Standing in another's man grave

17

Rebus was most of the way home when he got a text message. It was from Nina Hazlitt:

Missoni Hotel. Too late for a drink?

He stayed on Melville Drive and took a left at the junction with Buccleuch Street. Then he thought of something and pulled over. Checked his phone again and opened the list of recent callers, adding Hammell’s mobile to his contacts page. Five minutes later he was parking on George IV Bridge. A member of the hotel staff asked him if he was checking in. The man was young and toned and wearing a kilt with a zigzag pattern. Rebus shook his head.

‘Just visiting,’ he said.

There was a bar off the main reception. Rebus couldn’t see Nina Hazlitt, so he texted to let her know he had arrived. The people in the bar seemed to have a thirst for cocktails. Rebus decided one more whisky wouldn’t do any harm, except to his chances of passing a breathalyser test. Two minutes later, Hazlitt joined him, pecking him on the cheek as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

‘Have you eaten?’ she asked. ‘The restaurant’s supposed to be good — or there’s a fish place next door.’

‘I’m fine,’ Rebus assured her. ‘How about you?’

‘I ate on the train.’

One of the bar staff asked her what she was drinking. She studied Rebus. ‘Not really your kind of place?’ she guessed.

‘Not really,’ he agreed.

‘Maybe we should go somewhere else.’

‘There’s the Bow Bar, right around the corner.’

She waited for him to finish the whisky, and placed her arm in his as they exited the hotel.

‘How’s your brother?’ Rebus asked.

She looked flustered, as if trying to remember how Rebus knew about him.

‘He answered the phone that night,’ Rebus explained.

‘Ah,’ she said. Then: ‘He’s all right.’

‘Does he have a name?’

‘Alfie.’

‘Is he just visiting, or. .?’

‘Are you always this inquisitive?’ she asked with a laugh. Then, stretching out an arm to point at the Bow Bar: ‘Is this the place?’

Rebus opened the door for her. She took one look at the interior and declared it ‘charming’. There was a table by the window, recently vacated. Rebus took the empties to the bar and ordered IPA for himself and a vodka tonic for her. The place was just noisy enough — no chance of anyone eavesdropping on their conversation. Back at the table, they chinked glasses.

‘So, how are things?’ she asked.

‘Things are interesting. I’ve got a foot in the door with the Annette McKie inquiry.’

‘They accept there’s a connection?’

‘They accept the possibility.’

‘Well, that’s progress.’ She seemed immediately more energised, pulling her shoulders back, eyes gleaming.

‘There’s no proof yet. And to be honest, the McKie case is throwing up other possibilities. The photos are the real link.’

‘Photos?’

He realised she didn’t yet know. ‘Annette McKie’s phone was used to send a photograph of a landscape at dusk. Same thing happened with Zoe Beddows.’

She took a moment to digest the information. ‘That can’t be coincidence. What about Brigid Young?’

‘The technology wasn’t around back then.’

‘Sally had her phone with her in Aviemore.’

‘Yes, I remember you saying.’

‘I don’t think it could take pictures though. .’ She thought for a moment. ‘Some of the people she knew at school keep a page for her on Friends Reunited.’

‘That’s kind of them.’

‘It has photos of her — school trips, parties, concerts. .’

‘Any way to know who visits it?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Might be worth finding out.’

She stared at him, eyes narrowing. ‘Why?’ But before he could answer, she had worked it out. ‘You think someone took her? One person stalking all these girls and then sending out photos? And he might have gone online posing as a friend. .?’ Her voice was rising, and Rebus gestured for her to bring it down a little. She took a couple of sips of her drink, trying to compose herself.

‘I’ll ask,’ she said, voice trembling. ‘I’ll ask Sally’s friends.’

Rebus thanked her and decided to try for a change of tack, asking what brought her back to Edinburgh.

‘You, of course,’ she eventually answered.

‘Me?’

‘You’re the first person in such a long while who’s taken me seriously. And when you phoned the other night. .’

‘You decided to drop everything?’

‘I’m self-employed. Wherever I lay my laptop, that’s my office.’

‘What do you do?’

‘Publishing, sort of. I edit people’s books, do proofreading, sometimes research.’

‘Sounds interesting.’

She managed a laugh. ‘You’re not a very convincing liar — but it can be interesting. Last book I did was an encyclopaedia of myth and legend. It covered the whole of the British Isles — quite a lot from Scotland.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘Did you know there’s a dragon buried beneath the Royal Mile?’ She did a quick calculation. ‘We might be perched on one of its wings.’

‘No shortage of stories in this city — I’ve heard alibis that were harder to swallow.’

