“Blame DI Rebus. He loaned me the early albums…” She attempted a sigh of her own. “So are you going to help me or not?”
“How soon can you get it to me?”
“Within the hour.”
“I suppose I could stay late. Wouldn’t
“Have I ever mentioned your good looks, wit and charm?”
“Only every time I agree to do you a favor.”
“You’re an angel, Ray. Call me ASAP.”
“Come for a drive sometime,” Duff was telling her as she ended the call. She carried the letter through the cafeteria, into the booking area beyond.
“Got an evidence bag, by any chance?” she asked the custody sergeant. He opened a couple of drawers. “I could get one from upstairs,” he said, admitting defeat.
“What about one of the possessions envelopes?”
The custody sergeant stooped again and produced a legal-sized manila envelope from below the counter.
“That’ll do,” Siobhan said, dropping her own envelope in. She wrote Ray Duff’s name on the front, adding her own name as reference and the word URGENT, then walked back through the cafeteria and out into the car park. The smokers had gone back inside, meaning she wouldn’t have to apologize for her earlier fit of the stares. Two uniforms were getting into a patrol car.
“Hey, guys!” she called. Getting closer, she recognized the passenger as PC John Mason, his station nickname the utterly obvious Perry. The driver was Toni Jackson.
“Hiya, Siobhan,” Jackson said. “Missed you Friday night.”
Siobhan shrugged an apology. Toni and some of the other female uniforms liked to let off steam once a week. Siobhan was the only detective allowed into their fold.
“I’m assuming I missed a good night?” she asked.
“A great night. My liver’s still recovering.”
Mason looked interested. “So what did you get up to?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” his partner responded with a wink. Then, to Siobhan: “You wanting us to play postman?” She nodded towards the envelope.
“Could you? It’s for forensics at Howdenhall. Delivered into this guy’s hands if at all possible.” Siobhan tapped Duff’s name.
“We’ve a couple of calls to make… it’s not much of a detour.”
“I promised it’d be there inside an hour.”
“Way Toni drives, that won’t be a problem,” Mason offered.
Jackson ignored this. “Rumor has it you’ve been relegated to chauffeur, Siobhan.”
Siobhan twitched her mouth. “Only for a few days.”
“How did he manage to hurt his hands?”
Siobhan stared at Jackson. “I don’t know, Toni. What do the bush drums say?”
“They say all sorts of things… Everything from fistfights to fat fryers.”
“Not that the two are mutually exclusive.”
“Nothing’s mutually exclusive where DI Rebus is concerned.” Jackson smiled wryly, holding her hand out for the envelope. “You’re on a yellow card, Siobhan.”
“I’ll be there Friday, if you want me.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my CID heart.”
“In other words, it depends.”
“It always does, Toni, you know that.”
Jackson was looking over Siobhan’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil,” she said, getting back behind the steering wheel. Siobhan turned around. Rebus was watching from the doorway. She didn’t know how long he’d been there. Long enough to see the envelope change hands? The engine caught, and she stepped away from the car, watching it depart. Rebus had opened his cigarette packet and was pulling one out with his teeth.
“Funny how the human animal can adapt,” Siobhan said, walking towards him.
“I’m thinking of extending my repertoire,” Rebus told her. “Might try playing the piano with my nose.” He got the lighter to work on the third attempt, started puffing.
“Thanks for leaving me out in the cold, by the way.”
“It’s not cold out here.”
“I meant -”
“I know what you mean.” He looked at her. “I just wanted to hear what Johnson had to say for himself.”
“Johnson?”
“Peacock Johnson.” He saw her eyes narrow. “He calls himself that.”
“Why?”
“You saw the way he dresses.”
“I meant why did you want to see him?”
“I’m interested in him.”
“Any particular reason?”
Rebus just shrugged.
“Who is he anyway?” Siobhan asked. “Should I know him?”
“He’s small-time, but those can be the most dangerous. Sells replica guns to anyone who wants them… might even deal in a few examples of the real thing. Fences stolen goods, dispenses soft drugs, just the odd bit of hash…”
“Where does he operate?”
Rebus looked like he was thinking. “Out Burdiehouse way.”
She knew him too well to be conned. “Burdiehouse?”
“That direction…” The cigarette flexing in his mouth.
“Maybe I could go look in the files.” She held his gaze, waited until he blinked.
“Southhouse, Burdiehouse… somewhere out there.” Smoke spilled down his nostrils, reminding her of a cornered bull.
“In other words, next door to Gracemount?”
He shrugged. “It’s just geography.”
“It’s where Fairstone lived… his patch. What are the chances of two scumbags like that not knowing each other?”
“Maybe they did.”
“John…”
“What was in the envelope?”
Her turn to try for the poker face. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Subject’s closed. What was in the envelope?”
“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, DI Rebus.”
“Now you’ve got me worried.”
“It was nothing, honest.”
Rebus waited, then nodded slowly. “Because you can take care of yourself, right?”
“That’s right.”
He tipped his head, let the remains of the cigarette fall to the ground. Crushed it under the toe of his shoe. “You know I won’t need you tomorrow?”
She nodded. “I’ll try to while away the hours.”
He tried to think of a comeback, gave up eventually. “Come on, then, let’s skedaddle before Gill Templer can find another excuse for a bollocking.” He started walking towards her car.
“Good,” Siobhan said. “And while I’m driving, you can be telling me all about Mr. Peacock Johnson.” She paused. “By the way: top three Scottish rock and pop acts?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Come on, off the top of your head.”
