‘You must be John,’ he said, cracking a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The eyes were blue and piercing, the pupils small. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and his wrists were festooned with cotton bracelets of various designs. He leaned with one hand on the door frame, the other on his hip.
‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘I’m Jess.’
Rebus entered a large open-plan space. There was a log-burner in the fireplace, a chaotic kitchen area, futons and oversized beanbags instead of sofas and chairs. Against one wall were piled yoga mats in a range of colours. A woman sat at a table in the kitchen area, filling jars with cooked vegetables. Rebus nodded a greeting, but she ignored him. She was only a few years younger than Jess Hawkins, her face weathered, long straw-coloured hair starting to clump. On the floor next to her sat a contented toddler, chewing a toy of some kind.
A staircase led from the centre of the room to the upper floor. It looked hand-made and not particularly safe, bearing in mind the toys and clothes that littered most of its steps.
‘Just thought I’d have a word with Samantha,’ Rebus said, keeping his tone conversational. Hawkins gave him a pained look.
‘She’s not in a mood for talking, John. Space to breathe is what she needs.’
‘I’m right here,’ Rebus yelled up the stairwell. ‘I just want to help!’
Hawkins had placed a hand gently on his forearm, but removed it when Rebus glowered at him.
‘Space to breathe,’ Hawkins echoed softly. ‘When the time’s right, she’ll come back.’
Rebus was still staring at him. ‘Like she went back to Keith after her little fling with you?’ He gestured towards the woman at the table. ‘What did your partner make of that?’
‘We’re as free to love as we are to live,’ Hawkins countered. ‘Would you like some green tea? Maybe just water?’
‘Keith Grant died not far from here.’
‘I’m aware of that – the police have asked their questions.’
‘After he found out about you and my daughter, he slept at the camp – you probably saw his car parked there. It’s not like you wouldn’t recognise it.’
‘What point are you trying to make, John?’
‘Maybe he came here.’ Rebus was letting his voice rise, hoping Samantha would hear it loud and clear. ‘It’s what I’d do in his situation.’
‘You see similarities between the two of you? Or is this you projecting?’ Hawkins sounded as if he really wanted to know.
‘Do you sleep with all the women here, or just a chosen few? Maybe that’s why you set this place up after making and losing a fortune on the stock market. Internet’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Your story’s right there for anyone to find – all the way from a council estate to the City of London, then you take one risk too many and you’ve gone from Moët to muesli—’
‘You’re hurting, John. I wish there were some way to help you … ’ Hawkins looked almost pitying as he turned away and approached the table, standing behind the woman and touching the back of her neck. She gave a warm smile he couldn’t see. Rebus took a couple of steps towards her.
‘Angharad?’
She looked up at him. ‘We know one another?’ The accent was unmistakably English upper class. Rebus looked from her to the babbling infant, then fixed his eyes on Hawkins.
‘No wonder he hates you,’ he commented.
‘Who?’
‘Lord Strathy.’
Hawkins smiled again. ‘It’s not hate, John, it’s simple greed.’
‘You’ll have known about that in your time, eh?’
‘We’re all looking for answers in our different ways. You were a policeman. You looked out when you should have been looking in. You’ve spent your whole adult life as part of the state apparatus, doing their dirty work so they could keep their own hands clean.’
‘Without people doing the job I did, everything breaks down.’
‘You might not have noticed, but everything is breaking down. And that job of yours ended up costing you your family.’
‘Fuck off.’
Angharad Oates tutted without pausing in her task.
‘You can’t hide out here forever,’ Rebus went on. ‘The world doesn’t stop at that welcome sign you’ve put up.’
‘I wish I could help you,’ Hawkins repeated, stretching out his arms.
‘Then bring my daughter down here to talk to me.’
‘She doesn’t feel she has your trust.’
‘She’s wrong.’
‘Give it time – give her the time she needs.’
‘Does everybody fall for this quack psychology of yours? Do you even believe it yourself?’
‘All that’s on offer here is an alternative to the world you seem happy to live in.’
‘Anger and ill will,’ Oates intoned, handing the infant a sliver of apple.
‘Anger and ill will,’ Hawkins echoed. ‘Rising levels of greed and stupidity. You’d be a fool to look out there for answers.’ He waved an arm in the direction of the world beyond the steading.
‘So how come my daughter chose Keith over all this?’ Rebus asked.
‘I thought about it.’ The voice came from the top of the stairs. Samantha was standing there, arms by her sides, tears drying on her cheeks. ‘I thought about it but I couldn’t.’
‘Because of love,’ Jess Hawkins said, nodding his understanding. Angharad Oates reached up, taking Hawkins’ right hand and squeezing it.
‘Samantha, can we talk?’ Rebus asked. But after a moment, she shook her head and disappeared into one of the rooms. Hawkins opened his mouth to speak, but Rebus silenced him with a pointed finger. ‘Any more pish about living and loving, I swear I’m going to smack you in the mouth.’
He watched as Oates’s free hand curled around the paring knife in front of her, angling it towards him.
‘Try it,’ she said, baring her immaculate teeth.
‘You might want to leave now, John,’ Hawkins said as he patted her shoulder.
‘Carrie needs her mum,’ Rebus stated.
‘I know.’
Hawkins was still nodding as Rebus walked to the door and left.
18
‘They’re all here,’ May Collins said, coming from behind the bar to lead Rebus to the corner table. ‘Took a bit more arranging than I thought.’