She smiled. ‘I was a teacher for a while, same as Tom, except primary school. Used to love telling my class a folk tale. Once you had their attention, you kept it.’ Her voice trailed off. He knew she was thinking of her daughter again; doubted Sally was ever out of her thoughts for more than a few minutes at a time on any given day. She kept threatening to place her glass on the table, but it hadn’t quite happened yet. It was almost reduced to ice in any case.

‘Get you another?’ Rebus asked.

‘My turn.’

‘I’m fine,’ he said, having hardly touched the pint. ‘Got the car outside, and this isn’t my first tonight.’

She decided to have another drink anyway, reaching into her bag for money. Rebus played with a beer mat while he waited for her to return.

‘So, anyway,’ she said, squeezing around the table and sitting down again, ‘you’ve managed to unearth the files on those other poor women?’

‘The records aren’t as complete as I’d like.’ He saw her look. ‘It happens — things get mislaid; notes that should have been written up aren’t. .’

‘Oh.’

‘Not that there were gaps in Sally’s case,’ he sought to reassure her.

‘Is there any possibility that I. .? No, I suppose not.’ She lowered her eyes.

‘I doubt they’d come as any consolation. You might find them a bit. .’

‘Upsetting?’

‘I was going to say “cold”. Nobody working the case knew Sally, you see.’

She nodded her understanding. ‘You’re trying to protect me.’

‘I’m not sure I’d put it like that.’

They focused on their drinks for a minute. Rebus didn’t know what else to say to her. He didn’t like to think of her as being trapped in limbo, but that’s where she was. The past had its grip on her and wasn’t letting go. He worked with the past, too, but he could always put it back in a box and have it delivered to a storeroom or warehouse.

‘Is there a draught?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Thought you were shivering.’

‘It happens sometimes. You know that saying about someone walking over your grave?’

‘Never really understood it, though.’

‘Now you come to mention it, I’m not sure I understand it either. Sure you don’t want another?’

‘Trying to get me arrested for drunk-driving?’

‘Couldn’t you talk your way out of it?’

‘Not these days.’

She grew thoughtful again. ‘Working cold cases, you must meet a lot of families who’ve lost loved ones. .’ She watched him nod. ‘I talk to a lot of them, too. Over the internet mostly. You know that in England and Wales they can’t issue a death certificate, no matter how long the person’s been missing? It’s hell for the families — means they can’t sort out the estate. Up here, you wait seven years and the court gives you a Presumption of Death certificate.’

‘And that’s what happened to you?’

She shook her head. ‘Presumption’s not what I want. I need to know what happened to her.’

‘Even after all this time?’

‘Even after all this time,’ she echoed. Then she sighed, finished her drink in two gulps and asked if he would walk her back to the hotel.

‘My pleasure,’ he said.

As they walked back up Victoria Street, he told her he’d not been in the Missoni before.

‘I doubt I’d be able to afford it normally,’ she explained, ‘but I got a late deal.’

The kilted doorman didn’t seem to be around. They stopped at the steps, both lighting cigarettes, standing in companionable silence as the traffic and pedestrians rolled past.

‘The rooms are nice,’ she said eventually. ‘In fact. .’ She looked in her bag. ‘There was something I wanted to give you, but it’s upstairs.’ She looked up at him. ‘Do you want to. .?’ But he was already shaking his head.

‘Then will you wait here while I fetch it?’

‘Sure.’

So she stubbed out her cigarette and headed indoors. Three minutes later she was back, holding a book.

‘Here,’ she said, handing it over.

Rebus read the title aloud: ‘The British Isles: Myth and Magic. Is this the one you did research for?’

She nodded, watching as he flicked through a few pages.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I mean it. I’ll start it tonight.’

‘Look, about earlier. . I hope you don’t think I was trying to proposition you?’

He shook his head again. ‘Not a problem, Nina. It would have been flattering if you had. Are you heading back in the morning?’

She gestured towards the building across the street. ‘Bit of research I need to do.’

‘The National Library?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is this for work?’

She nodded. ‘I was thinking of staying another night. .’

There was an invitation there — or at least an opening — but Rebus ignored it.

‘You know you’ll be the first person I call — supposing I make any progress,’ he said instead.

‘You seem to be my best hope, John. I can’t thank you enough.’ She moved forward to kiss him, but he leaned back a little at the waist, and instead took her hand in his, shaking it. Her grip was almost fierce. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating.

‘Maybe next time we can compare myths and legends,’ he said.

She nodded, averting her eyes, then turned and hurried back into the hotel. Rebus got into his car, turned the key in the ignition and signalled to make a U-turn.

All the way home he was anticipating her call, but it never came.