‘Get you two anything?’ he kept saying. They would only shake their heads. Rebus demolished the cans on his own. He knew he’d had too much when he polished off a tin of Irn-Bru without realising it was non- alcoholic.
The streets grew quieter after the students had slouched home on the wings of blasphemy. Around two- thirty, the central heating clocked off and Rebus turned on the gas fire. They each worked on a different colour of folder.
‘I saw one of the folders when Mrs Gillespie dropped it,’ Rebus said. ‘It was marked SDA/SE. I presume the letters stand for Scottish Development Agency and Scottish Enterprise. Scottish Enterprise took over when the SDA was wound up. Councillor Gillespie, by the way, sits on an industrial planning committee.’
‘So,’ Holmes remarked, ‘the SDA file could be completely innocent.’
‘Certainly he had a genuine reason for having a file on the SDA. But why be in such a panic to shred it?’
Holmes conceded the point.
‘I think I’ve got something,’ Siobhan Clarke said. She’d all but completed a yellow file, the label intact save for a strip or two. ‘Looks like the letters A C,’ she said, ‘then a name: Haldayne.’
Rebus fetched the phone book. There was no A C Haldayne in Edinburgh.
‘Strange spelling,’ Brian Holmes said. ‘I’ve never come across Haldayne with a y.’
‘Misspelt?’ Siobhan Clarke said. ‘The name of one of the councillor’s constituents?’
Rebus shrugged. Half an hour later, it was Holmes’s turn to complete a red file.
“‘Gyle Park West”,’ he read out.
Rebus wasn’t paying much attention; he was close to completing the last of the coloured folders, this one a lurid green.
“‘Mensung”,’ he said, looking up. ‘What the hell is Mensung?’
Siobhan Clarke yawned and rubbed at her eyes, then blinked a few times, looking around the room.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘it’s a good job this paper’s lying everywhere. Without it, this place would look like a tip.’
It was six on Friday morning when Rebus’s phone started ringing.
He fell off the chair, the duvet sliding with him. The phone was underneath one of the heaps of paper strips.
‘Whoever you are,’ he said, ‘whatever you want … you’re dead.’
‘It’s Siobhan, sir. I’ve been thinking about A C Haldayne.’
‘Me, too,’ Rebus lied.
‘I’ve been thinking about that funny spelling. American names are sometimes spelt differently, aren’t they?’
‘Is that why you woke me up?’
‘Well, it would tie in with AC.’
‘Would it?’
‘Christ, you’re slow, sir.’
‘It’s six in the morning, Clarke.’
‘All I mean is AC could stand for American Consulate. Haldayne could be a surname, and AC the consulate.’
Rebus sat up and opened his eyes. ‘That’s not bad.’
‘I tried phoning the consulate, but got an answering machine. It offered me a lot of options, mostly to do with visa applications, then put me through to the consulate proper, but all I got was another answering machine message telling me the opening hours.’
‘Try again in the morning.’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry for waking you.’
‘That’s all right. Listen, Siobhan … thanks for helping me.’
‘It’s no problem, really.’
‘Then you won’t mind doing something else?’ He could almost hear her smile.
‘What?’
‘That shredder. I’m wondering how long Gillespie’s owned it.’
‘You want me to check?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will do. Goodnight, sir.’
‘Goodnight, Clarke.’
Rebus put down the receiver and decided to get up. Half a minute later, he was asleep on the living-room carpet.
19
On Sunday, Rebus was invited to Oxford Terrace for afternoon tea.
He was glad of the break, having spent much of the previous forty-eight hours trying to piece together some of the strands of A4 paper. He hadn’t made any progress, but it had taken his mind off his swollen gum. By Saturday afternoon, he’d had enough and phoned a dentist, but of course by then all the dentists in Edinburgh were in the clubhouse, deciding over a second gin whether to bother with eighteen holes or, in this weather, just settle for nine.
On Sunday afternoon, dress smart but casual, he went to start his car and found it recalcitrant. Probably a loose connection. He looked under the bonnet, but was no mechanic. He was alone on the street, no one around to give him a jump-start, so he went back indoors and called for a cab, noticing too late that he had oil on his hands, a smudge of which had transferred itself to his trouser leg.
He was not in the best of moods as his driver took him north across the city.
Sammy answered the door. She was wearing thick black tights with a short jumble-sale dress falling over them. Under the dress she wore a white T-shirt.
‘You’re almost on time,’ she said. ‘We weren’t expecting you so soon.’
‘Did Patience teach you that one?’
He followed his daughter down the hall into the living room. Lucky the cat took one look at Rebus, seemed to remember him, and stalked off into the conservatory. Rebus heard the catflap rattle shut. Now it was only two against one; the odds were improving in Rebus’s favour.
He knew there were things fathers said to their daughters, little criticisms they were expected to make to show they cared. But Rebus knew what his little criticisms would sound like: they’d sound like criticisms. So he kept his counsel. Patience came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish-towel.
‘John.’
‘Hello, Patience.’ They kissed the way friends did, a peck on the cheek, a hand on the shoulder.
‘Be about two minutes,’ she said, turning back into the kitchen. He didn’t think she’d really looked at him. ‘Go into the conservatory.’
Sammy again led the way. The table had a clean white cloth on it, with some dishes already laid. Patience had brought her potted plants indoors for the winter, leaving not much room for anything or anyone else. The Sunday papers were heaped on the window-ledge. Rebus chose the chair nearest the garden door. Looking out of the conservatory window, he could see in through the kitchen window. Patience was busy at the sink, her face lacking emotion. She didn’t look up.
‘Liking it all right?’ Rebus asked his daughter.
She nodded. ‘It’s great, and so’s Patience.’
‘How’s the job?’
‘Very stimulating; not easy, but stimulating.’
‘What do you do exactly?’
‘SWEEP’S pretty small, we all muck in. I’m supposed to be developing communication skills in my clients.’
