Rebus shook his head, watching as Collins remembered something. ‘Mick got your car started. He’s not saying it’ll get you home, but I’ve got the key.’
Rebus took it from her. ‘What do I owe him?’
‘I doubt he’d accept anything–especially now.’ She gave another sigh. ‘If you need me, you know where I am.’
They both turned at the sound of vehicles speeding past. Two cars, one van, no markings. Professionals who were about to be busy at Camp 1033.
‘I’m not sure I should be asking,’ May Collins said quietly, ‘but did he do away with himself?’ Rebus’s face remained impassive. ‘An accident then?’
‘No accident,’ he said.
Her mouth formed a large O, her eyes widening at the realisation.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I suppose I’d better…’ She was twisting the top half of her body, motioning to leave while hoping he would invite her to stay.
‘Thanks for the clothes,’ Rebus said, going back into the bungalow and closing the door.
In the bathroom he selected a few items and changed into them, then went into the kitchen and stuffed his own clothes into the machine, selecting the quickest wash available. A car was drawing up outside. He beat Creasey to the door and was waiting for him.
‘Mind if I come in?’ the young detective sergeant enquired, as solicitously as any funeral director. Rebus led the way to the living room.
‘Samantha’s at a friend’s.’
‘How’s she doing?’ Rebus could only shrug. ‘And the little one?’
Another shrug. ‘I wasn’t there when Samantha told her – if she’s told her.’
Creasey settled on the edge of the sofa. ‘It’s bloody awful news, of course, and it’ll take time to sink in…’
‘But you need to interview her all the same?’
‘You know we do. And Forensics are going to want to inspect the Volvo.’
‘They’ll find my prints.’
‘And mine,’ Creasey said. ‘So we’ll need yours and Samantha’s for purposes of elimination.’
‘You’ve been to the camp; you’ve seen him?’ Creasey gave a slow nod. ‘The empty satchel–he used to keep his notes and laptop in it, according to the guy who runs the café along the road.’
‘We’re in the process of getting a statement from Mr Travis.’
Rebus realised he had lowered himself onto the arm of one of the chairs–he wasn’t about to get comfortable.
‘Keith slept there a few nights after he found out about Samantha and Jess Hawkins.’
‘We’ll be talking to everyone, John, trust me.’ Creasey paused. ‘You are going to trust me?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because of everything I’ve learned about you; because you’ve worked your whole life in the central belt and you might think those of us based up here are a bit… rustic. I’m here to tell you that we know the job, and we’ll be every bit as thorough as you’d want and expect.’
Rebus was staring at the floor. ‘It has to be something to do with that camp,’ he stated.
‘Why?’
‘The missing laptop.’
‘The one thing any opportunist would take with them–portable and easy to sell on. His phone is missing too.’ Rebus was shaking his head, and Creasey gave him a disappointed look. ‘So what was it about the camp that was so important to Mr Grant?’
‘I don’t know, but the garage here is full of research. You need to talk to the local history group. They might have some answers.’
‘We’ll get round to it.’
‘I suppose the autopsy comes first? Cause of death as starting point? Fingertip search of the camp?’
Creasey was nodding along.
‘With my daughter as a suspect, maybe even the main suspect?’
‘You’ve been in my shoes; you know how this plays out. It doesn’t mean we won’t show discretion. And Victim Support will be here for your daughter and granddaughter as and when they need it.’ Creasey rose to his feet. ‘Volvo keys on the hall table?’ Rebus nodded. ‘I’ll take them with me then. Samantha may have a spare set, but she’d be wise to leave the car untouched until we’re finished with it.’
‘I’ll make sure she knows.’
Creasey reached out his hand and clasped Rebus’s. ‘You need to be a father now, leave everything else to us.’
Rebus met Creasey’s eyes as he nodded. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Did they take his cash and credit cards?’
‘His wallet was in his pocket, untouched by the look of it.’
‘And you still think robbery’s a possible motive?’
‘Everything’s a motive at this point.’
‘Try not to forget that, son. Don’t get lazy.’
He saw the detective to the door, watched through the living room window as he got into his car and drove off, heading in the direction of the crime scene. When the engine noise had faded, he put his coat on and headed out to the garage. Settling himself on the fold-down chair in front of the trestle table, he began to read more thoroughly about Camp 1033.
10
Fox was halfway back to Edinburgh when he decided to answer Siobhan Clarke’s latest attempt at calling him.
‘What’s with the Houdini act?’ she enquired.
‘I was summoned to Gartcosh–boss there needed me.’
‘Must be nice to feel wanted. But meantime I’ve had a text from John.’
‘On his way back?’
‘The exact opposite–a body’s turned up. His daughter’s partner.’
‘Bloody hell. Suicide?’
‘Text didn’t say and I can’t get him to answer his phone–it’s almost like he’s taking lessons from you.’
‘I was in a meeting.’
‘But you’re on your way back now?’
‘Another half-hour or so–where will we meet?’
‘I’m taking Brillo to the Meadows. Need to pick up a couple of things from John’s flat.’
‘I’ll see you there.’ Fox ended the call, checked his mirror, signalled, and pulled out to overtake. Almost thirty years he’d been driving, and never a ticket or a scratch or a dent. Because he was cautious. He stuck to the rules. He knew what he was doing.
He wondered whether he would cross the line–and how far–for Assistant Chief Constable Jennifer Lyon. And for his own prospect of promotion.
‘He’s going to have to go into kennels,’ Clarke said, watching as Brillo tracked yet another of the Meadows’ innumerable scents.
‘You might be right,’ Fox
