Standing in another's man grave

52

Dempsey didn’t wait for them to arrive at HQ. Her chauffeured car drew up as, post-breakfast, Rebus, Page and Clarke emerged from the guest house. Rebus, already in the process of lighting a cigarette, asked Dempsey if he needed a blindfold to go with it.

‘What in God’s name did you think you were doing?’ she asked him.

‘I was in a pub, having a quiet drink.’ He’d had time to prepare this version of the story. ‘Hammell and Hazlitt were across the road. After they’d posed for the cameras, they found themselves next to me at the bar. We know each other, so we said hello. That’s when Raymond burst in and took his little paparazzi shot.’

‘What’s this about?’ Page asked, frowning.

‘Your officer,’ Dempsey told him, ‘is all over the internet.’

‘Thanks to your nephew,’ Rebus reminded her.

She ignored the jibe. ‘So what did you tell them about the investigation?’

‘What’s to tell? I’m not exactly in the loop.’

Dempsey pointed at him, but her eyes were on Page. ‘I want him gone, do you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear,’ Page responded. Dempsey was already getting back into the car. Her driver started pulling away.

‘Thanks for backing me up there, boss,’ Rebus commented.

‘Go back inside,’ Page said, ‘get your stuff together and check out of your room — Gayfield Square will pick up the tab. We’ll see you in Edinburgh.’

Rebus thought of things he could say, things like: ‘I was solving murders when you were in your pram.’ He didn’t, though. He just gave a little bow of the head in Clarke’s direction, as if to wish her the best of British, then flicked the cigarette to the ground and did as he was told.

When he re-emerged, Mrs Scanlon — make-up immaculate as usual — came with him and wished him well on the journey south. Page and Clarke were gone. Rebus watched as Mrs Scanlon closed the door, then decided on another cigarette before the off. When his phone rang, he considered not answering, but it was Gayfield Square.

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

‘Christine Esson.’

‘Hiya, Christine. If you’ve not already heard, I’ll be joining you shortly.’

‘Any news to report?’

‘Way this thing’s going, the internet’ll know before I do.’

‘I did see that photo of you with Hammell and Hazlitt. .’

‘And you thought you’d call me to gloat?’

‘What is there to gloat about?’

‘Nothing.’ He crushed the butt of his cigarette underfoot and got into the Saab. Would this be the day it refused to start?

The engine growled into life; none of the dashboard’s warning lights came on.

‘So, anyway,’ Esson was saying, ‘I said I’d pass on her number.’

‘Sorry, Christine, I missed the start of that. Whose number?’

‘The woman who phoned wanting to speak to you about Sally Hazlitt.’

Rebus rolled his eyes. Another sighting. ‘How much of a crank did she sound?’

‘She seemed perfectly sane. Told me to give you her name and get you to call her.’

Rebus sighed, but reached into his pocket for his notebook and pen. When Esson read the woman’s name out, he stiffened. Then he asked her to repeat it.

‘Susie Mercer,’ she obliged, keeping her intonation nice and clear.

‘That’s what I thought you said first time,’ Rebus told her.