‘Boot’s closed,’ Rebus said, handing the photos back.
‘Yes, it is,’ Clarke agreed.
‘Not any more, though.’ Rebus walked around to the back of the car. ‘Did you open this?’ he asked the man from the scrapyard, receiving a shake of the head in answer. The boot was empty, except for a rudimentary toolkit.
‘Scavengers, maybe?’ Clarke suggested. ‘Car was here all night.’
‘Why not take the toolkit?’
‘Don’t suppose it’s worth much. Anyone could have opened it, John — ambulance driver, our guy. .’
‘I suppose so.’ He tried closing the boot. It was undamaged, and stayed locked once shut. The key was in the ignition, and he pressed the button to unlock the boot again. A clunk told him he had been successful.
‘Electrics still seem to work,’ he said.
‘Sign of a well-made car.’ Clarke was sifting through the paperwork. ‘So what do we think?’
‘We think a car was travelling too fast and came off the road. No sign of a prior collision. Was she maybe on her phone at the time? It’s been known to happen.’
‘Worth checking,’ Clarke agreed. ‘And the Ugg?’
‘Sometimes,’ Rebus said, ‘footwear is just footwear.’
Clarke was checking a message on her phone. ‘Seems its owner is back in the land of the living.’
‘Do we want to speak to her?’ Rebus asked.
The look Clarke gave him was all the answer he needed.
Jessica Traynor had a room to herself at the Royal Infirmary. The nurse explained that she had been lucky — a suspected fracture of one ankle, some bruised ribs, and other minor injuries consistent with whiplash.
‘Her head and neck are in a brace.’
‘But she’s able to talk?’ Clarke asked.
‘A little.’
‘Any sign of alcohol or drugs in her bloodstream?’
‘Looks the clean-living type to me. She’s on painkillers now, though, so she’ll be woozy.’ The nurse paused. ‘Do you want to speak to her father first?’
‘He’s here?’
The nurse nodded again. ‘Arrived in the middle of the night. She was still in A and E at the time. .’ She had stopped by a window. It gave a view into Jessica Traynor’s room. Her father was seated bedside, holding her hand in his and stroking her wrist. Her eyes were closed. The brace seemed to be constructed of thick squares of polystyrene foam, fixed in place with an array of metal clamps. Looking up, her father saw the faces at the window. He checked his daughter was asleep, then placed her hand gently on the bed and rose to his feet.
Exiting the room quietly, he ran his fingers through his mop of silver and black hair. He wore the trousers from a pinstripe suit — the jacket was draped over the back of the chair next to his daughter’s bed. His white shirt was creased, and the cufflinks had been removed so the sleeves could be rolled up. Rebus doubted the expensive- looking watch on his left wrist was a fake. He had taken off his tie at some point, and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, showing tufts of greying chest hair.
‘Mr Traynor,’ Clarke said, ‘we’re police officers. How is Jessica doing?’
His large eyes were dark-ringed from lack of sleep and there was vending-machine coffee on his breath when he exhaled.
‘She’s all right,’ he eventually said. ‘Thank you.’
Rebus wondered if Traynor’s tan had come from a sunbed or a winter holiday. Probably the latter.
‘Are we any clearer on what happened?’ Clarke was being asked.
‘We don’t think another vehicle was involved, if that’s what you mean. Maybe just a case of too much acceleration. .’
‘Jessica never drives fast. She’s always been super-cautious.’
‘It’s a powerful car, sir,’ Rebus qualified.
But Traynor was shaking his head. ‘She wouldn’t have been speeding, so let’s rule that out right now.’
Rebus glanced down at the man’s shoes. Black brogues. Every inch the successful businessman. The accent was English, but not cut-glass. Rebus remembered Jessica’s age from the notes in Clarke’s folder: twenty- one.
‘Your daughter’s a student?’ he surmised. Traynor nodded. ‘At the University of Edinburgh?’ Another nod.
‘What’s her course?’ Clarke added.
‘Art history.’
‘Which year is she?’
‘Second.’ Traynor seemed to be growing impatient. He was watching his daughter through the glass. Her chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. ‘I have to go back in. .’
‘There are a couple of things we need to ask Jessica,’ Clarke told him.
He looked at her. ‘Such as?’
‘Just to make sure we have all the facts.’
‘She’s sleeping.’
‘Maybe you could try waking her up.’
‘She’s sore all over.’
‘What did she tell you about the accident?’
‘She said she was sorry about the Golf.’ Traynor’s attention had shifted to the window again. ‘It was a birthday present. Insurance cost almost as much as the car. .’
‘Did she say anything about the accident itself, sir?’ Traynor shook his head. ‘I really do need to go back in.’
‘Mind if I ask where you’re from, Mr Traynor?’ The question came from Rebus.
‘Wimbledon.’
‘South-west London?’
‘Yes.’
‘And by the time you heard about Jessica, flights to Scotland would have finished for the day — did you take the train?’
‘I have access to a private plane.’
‘So you’ve been awake all night and half of today? Might be you could use some shut-eye yourself.’
‘I managed an hour or two on the chair.’
‘Even so. . Your wife wasn’t able to join you?’
‘We’re divorced. She lives in Florida with someone half her age who calls himself a “personal trainer”.’
‘But you’ve told her about Jessica?’ Clarke checked.
‘Not yet.’
‘Don’t you think she should know?’
‘She walked out on us eight years ago — Jessica doesn’t get so much as a phone call at Christmas.’ The words were tinged with bile. Traynor was exhausted, yes, but in no mood to forgive. He turned towards the two detectives. ‘Is this because I called in a favour?’
‘Sir?’ Clarke’s eyes had narrowed at the question.
‘I happen to know a couple of people in the Met — phoned from the plane to make sure everything up here was kosher. Thing is, as you said yourself, it was the kind of accident that could happen to anyone.’ His tone hardened. ‘So I don’t see what’s to be gained from you talking to her.’
‘We didn’t
‘I’ve already told you, Jessica was the safest driver imaginable.’
‘Then you’ve got to wonder what was causing her to do the speed she was doing. Was it maybe road rage? Was she trying to get away from someone tailgating her? Questions only
He waited for this to sink in. Traynor ran his hand through his hair again, then gave a long sigh.
