Hide And Seek

explained to her that she could leave whenever she wanted, that she wasn’t under arrest.

‘This is called protection,’ he told her. ‘Protection from the men who were chasing you. Protection from Charlie.’

‘Charlie….’ She calmed a little at the sound of his name, and touched her bruised eye. ‘But why didn’t you come to see me sooner?’ she complained. Rebus shrugged.

‘Things to do,’ he said.

He stared at her photograph now, while Brian Holmes sat on the other side of the desk, warily sipping coffee from a chipped mug. Rebus wasn’t sure whether he hated Holmes or loved him for bringing this into the office, for laying it flat on the desktop in front of him. Not saying a word. No good morning, no hail fellow well met. Just this. This photograph, this nude shot. Of Tracy.

Rebus had stared at it while Holmes made his report. Holmes had worked hard yesterday, and had achieved a result. So why had he snubbed Rebus in the bar? If he’d seen this picture last night, it would not now be ruining his morning, not now be eroding the memory of a good night’s sleep. Rebus cleared his throat.

‘Did you find out anything about her?’

‘No, sir,’ said Holmes. ‘All I got was that.’ He nodded towards the photograph, his eyes unblinking: I’ve given you that. What more do you want from me?

‘I see,’ said Rebus, his voice level. He turned the photo over and read the small label on the back. Hutton Studios. A business telephone number. ‘Right. Well, leave this with me, Brian. I’ll have to give it some thought.’

‘Okay,’ said Holmes, thinking: he called me Brian! He’s not thinking straight this morning.

Rebus sat back, sipping from his own mug. Coffee, milk no sugar. He had been disappointed when Holmes had asked for his coffee the same way. It gave them something in common. A taste in coffee.

‘How’s the househunting going?’ he said conversationally.

‘Grim. How did you …?’ Holmes remembered the Houses for Sale list, folded in his jacket pocket like a tabloid newspaper. He touched it now. Rebus smiled, nodded.

‘I remember buying my flat,’ he said. ‘I scoured those freesheets for weeks before I found a place I liked.’

‘Liked?’ Holmes snorted. ‘That would be a bonus. The problem for me is just finding somewhere I can afford.’

‘That bad, is it?’

‘Haven’t you noticed?’ Holmes was slightly incredulous. So involved was he in the game, it was hard to believe that anyone wasn’t. ‘Prices are going through the roof. In fact, a roofs about all I can afford near the centre of the city.’

‘Yes, I remember someone telling me about it.’ Rebus was thoughtful. ‘At lunch yesterday. You know I was with the people putting up the money for Farmer Watson’s drugs campaign? One of them was James Carew.’

‘He wouldn’t be anything to do with Carew Bowyers?’

‘The head honcho. Do you want me to have a word? See about a discount on your house?’

Holmes smiled. Some of the glacier between them had been chipped away. ‘That would be great,’ he said. ‘Maybe he could arrange for a summertime sale, bargains in all departments.’ Holmes started this sentence with a grin, but it trailed away with his words. Rebus wasn’t listening, was lost somewhere in thought.

‘Yes,’ Rebus said quietly. ‘I’ve got to have a word with Mr Carew anyway.’

‘Oh?’

‘To do with some soliciting.’

‘Thinking of moving houses yourself?’

Rebus looked at Holmes, not comprehending. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I suppose we need a plan of attack for today.’

‘Ah.’ Holmes looked uncomfortable. ‘I wanted to ask you about that, sir. I had a phone call this morning. I’ve been working for some months on a dog-fighting ring, and they’re about to arrest the gang.’

‘Dog fighting?’

‘Yes, you know. Put two dogs in a ring. Let them tear each other to shreds. Place bets on the result.’

‘I thought that died with the depression.’

‘There’s been a revival of late. Vicious it is, too. I could show you some photos — ’

‘Why the revival?’

‘Who knows? People looking for kicks, something less tame than a bet at the bookie’s.’

Rebus was nodding now, almost lost to his own thoughts again.

‘Would you say it was a yuppie pursuit, Holmes?’

Holmes shrugged: he’s getting better. Stopped calling me by my first name.

‘Well, never mind. So you want to be in on the arrest?’

Holmes nodded. ‘If possible, sir.’

‘Entirely possible,’ said Rebus. ‘So where’s it all happening?’

‘I still have to check that out. Somewhere in Fife though.’

‘Fife? Home territory for me.’

‘Is it? I didn’t know. What’s that saying again …?’

‘ “Ye need a lang spoon tae sup wi’ a Fifer.” ’

Holmes smiled. ‘Yes, that’s it. There’s a similar saying about the devil, isn’t there?’

‘All it means is that we’re close, Holmes, tightly knit. We don’t suffer fools and strangers gladly. Now off you go to Fife and see what I’m on about.’

‘Yes, sir. What about you? I mean, what will you do about …?’ His eyes were on the photograph again. Rebus picked it up and placed it carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket.

‘Don’t worry about me, son. I’ve plenty to keep me busy. Just keeping out of range of Farmer Watson is work enough for a day. Maybe I’ll take the car out. Nice day for a drive.’

‘Nice day for a drive.’

Tracy was doing her best to ignore him. She stared from her passenger side window, seemingly interested in the passing parade of shops and shoppers, tourists, kids with nothing to do now the schools had broken up for summer.

She’d been keen enough to get out of the station though. He’d held the car door open for her, dissuading her from just walking away. And she’d complied, but silently, sullenly. Okay, she was in the huff with him. He’d get over it. So would she.

‘Point taken,’ he said. ‘You’re pissed off. But how many times do I have to tell you? It was for your own safety, while I was doing some checking up.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Do you know this part of town?’

She was silent. There was to be no conversation. Only questions and answers: her questions.

‘We’re just driving,’ he said. ‘You must know this side of town. A lot of dealing used to go on around here.’

‘I’m not into that!’

It was Rebus’s turn to be silent. He wasn’t too old to play a game or two himself. He took a left, then another, then a right.

‘We’ve been here already,’ she commented. She’d noticed then, clever girl. Still, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that slowly, by degrees, by left and right then left and right again, he was guiding them towards the destination.

He pulled into the kerb abruptly and yanked on the handbrake.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’re here.’

‘Here?’ She looked out of the side window, up at the tenement building. The red stone had been cleaned in the past year, giving it the look of a child’s plasticine, pinky ochre and malleable. ‘Here?’ she repeated, the word