Standing in another's man grave

56

Rebus was leaving the house next morning when a horn sounded. Hammell was beckoning to him from the white Range Rover Sport. Rebus crossed the road as Hammell wound the driver’s-side window down.

‘I need to change addresses,’ Rebus complained. ‘Seems every bugger in creation knows where I live. When did you get back?’

‘Middle of the night. Didn’t seem to be any point sticking around.’ Hammell hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and hadn’t had much sleep either. ‘Darryl seemed to think you’d be calling me.’

‘I was planning to.’

‘Well, here I am.’

‘Here you are,’ Rebus couldn’t help but agree. Hammell was waiting for more. Rebus looked up and down the empty street. ‘Phone might be better, though. .’

‘Why?’

‘Less chance of you being tried for assault.’

Hammell’s eyes narrowed still further. ‘Maybe you should just spit it out.’

Rebus considered his options. ‘Okay then,’ he said, leaning in towards the open window and lowering his voice. ‘Is Annette McKie your daughter?’

The car door swung out suddenly, catching Rebus a glancing blow as he backed away. By the time Hammell got out, Rebus had put some distance between them. They stood in the middle of the road, twelve feet apart.

‘Hell are you saying?’ Hammell snarled.

‘Sure you want to do this here, Frank?’ Rebus indicated the dozens of tenement windows either side of them.

‘She’s fifteen years old,’ Hammell went on, taking a couple of steps towards Rebus, fists bunched. ‘You saying I was doing her mum behind Derek’s back?’

‘I’m saying you’re acting like a parent — tailing her, keeping tabs on her, giving her money, and then having fights about how she spends it and who she sees. And if that’s not the case. .’

‘Which it’s not,’ Hammell spat.

‘Then there’s another scenario we need to discount.’

‘And what’s that?’ Hammell’s eyes were huge and he was breathing heavily, as if pumping himself up for combat.

‘There’s forensic evidence, Frank. A pubic hair that doesn’t belong to Annette. Once the lab get a DNA profile, they’re going to match it against her sexual history. They want to know if it belongs to whoever killed her, or just someone she’d been seeing.’

Rebus had backed away a couple of steps, but Hammell was no longer moving.

‘So I have to ask, Frank — were you and Annette an item? Because if you were, then there’s a good chance of that DNA coming straight back to you. And meantime the team will have been tied up on a wild goose chase, giving the real killer more time to cover his tracks.’

‘You’re asking if I was sleeping with my girlfriend’s daughter?’

Rebus didn’t say anything.

‘Is that what you’re asking?’ Hammell persisted. When Rebus stayed silent, he launched himself forward, his whole weight landing on Rebus, both men hitting the ground. Rebus felt all the air being punched out of his body. Hammell was trying to gain some purchase, Rebus rolling so he could dislodge his attacker. A delivery van had entered the street but stopped dead, its driver emerging to watch. Rebus gave Hammell a shove and started getting to his feet, but Hammell’s foot caught him in the ribs and he went down again, grazing his knuckles against the tarmac.

‘You piece of-’

Hammell didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. His groin was just the right height for a headbutt, and that was what Rebus delivered. Hammell gasped and pitched forward, Rebus grabbing him by the hair and pulling him down until his face met the road surface. The van driver had made tentative progress towards the two men.

‘You need to break it up!’ he cautioned. ‘Somebody’s going to be calling the police!’

Rebus was on his feet, heart racing, head pounding from where it had made contact with the ground. When he inhaled, his ribs complained. Hammell was on hands and knees, spitting dribbles of blood from his mouth. Rebus made sure there was distance between them and waited for the man to get up. Hammell’s face was almost purple, bits of grit stuck to it.

‘Lost a fucking filling,’ he said, wiping a string of blood and saliva from his chin. Rebus waved the van driver away without taking his eyes off his opponent. ‘Probably one of my balls as well.’ Hammell stared hard at Rebus. ‘Dirty bastard of a fighter, aren’t you?’

‘Only way I was going to stop you, Frank,’ Rebus said. ‘Are we ready to talk now or what?’

