was left of the daylight, less overpowering, and certainly a lot less gothic. The ornaments on the mantelpiece were revealed as just that: ornaments. The books in the bookcase were revealed as by and large works of popular fiction: Dickens, Hardy, Trollope. Rebus wondered if Trollope was still popular.
Charlie had made tea in the narrow kitchen, while Vanderhyde and Rebus sat in silence in the living room, listening to the distant sounds of cups chinking and
30ns ringing.
“You have good hearing,’ Vanderhyde stated at last.
Rebus shrugged. He was still assessing the room. No, he couldn’t live here, but he could at least imagine visiting some aged relative in such a place.
‘Ah, tea,’ said Vanderhyde as Charlie brought in the unsteady tray. Placing it on the floor between chairs and sofa, his eyes sought Rebus’s. They had an imploring look. Rebus ignored it, accepting his cup with a curt nod of the head. He was just about to say something about how well Charlie seemed to know his way around his chosen bolt- hole, when Charlie himself spoke. He was handing a mug to Vanderhyde. The mug itself was only half filled - a wise precaution - and Charlie sought out the old man’s hand, guiding it to the large handle.
‘There you go, Uncle Matthew,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Charles,’ said Vanderhyde, and if he had been sighted, his slight smile would have been directed straight at Rebus, rather than a few inches over the detective’s shoulder.
‘Cosy,’ Rebus commented, sipping the dry perfume of Earl Grey.
Charlie sat on the sofa, crossing his legs, almost relaxed. Yes, he knew this room well, was slipping into it the way one slipped into an old, comfortable pair of trousers. He might have spoken, but Vanderhyde seemed to want to put his points forward first.
‘Charles has told me all about it, Inspector Rebus. Well, when I say that, I mean he has told me as much as he deems it necessary for me to know.’ Charlie glared at his uncle, who merely smiled, knowing the frown was there. ‘I’ve already told Charles that he should talk to you again. He seems unwilling. Seemed unwilling. Now the choice has been taken away from him.’
‘How did you know?’ asked Charlie, so much more at home here, Rebus was thinking, than in some ugly squat in Pilmuir.
‘Know?’ said Rebus.
“Know where to find me? Know about Uncle Matthew?’
‘Oh, that.’ Rebus picked at invisible threads on his trousers. ‘Your essay. It was sitting on your desk. Handy that.’
‘What?’
‘Doing an essay on the occult, and having a warlock in the family.’
Vanderhyde chuckled. ‘Not a warlock, Inspector. Never that. I think I’ve only ever met one warlock, one true warlock, in my whole life. Local he is, mind.’
‘Uncle Matthew,’ Charlie interrupted, ‘I don’t think the Inspector wants to hear -’
‘On-the contrary,’ said Rebus. ‘It’s the reason I’m here.’
‘Oh.’ Charlie sounded disappointed. ‘Not to arrest me then?’
‘No, though you deserve a good slap for that bruise you gave Tracy.’
‘She deserved it!’ Charlie’s voice betrayed petulance, his lower lip filling out like a child’s.
‘You struck a woman?’ Vanderhyde sounded aghast. Charlie looked towards him, then away, as if unable to hold a stare that didn’t - couldn’t - exist.
‘Yes,’ Charlie hissed. ‘But look.’ He pulled the polo-necked jumper down from around his neck. There were two huge weals there, the result of prising fingernails.
‘Nice scratches,’ Rebus commented for the blind man’s benefit. ‘You got the scratches, she got a bruise on her eye. I suppose that makes it neck and neck in the eye-for-an-eye stakes.’
Vanderhyde chuckled again, leaning forward slightly on his cane.
‘Very good, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Yes, very good. Now -’ be lifted the mug to his lips and blew. ‘What can we do for
you
‘I saw your name in Charlie’s essay. There was a footnote quoting you as an interview source. I reckoned
that made you local and reasonably extant, and there aren’t too many -’
‘- Vanderhydes in the phone book,’ finished the old man. ‘Yes, you said.’
‘But you’ve already answered most of my questions. Concerning the black magic connection, that is. However, I would just like to clear up a few points with your nephew.’
‘Would you like me to -?’ Vanderhyde was already rising to his feet. Rebus waved for him to stay, then realised the gesture was in vain. However, Vanderhyde had already paused, as though anticipating the action.
‘No, sir,’ Rebus said now, as Vanderhyde seated himself again. ‘This’ll only take a couple of minutes.’ He turned to Charlie, who was almost sinking into the deep padded cushions of the sofa. ‘So, Charlie,’ Rebus began. ‘I’ve got you down this far as thief, and as accessory to murder. Any comments to make?’
Rebus watched with pleasure as the young man’s face lost its tea-like colour and became more like uncooked pastry. Vanderhyde twitched, but with pleasure, too, rather than discomfort. Charlie looked from one man to the other, seeking friendly eyes. The eyes he saw were blind to his pleas.
‘I - I -’
