refusing to focus any longer.
‘It’s no use, Brian. No use at all. I can’t make sense out of any of them, can you?’
‘Not a lot,’ Holmes admitted. ‘But I take it Hyde wanted — wants — these pictures badly.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning he knows they exist, but he doesn’t know how crude they are. He thinks they show something they don’t.’
‘Yes, but what? I’ll tell you something, Ronnie McGrath had bruises on his body the night he died.’
‘Not surprising when you remember that someone dragged his body down the stairs.’
‘No, he was already dead then. This was before. His brother noticed, Tracy noticed, but nobody ever asked. Somebody said something to me about rough trade.’ He pointed towards the scattering of snapshots. ‘Maybe this is what they meant.’
‘A boxing match?’
‘An illegal bout. Two unmatched kids knocking blue hell out of one another.’
‘For what?’
Rebus stared at the wall, looking for the word he lacked. Then he turned to Holmes.
‘The same reason men set up dog fights. For kicks.’
‘It all sounds incredible.’
‘Maybe it is incredible. The way my mind is just now, I could believe bombers have been found on the moon.’ He stretched. ‘What time is it?’
‘Nearly eight. Aren’t you supposed to be going to Malcolm Lanyon’s party?’
‘Jesus!’ Rebus sprang to his feet. ‘I’m late. I forgot all about it.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you to get ready. There’s not much we can do about this.’ Holmes gestured towards the photographs. ‘I should visit Nell anyway.’
‘Yes, yes, off you go, Brian.’ Rebus paused. ‘And thanks.’
Holmes smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
‘One thing,’ Rebus began.
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t have a clean jacket. Can I borrow yours?’
It wasn’t a great fit, the sleeves being slightly too long, the chest too small, but it wasn’t bad either. Rebus tried to seem casual about it all as he stood on Malcolm Lanyon’s doorstep. The door was opened by the same stunning Oriental who had been by Lanyon’s side at The Eyrie. She was dressed in a low-cut black dress which barely reached down to her upper thighs. She smiled at Rebus, recognising him, or at least pretending to do so.
‘Come in.’
‘I hope I’m not late.’
‘Not at all. Malcolm’s parties aren’t run by the clock. People come and go as they please.’ Her voice had a cool but not unpleasant edge to it. Looking past her, Rebus was relieved to see several male guests wearing lounge suits, and some wearing sports jackets. Lanyon’s personal (Rebus wondered just
The doorbell rang again. Fingers touched Rebus’s shoulder. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ said Rebus. He turned towards the barman. ‘Gin and tonic,’ he said. Then he turned again to watch her pass through the large hallway towards the main door.
‘Hello, John.’ A much firmer hand slapped Rebus’s shoulder. It belonged to Tommy McCall.
‘Hello, Tommy.’ Rebus accepted a drink from the barman, and McCall handed over his own empty glass for a refill.
‘Glad you could make it. Of course, it’s not quite as lively as usual tonight. Everyone’s a bit subdued.’
‘Subdued?’ It was true, the conversations around them were muted. Then Rebus noticed a few black ties.
‘I only came along because I thought James would have wanted it that way.’
‘Of course,’ Rebus said, nodding. He’d forgotten all about James Carew’s suicide. Christ, it had only happened this morning! It seemed like a lifetime ago. And all these people had been Carew’s friends or acquaintances. Rebus’s nostrils twitched.
‘Had he seemed depressed lately?’ he asked.
‘Not especially. He’d just bought himself that car, remember. Hardly the act of a depressed man!’
‘I suppose not. Did you know him well?’
‘I don’t think any of us knew him well. He kept himself pretty much to himself. And of course he spent a lot of time away from town, sometimes on business, sometimes staying on his estate.’
‘He wasn’t married, was he?’
Tommy McCall stared at him, then took a large mouthful of whisky. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe he ever was. It’s a blessing in a way.’
‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ said Rebus, feeling the gin easing itself into his system. ‘But I still don’t understand why he would do it.’
‘It’s always the quiet ones though, isn’t it? Malcolm was just saying that a few minutes ago.’
Rebus looked around them. ‘I haven’t seen our host yet.’
‘I think he’s in the lounge. Shall I give you the tour?’
‘Yes, why not?’
‘It’s quite a place.’ McCall turned to Rebus. ‘Shall we start upstairs in the billiards room, or downstairs at the swimming pool?’
Rebus laughed and shook his empty glass. ‘I think the first place to visit is the bar, don’t you?’
The house was stunning, there was no other word for it. Rebus thought briefly of poor Brian Holmes, and smiled. You and me both, kid. The guests were nice, too. He recognised some of them by face, some by name, a few by reputation, and many by the titles of the companies they headed. But of the host there was no sign, though everyone claimed to have spoken with him ‘earlier in the evening’.
Later, as Tommy McCall was becoming noisy and inebriated, Rebus, by no means on his steadiest legs himself, decided on another tour of the house. But alone this time. There was a library on the first floor, which had received cursory attention on the first circuit. But there was a working desk in there, and Rebus was keen to take a closer look. On the landing, he glanced around him, but everyone seemed to be downstairs. A few guests had even donned swimsuits, and were lounging by (or in) the twenty-foot-long heated pool in the basement.
He turned the heavy brass handle and slipped into the dimly lit library. In here there was a smell of old leather, a smell which took Rebus back to past decades — the ‘twenties, say, or perhaps the ’thirties. There was a lamp on the desktop, illuminating some papers there. Rebus was at the desk before he realised something: the lamp had not been lit on his first visit here. He turned and saw Lanyon, standing against the far wall with his arms folded, grinning.
‘Inspector,’ he said, his voice as rich as his tailoring. ‘What an interesting jacket that is. Saiko told me you’d arrived.’
Lanyon walked forward slowly and extended a hand, which Rebus took. He returned the firm grip.
‘I hope I’m not …’ he began. ‘I mean, it was kind of you….’
‘Good lord, not at all. Is the Superintendent coming?’
Rebus shrugged his shoulders, feeling the jacket tight across his back.
‘No, well, never mind. I see that like me you are a studious man.’ Lanyon surveyed the shelves of books. ‘This is my favourite room in the whole house. I don’t know why I bother holding parties. It is expected, I suppose, and that’s why I do it. Also of course it is interesting to note the various permutations, who’s talking with whom, whose hand just happened to squeeze whose arm a touch too tenderly. That sort of thing.’
‘You won’t see much from here,’ Rebus said.
‘But Saiko tells me. She’s marvellous at catching that sort of thing, no matter how subtle people think they are being. For example, she told me about your jacket. Beige, she said, cord, neither matching the rest of your
