Tooth and Nail

it with fresh trout. Again, it's all preparation. The cooking's the easy part.'

He enjoyed showing Rebus this other side of his personality, though he couldn't say why… Nor could he exactly say why he hadn't, told John Rebus that Lisa had gone to the Old Bailey; had instead mumbled something about seeing her safely on her way. He thought probably his reasoning had to do with Rebus's spring-loaded emotions: if the Scotsman thought Lisa Frazer was not in Flight's place of safety, he'd probably go haring off after her, making a fool of himself 'neath blindfolded justice herself And Rebus was still flight's responsibility, still the liability he always had been, if not more so.

They, had come out of the alley onto a small-scale housing, estate. The houses looked fairly, new, but already the paint was flaking from the window, sills. There were cries and squeals from just ahead, A kiddies' playground, concrete surrounded by concrete. A huge section of pipe had become a tunnel, a den, a hiding place. There — were swings, too, and a see-saw. And a sand-pit which had become, second home to the area's cats and dogs.

The children's imaginations knew few bounds: Pretend you're in hospital, and I'm the doctor; And then the spaceman's ship crashed on the planet; Cowboys don't have girlfriends; No you're chasing me because I'm the soldier and you're the guard: Pretend there isn't a pipe

°Pretend. There was no pretend about, the energy they were expending. They couldn't stand still, couldn't pause for breath. They had to yell and jump and get, involved. It made Rebus tired just to look at them.

'There he is,' said Flight. He was pointing' towards' a bench on the edge of the playground. Arnold was sitting there, his back very' straight, hands clasping his knees. He had an intent look on his face, neither happy nor unhappy. The kind of look you sometimes saw at the zoo, when someone was peering into a particular cage or enclosure. It was best described as an interested look. Oh yes, Arnold was interested. It made Rebus's-stomach queasy just to watch him. Flight seemed to take it all quite casually.,He walked across to the bench and sat down beside Arnold, who turned, his eyes suddenly taking on a hunted, frightened look, his mouth creasing into an O. Then he exhaled noisily.

'It's you, Mister Flight. I didn't recognise you.' — He gestured towards the bags. 'Been shopping? That's nice.'

The voice was flat, lacking emotion. Rebus had heard addicts talk like that. Five percent of their brain was fixed on dealing with the external world, the remaining ninetyfive concentrating on other things. Well, he supposed Arnold was a kind- of addict too.

'Yes,' said Flight, 'just buying a few bits. You remember Inspector Rebus?'

Arnold followed Flight's eyes, staring up from his bench to where Rebus stood, his body purposely shielding Arnold from the children:

'Oh yes,' Arnold said blandly, 'he was in the car with you the other day, Mr Flight.'

'Well done, Arnold. Yes, that's right. You've got a good memory, haven't you?'

'It pays to have, Mr Flight. That's how I remember all the things I tell you.'

'Actually, Arnold,' Flight slid along the bench until his thigh, was almost touching that of the other man. Arnold — angled his own legs away from — the policeman, his eyes intent on Flight's proximity to him. 'Speaking of memory, maybe you can help me.' Maybe you — can help Inspector Rebus, too.'

'Yes?' The word was, stretched almost to breaking point.

'We were just wondering,' said Flight, 'whether you've seen- Kenny lately. Only, he doesn't seem to have been around much, does he? I wondered whether he'd maybe gone on holiday?'

Arnold gazed up with milky, childlike eyes. 'Kenny who?'

Flight laughed.' 'Kenny Watkiss, Arnold. Your mate Kenny.'

For a moment, Rebus held his breath: What if it was another Arnold? What if Sammy had got- the name wrong? Then' Arnold nodded slowly.

'Oh, that Kenny. He's — not really a mate, Mr Flight. I mean, I see' him now and again.' Arnold stopped, but Flight was nodding, saying nothing, expecting more. 'We: have.a drink together sometimes.'

'What do you talk about?'

The question was unexpected.' 'What do you mean?)

'It's a simple enough question,' said Flight with a smile. 'What do you talk about? I wouldn't have thought the two of you would have much in.common.'

'We just, we talk. I don't know.'

'Yes, but what do you talk about? Football?' 'Sometimes, yes.'

'What team does he support?'

'I don't know, Mr Flight.?

'You talk about football with him — and yet you don't know what team he supports?'

'Maybe he told me and I forgot!

Flight looked dubious. 'Maybe,' he agreed. Rebus knew his part in the drama now. Let Flight do the talking. Just keep quiet but look ominous, standing over Arnold like a thundercloud, staring down like an avenger onto that gleaming bald dome of a head. Flight knew exactly what he was doing. Arnold was growing nervous, his body jerking, unable to keep his head still, his right knee bobbing up and down.

'So what-else do you talk about? He likes motorbikes, doesn't he?'

'Yes,'' Arnold answered, guardedly now, for he knew what: was happening to him.

'So do you talk about bikes?'

'I don't' like bikes. Too noisy.'

'Too noisy? Yes, you've got a, point there.' Flight nodded towards the play area. 'But this place is noisy, too, Arnold, isn't it? Yet you don't seem 'to-mind the noise here. Why's that?'

Arnold turned on him, eyes burning. But Flight was ready with a smile, a.smile more serious than any grimace.

'What I mean is,' he went on, 'you like; some noises but not others. That's fair, isn't it? But you don't like motorbikes. So what else do you talk about with Kenny?'

'We just talk,' said Arnold, his face creased with anguish. 'Gossip, how the city's changing, the East End. This used to be all rows of cottages. There was a field and allotments. The families all used to have picnics on the field. They'd bring tomatoes or potatoes or a cabbage to your mum, saying they grew too much, and the;. kids would all play in the street. There weren't any. Bangladeshis or what have you. Just proper East Enders. Kenny's mum and dad didn't live far from here. Two streets away from where I lived. Course, I was older than him. We never played together or anything.'

'And where did Uncle Tommy live?'

'He was over that way.' Arnold pointed with a finger. He had grown a little more confident now. Reminiscences couldn't do any harm, could they? And to talk freely came as such, a relief after, the careful duel he'd just gone through. So he opened up’ to them. The good old days. But between his words, Rebus could, see a› truer picture, a picture of how the other kids used to;beat. him› up, play tricks on him, of how his father used to lock him in his room, starve him. The, family breaking apart. Drifting into petty crime. Painfully shy, unable to form relationships.

'Do you ever see Tommy around?' Flight asked suddenly.

'Tommy Watkiss? Yes, I see him.' Arnold was, still basking in the past.

'Does Kenny see him?'

'Of course' he does. He works for him sometimes.'

'What? Deliveries, that sort of thing?'

'Deliveries, pick-ups — ' Arnold halted, aware of what he was saying. This wasn't the past they were talking about any longer. This wasn't: safe.

'But,' Rebus had, replied, 'I do have a grudge, George. This guy Kenny' might have been shagging my' daughter!'

Flight had 'glanced from the windscreen into Rebus's face, then had looked away.

'I said leave it to us, John. If you can't play it that way, I'll personally see that you go bouncing back down the ' ranks= like a ball down a fucking stairwell. Got that?'

'Loud and clear.'