‘Kind of you, but I need to head back north.’
‘I also know a car-hire place – not far from my brother’s workshop, and with a café halfway between them.’
Rebus thought for a moment. ‘I’ve met some silver-tongued journalists in my time,’ he eventually conceded, ‘but few I’ve taken to like you, young Lawrie.’
‘I’ll even buy the coffees,’ Blake said, ‘while we chat about Samantha and this mysterious note.’
It took Rebus only a few seconds to finish making his mind up.
‘Lead the way,’ he said.
Blake’s brother would take a look at the Saab and let Rebus know what he thought, but it might take a day or two. The scratch would need a respray, always supposing the matching colour could be found. Rebus had said to focus on the engine, then had given the Saab a pat on its bonnet, promising he’d be back. The car-rental office had a hatchback he could have immediately, with a special low rate for a five-day hire. He had asked if it boasted a CD player, having lifted Siobhan Clarke’s compilation from the Saab. The nod from the rental clerk sealed the deal.
The café was a Costa, and Laurie Blake added sandwiches to their order. Rebus offered to go halves but the reporter was adamant.
‘A promise is a promise.’
They found a table by the window and tucked in.
‘There are more attractive parts to Inverness,’ Blake assured Rebus.
‘It’s not my first visit,’ Rebus replied.
‘The A9 murders?’ Blake smiled. ‘I’m pretty good at my job.’
‘I’m beginning to sense that. So will you write something about the note?’
‘What did it say?’
‘Just the one word – “leave”.’
‘Pity we don’t have the note itself.’
Rebus lifted a paper napkin. ‘I could recreate it for you.’
‘That might qualify as fake news.’
‘You think your readers would mind?’
‘These days, probably not.’ Blake bit into his sandwich and chewed.
‘If you’re good at what you do, you’ve probably come across Lord Strathy in your travels?’
‘Of course.’
‘The plans for rocket launch pads and golf resorts?’ Rebus watched Blake nod. ‘And the wife who left him to join a commune?’
‘Same commune your daughter’s friendly with.’
‘How much do you know about them?’
‘I know their landlord wants them gone – it’s been rumbling through the courts and various lawyers’ offices the past couple of years. I dare say the fact his wife left him to go live with Jess Hawkins hasn’t endeared Lord Strathy to the place.’
‘He owns Camp 1033, too,’ Rebus said, keeping his tone conversational.
‘Which is why he was never going to sell to your son-in-law.’
‘They weren’t married.’
‘So that’s one thing I’ve learned today.’ Blake paused, still chewing, and tapped a note into his phone. ‘Mind if I ask you about Samantha?’
‘Yes. Very much.’ Blake looked ready to remonstrate, but Rebus held up a hand. ‘Later we can maybe talk about that. You know the contents of Keith’s satchel have gone missing, presumably taken by his killer?’
Blake nodded. ‘Creasey said as much.’
‘Why do you think the killer took them?’
The reporter’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Not really.’
‘When you were in the bar, did you notice the gap on the wall underneath the optics? Three nails just sitting there?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe that’s the difference between a reporter and a detective. An old firearm used to be displayed there. Unusable as a gun these days … ’
‘But pretty good for clubbing someone?’ Blake nodded his understanding.
‘It was lifted around a month ago – just one more missing piece of the puzzle.’ Rebus paused meaningfully. ‘But it gets better. Lord Strathy seems to have gone AWOL too.’
Now the reporter’s eyes widened. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Can’t believe the Fourth Estate haven’t cottoned on to it, if I’m being honest.’ Rebus pretended to be interested in whatever lay beyond the window. ‘If you were to publish something by day’s end, you’d have an exclusive.’
Blake gave him an appraising look. ‘Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing. You’ll fight tooth and nail for your daughter.’
‘I’m not bullshitting you, Lawrie. Everything I’ve told you can be fact-checked. All the years I was a cop, I learned that coincidences are as rare as unicorns.’
‘You don’t believe in unicorns?’
‘I believe in Samantha. Put what I’ve told you online or don’t, it’s up to you.’
‘Do I name my source?’
‘If you do, I’ll run you over in a cheap-deal two-door rental.’ Rebus drained the last of his coffee, then realised his phone had pinged with a message. It was from Creasey.
She needs a lift back. If you can’t do it, might take a while.
‘I have to go,’ he told Blake. He took out a pen and scrawled his number on the thin paper napkin, sliding it across the table. ‘Nice doing business with you.’
Samantha looked less than thrilled to see him waiting for her as she stepped out of the building.
‘All they said was that my lift was outside.’
‘I happened to be passing,’ Rebus said. ‘But if you’d rather wait for a uniform to take you … ’
She stepped forward and gave him the briefest of hugs, her head pressing into his shoulder, then followed him wordlessly to the car.
‘You’ve junked the Saab?’ she asked as she fastened her seat belt.
‘It’s just having a bit of a holiday.’ He kept his eyes on the windscreen. ‘How did it go in there?’
‘How do you think?’
‘It’s a game they have to play, Samantha, that’s all.’
‘It’s not a game to me, Dad,’ she said coldly.
‘Did you tell them about the fight you had the night Keith died?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ He sensed her looking at him. ‘Means they might have some hard questions for Hawkins and his group.’ He turned towards her. ‘Think about it – where else was Keith going to go after he stormed out?’
‘The camp, obviously. He felt safe there. Said it was like a second home.’ She took a
