He still saw Gill once or twice a week of course, at meetings and in the station-house, as well as at scenes of crimes. Especially now that he had been elevated to her rank.
Detective Inspector John Rebus.
Well, it had taken long enough, hadn’t it? And it was a long, hard case, full of personal suffering, which had brought the promotion. He was sure of that.
He was sure, too, that he wouldn’t be seeing Rian again. Not after last night’s dinner party, not after the fairly unsuccessful bout of lovemaking. Yet another unsuccessful bout. It had struck him, lying next to Rian, that her eyes were almost identical to Inspector Gill Templer’s. A surrogate? Surely he was too old for that.
‘Getting old, John,’ he said to himself.
Certainly he was getting hungry, and there was a pub just past the next set of traffic lights. What the hell, he was entitled to a lunch break.
The Sutherland Bar was quiet, Monday lunchtime being one of the lowest points of the week. All money spent, and nothing to look forward to. And of course, as Rebus was quickly reminded by the barman, the Sutherland did not exactly cater for a lunchtime clientele.
‘No hot meals,’ he said, ‘and no sandwiches.’
‘A pie then,’ begged Rebus, anything. Just to wash down the beer.’
‘If it’s food you want, there’s plenty of cafes around here. This particular pub happens to sell beers, lagers and spirits. We’re not a chippie.’
‘What about crisps?’
The barman eyed him for a moment. ‘What flavour?’
‘Cheese and onion.’
‘We’ve run out.’
‘Well, ready salted then.’
‘No, they’re out too.’ The barman had cheered up again.
‘Well,’ said Rebus in growing frustration, ‘what in the name of God have you got?’
‘Two flavours. Curry, or egg, bacon and tomato.’
‘Egg?’ Rebus sighed. ‘All right, give me a packet of each.’
The barman stooped beneath the counter to find the smallest possible bags, past their sell-by dates if possible.
‘Any nuts?’ It was a last desperate hope. The barman looked up.
‘Dry roasted, salt and vinegar, chilli flavour,’ he said.
‘One of each then,’ said Rebus, resigned to an early death. ‘And another half of eighty-shillings.’
He was finishing this second drink when the bar door shuddered open and an instantly recognisable figure entered, his hand signalling for refreshment before he was even halfway through the door. He saw Rebus, smiled, and came to join him on one of the high stools.
‘Hello, John.’
‘Afternoon, Tony.’
Inspector Anthony McCall tried to balance his prodigious bulk on the tiny circumference of the bar stool, thought better of it, and stood instead, one shoe on the foot-rail, and both elbows on the freshly wiped surface of the bar. He stared hungrily at Rebus.
‘Give us one of your crisps.’
When the packet was offered, he pulled out a handful and stuffed them into his mouth.
‘Where were you this morning then?’ said Rebus. ‘I’d to take one of your calls.’
‘The one at Pilmuir? Ach, sorry about that, John. Heavy night last night. I had a bit of a hangover this morning.’ A pint of murky beer was placed in front of him. ‘Hair of the dog,’ he said, and took four slow gulps, reducing it to a quarter of its former size.
‘Well, I’d nothing better to do anyway,’ said Rebus, sipping at his own beer. ‘Christ, those houses down there are a mess though.’
McCall nodded thoughtfully. ‘It wasn’t always like that, John. I was born there.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, to be exact, I was born on the estate that was there before this one. It was so bad, so they said, that they levelled it and built Pilmuir instead. Bloody hell on earth it is now.’
‘Funny you should say that,’ said Rebus. ‘One of the young uniformed kids thought there might be some kind of occult tie-in.’ McCall looked up from his drink. ‘There was a black-magic painting on the wall,’ Rebus explained. ‘And candles on the floor.’
‘Like a sacrifice?’ McCall offered, chuckling. ‘My wife’s dead keen on all those horror films. Gets them out of the video library. I think she sits watching them all day when I’m out.’
‘I suppose it must go on, devil worship, witchcraft. It can’t all be in the imagination of the Sunday newspaper editors.’
‘I know how you might find out.’
