A staircase led from the centre of the room to the upper floor. It looked hand-made and not particularly safe, bearing in mind the toys and clothes that littered most of its steps.
‘Just thought I’d have a word with Samantha,’ Rebus said, keeping his tone conversational. Hawkins gave him a pained look.
‘She’s not in a mood for talking, John. Space to breathe is what she needs.’
‘I’m right here,’ Rebus yelled up the stairwell. ‘I just want to help!’
Hawkins had placed a hand gently on his forearm, but removed it when Rebus glowered at him.
‘Space to breathe,’ Hawkins echoed softly. ‘When the time’s right, she’ll come back.’
Rebus was still staring at him. ‘Like she went back to Keith after her little fling with you?’ He gestured towards the woman at the table. ‘What did your partner make of that?’
‘We’re as free to love as we are to live,’ Hawkins countered. ‘Would you like some green tea? Maybe just water?’
‘Keith Grant died not far from here.’
‘I’m aware of that — the police have asked their questions.’
‘After he found out about you and my daughter, he slept at the camp — you probably saw his car parked there. It’s not like you wouldn’t recognise it.’
‘What point are you trying to make, John?’
‘Maybe he came here.’ Rebus was letting his voice rise, hoping Samantha would hear it loud and clear. ‘It’s what I’d do in his situation.’
‘You see similarities between the two of you? Or is this you projecting?’ Hawkins sounded as if he really wanted to know.
‘Do you sleep with all the women here, or just a chosen few? Maybe that’s why you set this place up after making and losing a fortune on the stock market. Internet’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Your story’s right there for anyone to find — all the way from a council estate to the City of London, then you take one risk too many and you’ve gone from Moët to muesli—’
‘You’re hurting, John. I wish there were some way to help you...’ Hawkins looked almost pitying as he turned away and approached the table, standing behind the woman and touching the back of her neck. She gave a warm smile he couldn’t see. Rebus took a couple of steps towards her.
‘Angharad?’
She looked up at him. ‘We know one another?’ The accent was unmistakably English upper class. Rebus looked from her to the babbling infant, then fixed his eyes on Hawkins.
‘No wonder he hates you,’ he commented.
‘Who?’
‘Lord Strathy.’
Hawkins smiled again. ‘It’s not hate, John, it’s simple greed.’
‘You’ll have known about that in your time, eh?’
‘We’re all looking for answers in our different ways. You were a policeman. You looked out when you should have been looking in. You’ve spent your whole adult life as part of the state apparatus, doing their dirty work so they could keep their own hands clean.’
‘Without people doing the job I did, everything breaks down.’
‘You might not have noticed, but everything is breaking down. And that job of yours ended up costing you your family.’
‘Fuck off.’
Angharad Oates tutted without pausing in her task.
‘You can’t hide out here forever,’ Rebus went on. ‘The world doesn’t stop at that welcome sign you’ve put up.’
‘I wish I could help you,’ Hawkins repeated, stretching out his arms.
‘Then bring my daughter down here to talk to me.’
‘She doesn’t feel she has your trust.’
‘She’s wrong.’
‘Give it time — give her the time she needs.’
‘Does everybody fall for this quack psychology of yours? Do you even believe it yourself?’
‘All that’s on offer here is an alternative to the world you seem happy to live in.’
‘Anger and ill will,’ Oates intoned, handing the infant a sliver of apple.
‘Anger and ill will,’ Hawkins echoed. ‘Rising levels of greed and stupidity. You’d be a fool to look out there for answers.’ He waved an arm in the direction of the world beyond the steading.
‘So how come my daughter chose Keith over all this?’ Rebus asked.
‘I thought about it.’ The voice came from the top of the stairs. Samantha was standing there, arms by her sides, tears drying on her cheeks. ‘I thought about it but I couldn’t.’
‘Because of love,’ Jess Hawkins said, nodding his understanding. Angharad Oates reached up, taking Hawkins’ right hand and squeezing it.
‘Samantha, can we talk?’ Rebus asked. But after a moment, she shook her head and disappeared into one of the rooms. Hawkins opened his mouth to speak, but Rebus silenced him with a pointed finger. ‘Any more pish about living and loving, I swear I’m going to smack you in the mouth.’
He watched as Oates’s free hand curled around the paring knife in front of her, angling it towards him.
‘Try it,’ she said, baring her immaculate teeth.
‘You might want to leave now, John,’ Hawkins said as he patted her shoulder.
‘Carrie needs her mum,’ Rebus stated.
‘I know.’
Hawkins was still nodding as Rebus walked to the door and left.
18
‘They’re all here,’ May Collins said, coming from behind the bar to lead Rebus to the corner table. ‘Took a bit more arranging than I thought.’ Four people sat waiting for him. Two walking frames were parked nearby.
‘This is my dad Joe,’ May said.
The small, hunched man looked to be having trouble with his breathing. The hand he held out had a perceptible tremor, the skin like crêpe paper. He wore glasses with thick lenses and his head was more liver spot than hair. Next to him sat a woman who could almost have been his sister.
‘Helen Carter,’ May said. Then, raising her voice, ‘Helen’s a bit deaf, despite the hearing aid. Aren’t you, Helen?’
The woman clucked and nodded.
Across the table sat a man of similar vintage, taller and thinner than Joe Collins, with angular features and no apparent need of glasses.
‘Stefan Novack,’ May Collins said. ‘Helen and Stefan both live in Tongue. Stefan was kind enough to give her a lift.’
Rebus took Novack’s hand while looking at the figure seated next to him. This young man held up his hands.
‘I know,’ he said.
‘This is Jimmy Hess,’ May Collins was explaining. ‘His grandad’s not great today.’
‘Your grandad being...?’
‘Frank Hess — Franz, actually, just like Joe is Josef.’ Jimmy gestured towards May Collins’ father. ‘And as I always say, no, we’re not related to Rudolf.’
‘Not that we ever see Frank in here,’ May went on.
‘Not really a drinker,’ Jimmy explained to Rebus. ‘Not these days.’
‘Get yourself seated and I’ll fetch you a drink,’ May Collins told Rebus, giving him a pat on the arm.
‘Just sparkling water,’ he said, settling himself at the head of the table.
‘Very sorry for your loss,’ Jimmy Hess said. He was a large man and ungainly with it. Late thirties maybe, no sign of a wedding ring. Dark hair receding rapidly at the temples.
‘I appreciate you standing in for your grandfather,’ Rebus said. ‘But this is probably a waste of your time.’
Hess held up his hands again. It was something he obviously did a lot, probably without even being conscious of it. ‘Thing is, Grandad used to talk to me all the time about the camp, and I sat in when Keith was asking his questions, so maybe I’m more useful than you think.’