Thursday
That house of voluntary bondage its inscrutable recluse.
. with
Dead beat: Holmes yawned again, dead on his feet. For once, he had actually beaten the alarm, so that he was returning to bed with instant coffee when the radio blared into action. What a way to wake up every day. When he had a spare half hour, he’d retune the bloody thing to Radio Three or something. Except he knew Radio Three would send him straight back to sleep, whereas the voice of Calum McCallum and the grating records he played in between hoots and jingles and enthusiastic bad jokes brought him awake with a jolt, ready, teeth gritted, to face another day.
This morning, he had beaten the smug little voice. He switched the radio off.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Coffee, and time to get up.’
Nell turned her head from the pillow, squinting up at him.
‘Has it gone nine?’
‘Not quite.’
She turned back into the pillow again, moaning softly.
‘Good. Wake me up again when it does.’
‘Drink your coffee,’ he chided, touching her shoulder. Her shoulder was warm, tempting. He allowed himself a wistful smile, then turned and left the bedroom. He had gone ten paces before he paused, turned, and went back. Nell’s arms were long, tanned, and open in welcome.
Despite the breakfast he had brought her in the cell, Tracy
was furious with Rebus, and especially when he explained to her that she could leave whenever she wanted, that she wasn’t under arrest.
‘This is called protection,’ he told her. ‘Protection from the men who were chasing you. Protection from Charlie.’
‘Charlie. . . .’ She calmed a little at the sound of his name, and touched her bruised eye. ‘But why didn’t you come to see me sooner?’ she complained. Rebus shrugged.
‘Things to do,’ he said.
He stared at her photograph now, while Brian Holmes sat on the other side of the desk, warily sipping coffee from a chipped mug. Rebus wasn’t sure whether he hated Holmes or loved him for bringing this into the office, for laying it flat on the desktop in front of him. Not saying a word. No good morning, no hail fellow well met. Just this. This photograph, this nude shot. Of Tracy.
Rebus had stared at it while Holmes made his report. Holmes had worked hard yesterday, and had achieved a result. So why had he snubbed Rebus in the bar? If he’d seen this picture last night, it would not now be ruining his morning, not now be eroding the memory of a good night’s sleep. Rebus cleared his throat.
‘Did you find out anything about her?’
‘No, sir,’ said Holmes. ‘All I got was that.’ He nodded towards the photograph, his eyes unblinking: I’ve given you that. What more do you want from me?
‘I see,’ said Rebus, his voice level. He turned the photo over and read the small label on the back. Hutton Studios. A business telephone number. ‘Right. Well, leave this with me, Brian. I’ll have to give it some thought.’
‘Okay,’ said Holmes, thinking: he called me Brian! He’s not thinking straight this morning.
Rebus sat back, sipping from his own mug. Coffee, milk no sugar. He had been disappointed when Holmes had asked for his coffee the same way. It gave them something in common. A taste in coffee.
‘How’s the househunting going?’ he said conversationally.
‘Grim. How did you . ..?’ Holmes remembered the Houses for Sale list, folded in his jacket pocket like a tabloid newspaper. He touched it now. Rebus smiled, nodded.
‘I remember buying my flat,’ he said. T scoured those freesheets for weeks before I found a place I liked.’
‘Liked?’ Holmes snorted. ‘That would be a bonus. The problem for me is just finding somewhere I can afford.’
‘That bad, is it?’
‘Haven’t you noticed?’ Holmes was slightly incredulous. So involved was he in the game, it was hard to believe that anyone wasn’t. ‘Prices are going through the roof. In fact, a roofs about all I can afford near the centre of the city.’
‘Yes, I remember someone telling me about it.’ Rebus was thoughtful. ‘At lunch yesterday. You know I was with the people putting up the money for Farmer Watson’s drugs campaign? One of them was James Carew.’
‘He wouldn’t be anything to do with Carew Bowyers?’
‘The head honcho. Do you want me to have a word? See about a discount on your house?’
Holmes smiled. Some of the glacier between them had been chipped away. ‘That would be great,’ he said. ‘Maybe he could arrange for a summertime sale, bargains in all departments.’ Holmes started this sentence with a grin, but it trailed away with his words. Rebus wasn’t listening, was lost somewhere in thought.
‘Yes,’ Rebus said quietly. ‘I’ve got to have a word with Mr Carew anyway.’
‘Oh?’
