‘I was hoping,’ Smith said now, ‘that you were going to tell me who’s behind this string of attacks — acid and arson and now bullets. That can’t end well.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
‘What about the Haggard case, then? You’ll have noticed I’ve been steering clear of it.’
‘I’m sure the victim would thank you for not naming names.’
‘You have to admit, though, there’s plenty of justification to do just that. This is a serving police officer abusing his wife. The public has a right to know.’
‘Come the trial, they will, but she needs all the help she can get right now.’
‘Why? Has something happened?’
Clarke closed her eyes. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I just meant in general.’
‘Well, no promises, Siobhan. My fans have an insatiable appetite.’
‘And bigger platefuls every time?’
‘You better believe it.’
She opened her eyes again, staring at the fireplace in front of her and the sleeping TV screen to its left in which she could see herself reflected.
‘It just got me thinking,’ she said. ‘Hanging around outside hotels with a camera — it’s not your usual style. In fact, it’s more something a private eye might do, employed by a spouse who suspected their partner of cheating.’
‘You’re good.’
‘Stephanie Pelham had someone tailing her husband?’
‘I can’t possibly comment.’ Clarke could hear the suds lapping around Smith as she moved position in the bath.
‘Why would she give the photos to you, though?’
‘To maximise the punishment, I’d guess, by which I mean his embarrassment. Coming back to these attacks, though — they’ve got to be connected, right? Our city’s Mr Big has left the stage. Lots of second-rate actors thinking they have a shot at stardom. I don’t envy you the job of sweeping the theatre clean afterwards.’
‘Well, that’s cheered me up. Have you been in touch with Stephanie about her sister?’
‘I told you, I’ve been steering clear.’
‘So nothing you can tell me about the relationship?’
‘Between Cheryl and her abuser?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not a thing — is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘No.’
‘Sure about that?’
‘Moderately sure.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to it while I get out of this water. Just remember to nail him, Siobhan. Nail him to the wall.’
Clarke listened to the phone go dead. She knew she could make another call, check whether Haggard had turned up yet. Or she could go there herself and sit in her car and wait.
‘That’s what you’d have done, isn’t it, back in the day?’ she asked, as if Rebus were standing in front of her.
It took her several minutes to decide that she would go to bed instead.
Day Three
7
Next morning, as he waited at a red light on his way to QC Lettings, Rebus texted Clarke to ask if there was any news of Haggard. When a message arrived, however, it was from a number he didn’t recognise.
No winnings for me yesterday. Talked to a punter who knew Jack. He saw him across the road from his old house. Went to say hello but Jack ignored him and walked off. Says he was just staring at the house. Keep eating the rolls. Ralph
The ex-baker from the betting shop. So now he had two people who’d ID’d Jack Oram, alive and kicking. As he was parking on Lasswade Road, he got a reply from Clarke too, a single word.
Nothing.
He was hoping for better from QC Lettings.
The bell chimed as he entered. Marion looked up from her computer. Rebus gave a little wave and gestured towards the inner door. ‘He’s expecting me,’ he lied, turning the handle.
Fraser Mackenzie was standing behind his desk and in the middle of a phone call. He kept talking, flapping his free hand to indicate that Rebus should wait outside. Instead, Rebus sat down, crossing one leg over the other, smiling up at Mackenzie, who seemed to be losing his train of thought.
‘Look, Jimmy, I’ll have to call you back. Is that all right?’ He ended the call with a further muttered apology and gave Rebus a long, hard stare. It was a contest he was never going to win, and eventually he sighed theatrically and settled in his chair.
‘Jack Oram has an alias,’ Rebus explained. ‘Davie Loach.’
After a bit more staring, Mackenzie opened his computer and started typing. ‘No record of him,’ he said. ‘A phone call would have done, you know. Marion could have told you.’
‘Well, how about Tommy Oram? Surely you’ll know the name of one of your employees.’ Rebus watched Mackenzie shrug. ‘He does repairs to your properties, general maintenance. There was an accusation he lifted somebody’s belongings.’
Mackenzie gave a slow nod. ‘Tommy,’ he intoned.
‘Tommy Oram, son of Jack.’
‘I don’t think I ever heard him called by his surname.’
‘Not even when you took him on?’
‘That was Beth’s doing. She said he was a friend of Gaby’s.’
‘Gaby being...?’
‘Our daughter.’ Mackenzie was beginning to lose interest, busying himself with the trackpad on his computer. ‘So you’ve not found this guy Oram yet?’
‘Give me time. Have you got an address for Tommy?’
‘Marion will know.’ He glanced up at Rebus. ‘We finished here?’
Rebus couldn’t think of a reason to prolong the meeting, which was a pity, as he was enjoying needling the man.
‘Ever hear from the old owner of this place?’ he asked as he rose to his feet.
‘Not a peep.’ Mackenzie glanced up again. ‘Different spheres, Mr Rebus.’
‘Meaning you know his reputation. No qualms about taking over his business?’
Mackenzie leaned back in his chair. ‘If you have a rental portfolio of any size, everyone assumes you’re the new Peter Rachman. But the way I look at it, I’m helping people out in their time of need. A lot of them have problems and not much money, but they still deserve a roof over their head, same as you and me.’
‘You’re basically a Samaritan then, or some sort of guardian angel?’ Rebus watched the man shrug, in what he guessed was supposed to be a show of modesty. ‘Same as Cafferty before you?’
‘I bought his business, not his morals.’ Mackenzie leaned forward again, focusing on his computer.
‘What did you do before this?’
‘A bit of everything. Now if you’ll excuse me... And best of luck with your search.’
A few moments later, Rebus was parked in front of the reception desk. Marion was taking down some details over the phone from a prospective client.
‘That’s a very popular area... you’ll need to be primed to make a decision... I’m talking hours rather than days... Not if that’s your upper limit, no. Piershill and Restalrig might be a better bet...’
Rebus had picked up a stapled printout of available properties. He’d heard that things were tough for renters, and looking at the monthly rates, he could believe it. People with deep pockets were buying as an investment, freezing out those with less in their war chest, who then ended up vying to rent in this heated market. His daughter, Samantha, had been lucky. He hadn’t had to help her too much when she’d moved into town. She was in a double-upper in Currie, just west of the city. Rebus had joked that she’d bought a place with stairs to deter him from visiting.