When the bell rang two minutes later, he thought she must have forgotten something. But it wasn’t Siobhan Clarke standing on his doorstep. It was Gill Templer.
‘Mind if I come in?’ she said, walking past him.
‘I was just on my way out.’
‘This won’t take long. I tried phoning, but it was engaged all afternoon.’
‘I had it off the hook,’ Rebus said, following her into the living room. She looked at the boxes of documents.
‘I see you’re really taking your furlough seriously.’
‘Come on, Gill, it was foisted on me. You were there, remember.’
‘I remember. The chief super had been getting incredible flak; in his shoes, I’d have done the same thing.’
‘This isn’t sounding like a social call.’
‘That’s because it isn’t one. The Lord Provost is your latest victim. He called the chief super and said you’d been rude to him.’
‘Did he mention specifics?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think he would.’
‘The Farmer will probably call you in the morning himself. I’d imagine it’ll be an official reprimand, maybe even a suspension.’ She turned to him, her eyes blazing. ‘How could you do this to me?’
‘What?’
‘I’m your immediate superior! I’m in the post barely a week, and already you’ve caused the most unholy ructions. How do you think that makes me look?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘Yes it bloody well has! It’s got
Rebus nodded his understanding. ‘That’s what this is about. You’re pissed off because the Farmer’s not paying you enough attention. You want to create a good impression, and you’re not making any impression at all.’
‘Now you’re just twisting my words.’
‘Am I?’ He grabbed her by the arms. ‘Look me in the face and tell me that. Tell me I’m not right.’
She shrugged free of his grip. ‘John,’ she said, more calmly. ‘I came here to warn you. Tomorrow morning could spell the end of your career.’
‘You think I care about that?’ He tried to sound casual.
She took a step towards him. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘I think you do.’ Her green eyes seemed to bore into him. ‘I think, beneath it all, you’re scared.’
‘Scared?’ He smiled. ‘Of course I’m scared. I wouldn’t mind if it was some big hard bastard who had me cornered in an alley, or if some kind of contract was out on me. But this is worse, this scares me to death.’
‘Then drop it. Say you’re sorry to a few people, and come back to work.’
He smiled again. ‘It would be that easy, wouldn’t it? You’d do it.’
‘Yes, I would.’
‘Well, I’ll think about it.’
She tried to measure his sincerity, but it was like measuring haar.
32
Big Jim Flett was nowhere to be seen.
‘Even the Big Man has to take a few hours off here and there,’ his deputy said, leading Rebus down one of the corridors inside Saughton Jail.
‘I’m sure,’ Rebus said, even though he was sure the governor was avoiding him. He had lied to Rebus, and now Rebus knew it.
‘Derry doesn’t get many visitors,’ the deputy said. He was a brisk, nervous man, ruddy-faced and jacketless with his shirt-sleeves rolled up.
‘You know him then?’
‘We’ve had conversations.’
‘I was told he didn’t mix.’
‘That’s true, but I’ve always found him pleasant enough.’
‘He hasn’t tried to sell you anything, has he?’
The deputy laughed. ‘No, not yet. He’d make a damned good salesman though.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Quiet for the most part, never gives us any trouble.’ They were nearing a metal door, beside which stood a warden. The warden unlocked the door and swung it open.
‘You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?’ the deputy asked Rebus. Rebus shook his head, but with a gracious smile. ‘Well, Munro here will take Derry back to his cell when you’re finished.’
‘Thanks again,’ Rebus said.
The door closed after him, the key rattling in its lock. Rebus was alone with Derwood Charters.
Charters was pacing the floor, arms folded, head bowed as if he was pondering some problem.
‘Do you play chess?’ Charters asked, without looking up.
‘No.’
‘Pity.’
Rebus looked around the room. There was a table, its legs bolted to the floor, and two chairs beside it. On one wall, a blackboard provided the room’s only hint of decoration.
‘Mind if I sit?’ Rebus said.
‘Make yourself comfortable.’ Charters smiled at his little joke. He continued to pace the floor, and Rebus studied him. Charters was in his mid-forties, tall and broad-shouldered. He was immaculately groomed, his hair parted just so, his face shiny and clean-shaven. His fingernails looked manicured.
‘Do you know what
‘Sounds German,’ Rebus said.
For the first time, Charters looked at him. ‘Of course it’s German. It’s a chess position. It’s when you’ve to play, only any move you make will spell disaster. Yet you’ve got to make a move. There was a chess puzzle in today’s paper, and I’m damned if I can solve it.’
‘The solution’s easy,’ Rebus said.
Charters stopped pacing. ‘What?’
‘Take up golf instead.’
Charters considered this, then smiled. He came and sat down opposite Rebus, folding his hands on the table. ‘May I see some identification?’
Rebus took out his warrant card. Charters examined it against the light, as though it might represent a particularly brilliant forgery.
‘On a Sunday night,’ he said, handing it back.
‘Pardon?’
‘I don’t get many visitors, let alone on a Sunday night. And a police officer at that.’
‘I’m here to ask you a few questions about Wee Shug McAnally.’
‘Ah yes, Hugh.’ McAnally probably hadn’t been called ‘Hugh’ by anyone apart from the minister at his christening and the judge who pronounced sentence on him. Charters seemed to read Rebus’s mind. ‘I respect a person’s name, Inspector. It’s all we bring into this world, and it’s all we take out of it. My own name is sometimes abbreviated to Derry. In here, that has earned me the nickname “the apprentice boy”.’
Charters’ voice — quiet, atonal — had a mesmeric quality, and once his eyes had fixed on Rebus’s, they
