus parked and got out, stretched his legs and arched his back, feeling the vertebrae pop. He went into the terminal and asked for security. He got a small balding man with glasses and a limp. Rebus introduced himself. The man offered coffee, but Rebus was jumpy enough after the drive. Hungry though: no lunch. He gave the man his story, and eventually they tracked down a representative of Her Majesty's Customs. During his tour of the facilities, Rebus got the impression of a low-key operation. The Customs official was in her early-thirties, rosycheeked and with black curly hair. There was a purple birthmark, the size of a small coin, in the middle of her forehead, looking for all the world like a third eye.
She took Rebus into the Customs area and found a room they could use for their conversation.
`They've just started direct international flights,' she said, in answer to his question. `It's shocking really.’
'Why?’
`Because at the same time, they've cut back on manpower.’
`You mean in Customs?’
She nodded.
`You're worried about drugs?’
`Of course.’
She paused. `And everything else.’
`Are there flights to Amsterdam?’
`There will be.’
`But as of now…?’
She shrugged. `You can fly to London, make the connection there.’
Rebus was thoughtful. `There was a guy a few days ago, flew from Japan to Heathrow, then got a flight to Inverness.’
`Did he stop off in London?’
Rebus shook his head. `Caught the first connection.’
`That counts as an international connection.’
`Meaning?’
`His luggage would be put on the plane in Japan, and he wouldn't see it again until Inverness.’
`So you'd be the first Customs point?’
She nodded.
`And if his flight came in at some horrible hour…?’
She shrugged again. `We do what we can, Inspector.’
