Black Book

ideas about the fire at the Central Hote…

‘Here comes someone,’ said Petrie. He was squatting behind the tripod and busily adjusting the focus on the camera. He fired off half a dozen shots. ‘Unidentified male. Denim jacket and light-coloured trousers. Approaching the office on foot.’

Siobhan took up her pad and copied down Petrie’s description, noting the time alongside.

‘He’s entering the offic…now.’ Petrie turned away from the camera and grinned. ‘This is what I joined the police for: a life of adventure.’ Having said which, he poured more hot chocolate from his thermos into a cup.

‘I can’t use that loo,’ said Elsa-Beth Jardine. ‘I’ll have to go out.’

‘No.can do,’ said Petrie, ‘it would attract too much attention, you tripping in and out every time you needed a piss.’

Jardine turned to Siobhan. ‘He’s got a way with words, your colleague.’

‘Oh, he’s a right old romantic. But it’s true enough about going to the toilet.’ The bathroom had flooded during the previous year’s break-in, leaving the floor unsafe. Hence the broom closet.

Jardine flipped over a page of her magazine. ‘Burt Reynolds has seven bathrooms in his home,’ she commented.

‘One for every dwarf,’ muttered Petrie.

Rebus might, in Siobhan’s phrase, have an air of knowing exactly where he was going, but in fact he felt like he was going round in circles. He’d visited a few early-opening pubs (near the offices of the daily newspaper; down towards the docks at Leith), social clubs and betting shops, and had asked his question and left his message in all of them. Deek Torrance was either keeping a low profile, or else he’d left the city. If still around, it was unfeasible that he wouldn’t at some point stagger into a bar and loudly introduce himself and his thirst. Few people, once introduced, could forget Deek Torrance.

He’d also opened communications with hospitals in Edinburgh and Dundee, to see if either of the Robertson brothers had received surgery for a broken right arm, the old injury found on the Central Hotel corpse.

But now it was time to give up and go check out Operation Moneybags. He’d left Michael still asleep this morning, and likely to remain asleep for quite some time if those pills were anything to go by. The students had tiptoed in at a minute past midnight, ‘well kettled’ as one of them termed it, having spent Rebus’s thirty quid on beverages at a local hostelry. They too had been asleep when Rebus had let himself out of the flat. He hardly dared admit to himself that he liked sleeping rough in his own living-room.

The whole weekend seemed like a strange bad dream now. The drive to Aberdeen, Auntie Ena, Michae…then the drive to Perth, the lockfitting, and too much spare time (even after all that) in which to brood. He wondered how Patience’s weekend had gone. She’d be back later today for sure. He’d try phoning again.

He parked in one of the many side streets off Gorgie Road and locked his car. This was not one of the city’s safest areas. He hoped Siobhan hadn’t worn a green and white scarf to work this mornin…He walked down onto Gorgie Road, where buses were spraying the pavement with some of the morning’s rainwater, and was careful not to pause outside the door, careful not to glance across the street at the cab offices. He just pushed the door open and climbed the stairs, then knocked at another door.

Siobhan Clarke herself opened it. ‘Morning, sir.’ She looked cold, though she had wrapped up well enough. ‘Coffee?’

The offer was from her thermos, and Rebus shook his head. Normally during a surveillance, drinks and food could be brought in, but not to this surveillance. There wasn’t supposed to be any activity in the building, so it would look more than a mite suspicious if someone suddenly appeared at the door with three beakers of tea and a home-delivery pizza. There wasn’t even a back entrance to the building.

‘How’s it going?’

‘Slow.’ This from Elsa-Beth Jardine, who didn’t look at all comfortable. There was an open magazine on her lap. ‘Thank God I’m relieved at one o’clock.’

‘Think yourself lucky, then,’ commented DC Petrie.

Ah, how Rebus liked to see a happy crew. ‘It’s not supposed to be fun,’ he told them. ‘It’s supposed to be work. If and when we nab Dougary and Co., that’s when the party begins.’ They had nothing to add to this, and neither did Rebus. He walked over to the window and peered out. The window itself was so grimy he doubted anyone could see them through it, and especially not from across the street. But a square had been cleaned off just a little, enough so that any photos would be recognisable. ‘Camera working okay?’

‘So far,’ said Petrie. ‘I don’t really trust these motorised jobs. If the motor goes, you’re buggered. You can’t wind on by hand.’

‘Got enough batteries?’

‘Two back-up sets. They’re not going to be a problem.’

Rebus nodded. He knew Petrie’s reputation as a solid detective who might climb a little higher up the ladder yet. ‘How about the phone?’

‘It’s connected, sir,’ said Siobhan Clarke.

Usually, there would be radio contact between any stake-out and headquarters, but not for Moneybags. The problem was the cab company. The cabs and their home base were equipped with two-way radios, so it was possible that communications from Moneybags to HQ could actually be picked up across the road. There was the added complication, too, that the cab radios might interfere with Moneybags’ transmissions.

To avoid these potential disasters, a telephone line had been installed early on Sunday morning. The telephone apparatus sat on the floor near the door. So far it had been used twice: once by Jardine to make a hairdresser’s appointment; and once by Petrie to make a bet after he’d checked the day’s horse-racing tips in his tabloid. Siobhan intended using it this afternoon to check on Brian’s condition. But now Rebus was actually using it to phone St Leonard’s.

‘Any messages for me?’ He waited. ‘Oh? That’s interesting. Anything else? What? Why the hell didn’t you tell me that first?’ He slammed the phone down. ‘Brian’s awake,’ he said. ‘He’s sitting up in bed eating chicken soup and watching daytime TV.’

‘Either of which could give him a relapse,’ said Siobhan. She was wondering what the other message had been.

‘Hello, Brian.’

‘Hello, sir.’ Holmes had been listening to a personal hi-fi. He switched it off and slipped the headphones down around his neck. ‘Patsy Cline,’ he said. ‘I’ve been listening to a lot of her since Nell booted me out.’

‘Where did the tape come from?’

‘My aunt brought it in, bless her. She knows what I like. It was waiting for me when I woke up.’

Rebus had a sudden thought. They played music to coma victims, didn’t they? Maybe they’d been playing Patsy Cline to Holmes. No wonder he’d been a long time waking up.

‘I’m finding it hard to take in, though,’ Holmes went on. ‘I mean, whole days of my life, just gone like that. I wouldn’t mind, I mean I like a good sleep. Only I can’t remember a bloody thing I dreamt about.’

Rebus sat down by the bedside. The chair was already in place. ‘Been having visitors?’

‘Just the one. Nell looked in.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘She spent the whole time crying. My face isn’t horribly scarred and no one’s telling me?’

‘Looks as ugly as ever. What about amnesia?’

Holmes smiled. ‘Oh no, I remember the whole thing, not that it’ll help.’

Holmes really did look fine. It was like the doctors said, the brain shuts all systems down, thinks what damage has been done, effects repairs, and then you wake up. Policeman heal thyself.

‘So?’

‘So,’ said Holmes, ‘I’d spent the evening in the Heartbreak Cafe. I can even tell you what I ate.’

‘Whatever it was, I’ll bet you finished with Blue Suede Choux.’ Holmes shook his head. ‘They’d none left. Like Eddie said, it’s the fastest mover since the King himself.’

‘So what happened after you ate?’

‘The usual, I sat at the bar drinking and chatting, wondering if any gorgeous young ladies were going to slip onto the stool beside mine and ask if I came there often. I talked with Pat for a while. He was on bar duty that night.’ Holmes paused. ‘I should explain, Pat is — ’

‘Eddie’s business partner, and maybe a sleeping partner too.’