There had been toasts to Keith’s memory and reminiscences from those who’d known him, but behind it all lay the vast whispered question: did they have a murderer in their midst? Rebus had eavesdropped on a few suggestions. It was travellers, strangers, immigrants. Hadn’t there been a murder in Thurso a couple of years back, the culprit never caught? And hadn’t that been caused by a blow to the skull too? Necessary stories, he knew — an attempt to deflect rather than explain the reality of the situation. One wilder theory saw a poltergeist placed squarely in the frame.
‘I’ve seen strange things out that way,’ the proposer had told his rapt audience. ‘Lights, sounds, shadows moving behind the main fence...’
Catching Rebus’s eye, Collins had shaken her head slowly.
He’d spent the evening nursing a single pint, which, once flat, he’d switched for a whisky, adding plenty of water.
‘Sorry not to be putting more into the coffers,’ he’d apologised, handing a five-pound note across the bar.
‘We’re doing grand without you,’ Collins had replied.
She opened the till now and scooped notes and coins into a bag. ‘Just going to put this in the safe,’ she told Cameron, disappearing through a doorway.
Cameron was behind the bar again, pouring himself a cider, everything done that needed doing. Rebus studied the gantry. Among the bottles sat a coat of arms, a few faded postcards from overseas, a fake twenty-pound note, examples of various foreign currencies, and a few snaps taken in the bar down the years.
‘That’s May’s dad,’ Cameron said, tapping one of the photos. ‘Used to run this place until it got too much for him. Long before my time, mind.’
‘Does he still come in?’
The barman shook his head. ‘I think the place holds too many memories. Good ones, I mean, but he’s a shadow of himself these days.’
‘I know the feeling.’
Cameron managed a wry smile. ‘You’re staying the night here, eh?’
‘Samantha needs a bit of space.’
‘Understandable, I suppose.’ He had finished the cider in a few hefty gulps. ‘That’s me then.’ He lifted his denim jacket from a hook.
‘Did you have much to do with Keith?’
‘Served him a few drinks now and then.’
Rebus’s eyes were on the gantry again. ‘What used to be there?’ He nodded towards a triangular arrangement of thin nails.
‘Believe it or not, a revolver.’ Cameron pointed to each nail in turn. ‘Barrel rested on that, trigger guard on that, grip on that. Think it belonged to Mr Collins, but I’m not sure. Rusted all to hell.’
‘What happened to it?’
The barman gave a shrug. ‘May tossed it, I guess. Not every drinker wants a gun staring at them while they try to cheer themselves up.’
‘And it just sat there?’
‘May might’ve got it down a few times — just for a joke at chucking-out time. Seemed to do the trick.’
‘I’m sure it did,’ Rebus said.
Cameron was giving the bar a final look-over. ‘Probably see you in the morning, then. May does us bacon rolls before we get the place ready for opening. Wonder if we’ll be as busy.’
‘The media circus will move on,’ Rebus stated.
‘Hopefully not for a day or two, though.’ Cameron gave a wave as he disappeared through the doorway, just as May Collins came back. She tucked a loose strand of hair back behind one ear.
‘A nightcap, I think,’ she said, placing a glass under one of the whisky optics. ‘I’m hoping you’ll join me.’
‘I shouldn’t.’
‘Not planning on driving anywhere, are you?’
‘It’s a health thing. I’ve got COPD.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘Ach, go on then.’
They sat side by side on two of the high stools, clinked glasses before sipping. The silence settled around them, broken only by the hum of the glasswasher and the occasional voice outside.
‘She’ll come round, you know,’ Collins said eventually. ‘Samantha, I mean.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You’re her dad — I doubt she can stay mad at you. But right now she needs someone to blame, and you’re it.’
‘Should I be lying on a couch or something?’ Rebus said, remembering that Samantha had had a similar question for Robin Creasey.
‘Doesn’t take a psychologist, just someone who’s had plenty fallings-out with their own dad.’
‘Cameron told me your dad used to run this place.’
‘In later years, yes. His first wife died and he married my mum — Betsy, her name was. He found it harder and harder after Mum died.’
‘So you stepped in?’
‘With my husband Billy. Then he got the cancer and that was that.’ She took in her surroundings. ‘Not sure this was ever what I really wanted, but it was here and Dad needed me.’
‘Pretty sure I’m not what Samantha needs.’
‘Maybe not now, but...’
‘Thing is, May, I always enjoyed my job too much. My wife used to say it was like I was having an affair — staying out late, not home most weekends. And even when I did go home, the cases would still be in here.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘And it wasn’t as if I could share any of it. No way I was going to introduce Rhona and Sammy to that world.’
‘Maybe that was your mistake then — they didn’t need a knight protecting them; Rhona needed a husband and Samantha a father, end of.’ She drained her glass and went for a refill, Rebus declining the offer. He watched her at her chosen optic.
‘Cameron was telling me about the gun,’ Rebus said.
‘Oh aye?’
‘You got rid of it?’
‘Not quite.’ She settled on her stool again. ‘It went walkies.’
‘Someone stole it?’
Collins shrugged. ‘At first I thought Dad must have it, but he didn’t. It’s rusted to buggery, though, so there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘But you reported it?’
‘It’ll turn up. Soon as one of the kids starts waving it about, I’ll know.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Month or so.’
‘What does your dad think?’
She took a sip before answering. ‘He’s surprised I hung onto it as long as I did.’
‘It dates back to the war?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘But your dad was a POW, right.’
‘He was an internee, yes.’
‘So he wouldn’t have had a gun.’
‘He found it washed ashore sometime in the fifties, so the story goes.’ She put her glass down. ‘What’s this about, John?’
‘Keith was passionate about Camp 1033. He’d even slept there a few nights. Whoever killed him probably took the contents of his satchel — meaning his research. I’m told he interviewed your father as well as you and a few other survivors, but there’s no sign of any of that among the stuff in his garage.’
Collins considered this. ‘You want to talk to Dad?’
‘And the others, if possible.’
‘I could invite them round.’ She glanced up at the clock. ‘Phone them in the morning, see if it can happen before opening time. What do you say?’
‘I say thank you.’
‘You really think it’ll help?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Will the police want to talk to them too?’
‘If they’re being thorough.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘Creasey seems competent enough, but I know how these things work — they won’t all be like him.’
‘Well, we’ll see what happens tomorrow. For tonight, I’m just glad I’ve got a knight staying under my roof.’
‘Despite his creaking armour?’