his way home to bed. More instructions… Rebus kept the line open until he was sure he’d succeeded.
“Cheers, Mark,” he said, cutting the connection. Then he dragged his armchair over so that he could sit in relative comfort.
Seated, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, head tilted slightly to one side.
Watching Teri Cotter as she slept.
DAY FOUR. Friday
12
You slept in your clothes,” Siobhan commented, picking him up the next morning. Rebus ignored her. There was a tabloid on the passenger seat, same one Steve Holly had brandished the previous night.
HELL HOUSE COP MYSTERY
“It’s slim stuff,” Siobhan reassured him. And so it was. High on conjecture, low on facts. All the same, Rebus had ignored phone calls at 7:00 A.M., 7:15 and 7:30. He knew who it would probably be: the Complaints, trying to book an appointment for his persecution. He managed to turn the pages by dint of wetting the fingers of his gloves. “Rumors are flying at St. Leonard’s,” Siobhan added. “Fairstone was gagged and tied to a chair. Everyone knows you were there.”
“Did I say I wasn’t?” She looked at him. “It’s just that I left him alive, nodding off on his sofa.” He turned a few more pages, seeking refuge. Found it in the story of a dog who’d swallowed a wedding ring-the one shaft of light in a paper full of grim little headlines: pub stabbings, celebs being outed by their mistresses, Atlantic oil slicks and American tornadoes.
“Funny how a daytime TV host merits more column inches than an ecological disaster,” he commented, folding the paper and tossing it over his shoulder. “So where are we headed?”
“I thought maybe a face-to-face with James Bell.”
“Good enough.” His mobile rang, but he left it in his pocket.
“Your fan club?” Siobhan guessed.
“I can’t help being popular. How come you know the gossip at St. Leonard’s?”
“I went there before I came to pick you up.”
“A glutton for punishment.”
“I was using the gym.”
“Not a word I’ve come across before.”
She smiled. When her own phone rang, she looked at Rebus again. He shrugged, and she checked the number on her screen.
“Bobby Hogan,” she told Rebus, answering the call. He could hear only her side of the conversation. “We’re on our way… why, what’s happened?” A glance in Rebus’s direction. “He’s right here… not sure his phone’s charged up… yes, I’ll tell him.”
“Time you got one of those hands-free jobs,” Rebus told her as she ended the call.
“Is my driving that bad?”
“I meant so I could listen in.”
“Bobby says the Complaints are looking for you.”
“Really?”
“They asked him to pass on the message. Seems you’re not answering your phone.”
“I’m not sure it’s charged up. What else did he say?”
“Wants to meet us at the marina.”
“Did he say why?”
“Maybe he’s treating us to a day’s cruising.”
“That’ll be it. A thank-you for all our diligence and hard work.”
“Just don’t be surprised if the skipper turns out to be from Complaints…”
“You saw this morning’s paper?” Bobby Hogan asked. He was leading them along the concrete pier.
“I saw it,” Rebus admitted. “And Siobhan passed on your message. None of which explains what we’re doing here.”
“I’ve also had a call from Jack Bell. He’s toying with making an official complaint.” Hogan glanced at Rebus. “Whatever it was you did, please keep it up.”
“If that’s an order, Bobby, then I’m happy to oblige.”
Rebus saw that there was a cordon at the top of the wooden ramp leading down to the pontoons where the yachts and dinghies were moored. Three uniforms standing guard beside a sign saying, BERTH HOLDERS ONLY. Hogan lifted the tape so they could pass through, leading them down the slope.
“Something we shouldn’t have missed.” Hogan frowned. “For which I take responsibility, naturally.”
“Naturally.”
“Seems Herdman owned another boat, something a bit bigger. Seagoing.”
“A yacht?” Siobhan guessed.
Hogan nodded. They were passing a series of anchored vessels, bobbing up and down. That same clanking sound from the rigging. Gulls overhead. There was a stiff breeze, and occasional salt spray. “Too big for him to store in his shed. He obviously used it; otherwise, it’d be kept ashore.” He indicated the shoreline, where a series of boats sat on blocks, well away from the aging effects of seawater.
“And?” Rebus asked.
“And see for yourself…”
Rebus saw. He saw a crowd of figures, recognized a couple of them as coming from Customs and Excise. Knew what that meant. They were examining something that had been laid out on a folded sheet of polyethylene. Shoes were being pressed to the corners of the polyethylene to stop it from blowing away.
“Sooner we get this lot indoors, the better,” one officer was saying. Another was arguing that Forensics should take a look first, before quitting the locus. Rebus stood behind one of the crouched figures, and saw the haul.
“Eckies,” Hogan explained, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. “We reckon about a thousand. Enough to keep a few all-night raves going.” The Ecstasy tablets were in twelve or so translucent blue plastic bags, the kind you might use to store scraps of food in a freezer. Hogan tipped a few onto his palm. “Anything from eight to ten grand’s worth at street prices.” The pills had a greenish tinge to them, each one half the size of the painkillers Rebus had taken that morning. “There’s some cocaine, too,” Hogan continued for Rebus’s benefit. “Only a grand or so’s worth, maybe for personal use.”
“We found traces of coke in his flat, didn’t we?” Siobhan asked.
“That’s right.”
“And where was this lot?” Rebus inquired.
“Stored in a locker belowdecks,” Hogan said. “Not very well hidden.”
“Who found it?”
“We did.”
Rebus turned towards the voice. Whiteread was walking down the short plank connecting yacht to pontoon, a smug-looking Simms right behind her. She made a show of brushing dust from her hands.
“Rest of the boat looks clean, but your officers might want to check anyway.”
Hogan nodded. “Don’t worry, we will.”
Rebus was standing in front of the two army investigators. Whiteread met his stare.
“You seem happy enough,” Rebus said. “Is that because you found the drugs, or were able to put one over on us?”
“If you’d done your job in the first place, DI Rebus…” Whiteread left it for Rebus to fill in the rest of the