Hammell had a finger hooked into his mouth, checking the damage. He gave a slow nod.

‘Come up to mine, then. You can have a wash and a clean-up. .’

Rebus led the way, out of breath by the time he reached his landing. His hand was shaking so much it took several attempts to retrieve his door key from his pocket and fit it into the lock. ‘Bathroom’s through there,’ he said. The door closed and he heard the tap being turned. In the kitchen he switched the kettle on before checking the back of his head for a cut that wasn’t there. He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. His ribs were sore when he touched them, and there’d be bruising later. He just hoped he hadn’t cracked one. His shoes had been scraped by contact with the tarmac, but there was no obvious damage to his suit. He placed his hands under the cold tap and felt the immediate sting as he rinsed them clean. He had buttoned his shirt again and tucked it in by the time the kettle boiled. He made two mugs of black coffee and carried them through to the living room. When Hammell arrived, Rebus was seated at the dining table.

‘Sugar?’ he asked. Hammell shook his head and sat down, pretending to study the room so he wouldn’t have to meet Rebus’s eyes. There were nicks and abrasions on his face, but nothing too dramatic.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rebus said. ‘But someone would have asked eventually.’

Hammell nodded slowly. He saw that Rebus had extended a hand across the table. With no great enthusiasm he took it, and the two men shook.

‘My balls are nipping,’ Hammell confessed.

Rebus repeated his apology and the two men started on their drinks. The bottle of Highland Park was over by the armchair, still containing a couple of good measures, but Rebus didn’t offer and Hammell didn’t ask.

‘They can really get DNA from a pube?’ Hammell enquired eventually. Rebus nodded. ‘Well. .’ Hammell cleared his throat. ‘I suppose it could belong to me.’ He waited for Rebus to say something, but Rebus was blowing across the surface of his coffee, no judgement forthcoming. Hammell seemed to relax slightly. ‘Things happen, you know? You’re not always as in control as you think.’

‘Did the two of you manage to keep it under wraps?’

‘Would Gail still be seeing me otherwise?’

Rebus thought fleetingly of Nina and Sally Hazlitt, of families and the secrets they succeeded in keeping from the world. ‘What about Darryl?’

Hammell shook his head. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked. ‘Does this all have to come out?’

‘Not the way you think.’ Rebus considered for a moment. ‘A DNA swab takes seconds. It can be done in private. If there’s a match with the hair, it can be ruled out as evidence and the team can focus their attention elsewhere.’

‘Unless they decide to pin all five on me, of course.’ Hammell’s eyes were on Rebus now. ‘Your pal Cafferty would love that.’

‘Not going to happen,’ Rebus stated.

‘You really think this isn’t going to get out? We both know what cop shops are like.’

‘Was it a long-standing arrangement, you and Annette?’

Hammell glowered at him. ‘Mind your own fucking business.’

‘She wasn’t pregnant, was she?’

‘What?’

‘She felt sick on the bus.’

Hammell shook his head. The landline started ringing, but Rebus ignored it.

‘Could be important,’ Hammell said.

‘It’s a pre-recorded message about a mis-sold payment protection plan that I never had in the first place.’

‘That’s detective work right there,’ Hammell said.

‘They’re the only people who ever bother to call.’

As the ringing stopped, Hammell broke into a grim smile. ‘This is all going to turn to shit,’ he commented, ‘yet somehow I can’t bring myself to loathe your guts.’ He started to get to his feet.

‘I’ll have a word with DI Clarke,’ Rebus told him. ‘Ask her to pass the message to DCS Dempsey direct. The swab can be done somewhere private — doesn’t have to be a police station.’

Hammell studied him. ‘Why would you want to help?’ he asked.

‘I’m a public servant, Mr Hammell, and you — whether I like it or not — are the public.’ Rebus rose from his chair and the two men shook again.

‘I’ll have the beating of you next time, mind,’ Hammell stated.

‘I don’t doubt that,’ Rebus agreed, showing him to the door.