Yes.'
'Near the car park?'
'Outside the car park, yes.'
'A prostitute?'
. 'I suppose so. I mean, it's not every day something like that happens – not to me, at any rate.'
'And what did you say to her, sir?'
'I turned her down, naturally.'
'And this was around ten or quarter past?'
'Something like that, yes.'
Rebus shrugged, letting the others know he wasn't sure what he was getting. He really wanted a description, but it would be easier face to face. Moreover, Gaverill's eyes would tell Rebus whether he i was dealing with just another crank.
'Is there any way,' he began quietly, 'I could persuade you to come to the station? I can't stress how vital your information might be.'
'Really?' Gaverill perked up for a moment, but only a moment.
'My wife, though… I couldn't possibly…'
“You could make some excuse, I'm sure.'
'Why do you say that?' the man barked suddenly.
'I just thought…' But the line had gone dead. Rebus cursed under his breath and dropped the phone back on to the desk. 'In the movies, someone would have traced the call.'
'I've never heard of a sex worker operating from that street or anywhere near,' Clarke commented sceptically.
'Sounded genuine enough,' Rebus felt bound to counter.
'Reckon Gaverill's his real name?'
'I'd put money on it.'
'Then we look him up in the phone book.' Clarke turned to Hawes and Tibbet. 'Get on to it.'
They got on to it, while Rebus tapped the phone, willing it to ring again. When it did, he snatched the receiver up.
'I shouldn't have done that,' Gaverill was saying. 'It was rude of me.'
'Don't blame you for being a little cautious, sir,' Rebus assured him. 'We were just hoping you'd phone again. This is one of those cases where we're desperate for a break of some kind.'
'But she wasn't a mugger or anything.'
'Doesn't mean she didn't see something. We reckon the victim was attacked just before eleven. If she was in the area…'
Tes, I see what you mean.'
Hawes and Tibbet had done the deed. A piece of paper was waved under Rebus's nose: phone number and address for George Gaverill.
'Tell you what,' Rebus said into the phone, 'this call must be costing you money. Let me ring you back – are you on the 229 number?'
“Yes, but I don't want…' The rest of the sentence died with a gurgle in Gaverill's throat.
'Now then,' Rebus said, a little more steel in his voice, 'we either come round to question you at your home, Mr Gaverill, or you come and see us here at Gayfield Square – which is it to be?'
Sounding like a chastened child, Gaverill told Rebus to give him half an hour.
But before Gaverill arrived, there were three other visitors. Roger and Elizabeth Anderson were first. And after Hawes and Tibbet
had taken them to an interview room, Nancy Sievewright turned up. Rebus asked the front desk to put her in one of the spare rooms – 'but not IR3' – and give her a cup of tea.
'Don't want her seeing Anderson,' he explained to Clarke.
She nodded. 'We need to talk to Anderson anyway, see what he says to Nancy 's story.'
'Already done,' Rebus admitted. Her gaze hardened, but all he did was shrug. 'Happened to be out that way this morning, thought I might as well ask him about it.'
'What did he say?'
'He was worried about her. Got her name and address from…'
Rebus turned towards Todd Goodyear. 'Wasn't you, was it?'
'Must've been Dyson,' Goodyear said.
'That's what I thought. Anyway, I've warned him off.' He seemed to think for a moment, then asked Clarke if she wanted to take Goodyear with her and get Sievewright's formal statement.
'Part of Todd's learning curve,' he argued.
Tfou're forgetting one thing, John – I'm in charge.'
'Only trying to be helpful.' Rebus had stretched his arms, all innocence.
'Thanks, but I'd rather hear what GaveriU's got so say.'
'I get the feeling he'll be easily intimidated. He trusts me now, but when he comes up against three of us…' He started to shake his head. 'Don't want him clamming up again.'
'Let's wait and see,' was all Clarke said. Rebus gave another shrug and wandered over to the window.
'Meantime,' he said, 'want to hear my theory?'
Tour theory of what?'
“Why he's so sweaty about his wife finding out.'
'Because,' Goodyear piped up, 'she'll think he accepted the offer.'
But Rebus was shaking his head. 'Quite the reverse, young Todd.
Would DS Clarke like to hazard a guess?'
'Slay us with an insight,' she said instead, folding her arms.
“What else is there on King's Stables Road?' Rebus asked.
'Castle Rock,' Goodyear offered.
'And?'
'A churchyard,' Clarke added.
'Exactly,' Rebus said. 'And on the corner of that churchyard you'll find an old lookout tower. It was used a couple of centuries back to keep watch for body-snatchers – and to my mind they should put it back into use. Dodgy place at night, that churchyard…' He let his words hang in the air.
'Gaverill's gay,' Clarke speculated, 'and his wife doesn't know it?'
Rebus shrugged but seemed pleased that she'd reached the same conclusion as him.
'So he was hardly going to take up the woman's offer,' Goodyear continued, nodding to himself.
At which point the phone buzzed. It was the front desk, letting them know George Gaverill was waiting for them.
They'd already decided that he should be brought to the CID suite – just that little bit more welcoming than an interview room.
But first Rebus shook him warmly by the hand and led him along the corridor to IR2, where he asked him to put his eye to the peephole.
'See the young woman?' Rebus asked quietly.
“Yes,' Gaverill whispered back.
'She the one?'
Gaverill turned towards him. 'No,' he stated. Rebus stared at the man. Gaverill was about five and a half feet tall, thin-boned and pale-faced with mousy brown hair and some sort of rash on his face. He was probably in his early forties, and Rebus got the feeling the rash could have been with him since his teens.
'Sure?' Rebus asked.
'Fairly sure. This woman was a bit taller, I'd say. Not as young and not as skinny.'
Rebus nodded and led him back the way they'd come, before climbing the stairs to CID. He shook his head
