Rebus stared at him. ‘To what end?’
‘Payback,’ Travis said simply. Then, after a pause: ‘One other thing — the night he died, a motorbike rumbled past here.’
‘Not so unusual,’ Taylor said. ‘Plenty of locals use them.’
‘And tourists, too,’ McKechnie added.
‘This was pretty late, though — I was in bed; I’m sure the sound woke me up.’
‘A big bike, then?’ Rebus enquired. ‘Like the Kawasaki they keep out at Stalag Hawkins? Have you told the investigation?’
‘I’m not sure they thought it relevant — it probably isn’t.’
‘And as I say,’ Edward Taylor added, ‘lots of folk around here use them — I’ve even seen your daughter on one.’
Rebus stared at him. ‘Samantha?’
‘Riding pillion with Hawkins at the controls. Used to ride a bike myself back in my younger days.’
‘Mind you,’ Ron Travis commented, ‘size of some of our potholes, you could lose a bike in them if you’re not careful.’
The conversation continued for a further minute or so until they realised Rebus had long ago ceased listening, his mind somewhere else entirely.
Samantha eventually opened the door to him, a pained look on her face.
‘What do you want, Dad?’
‘Are you okay?’
‘What do you think?’
‘And Carrie?’
‘Still at Jenny’s.’
‘Have you told her yet?’
‘Yes.’ She attempted to blink back a tear. ‘I’m just here getting some of our stuff; we’re staying with Jenny and her mum.’
‘Julie Harris — I’ve met her. Can I come and visit?’
‘Not tonight.’ She angled her head, determined that the tears would not escape. ‘They took me to see him. To identify him, I mean. And they got my fingerprints. And all the time it was happening, I was thinking: this is what my dad used to do; this is how he spent his working life. No emotion, no warmth, just a job to be got on with.’
‘Samantha...’
‘What?’
‘I have one question that needs answering.’ She just stared at him, so he ploughed on. ‘You’re sure you’ve no inkling who sent Keith that note telling him about you and Hawkins?’
‘No.’
‘Do you remember the wording?’ He watched her shake her head. ‘I’ve learned a lot about Keith these past couple of days. He had a good heart and he cared about people. That’s why the camp fascinated him — he saw echoes in it of things that might happen again.’ He watched her recover her composure as his words sank in.
‘You’re right about that,’ she said quietly.
‘But all that passion he had tells me he might well have wanted a face-to-face with Hawkins, maybe after you had that argument?’
Samantha’s face darkened. ‘How many times do I have to say it? Jess has nothing to do with this!’
‘But is it true you sometimes went out on his motorbike?’
‘Ages back — and what the hell’s that got to do with anything?’
‘We have to give them something, Samantha — the cops, I mean. Because if we don’t, all they’ve got is you. Creasey knows you took Carrie to the commune that day. I’m guessing someone there told him.’
She scowled and turned away, disappearing down the hall. He wasn’t sure what to do, but she was suddenly back, thrusting a piece of paper at him. He took it from her. Just the one word, all in capitals, done with a thick black marker pen: LEAVE.
He looked at her for an explanation.
‘Stuck through the letter box — someone without the guts to say it to my face.’ She gestured towards the note. ‘They think I did it, and they’re not the only ones, are they?’
‘I don’t think you did it, Samantha.’
‘Then why are you so desperate to put someone else — anyone else — in the frame?’
Rebus reached out and took her by the wrist while he tried to find the right words, but she shrugged herself free and took a step back inside the house.
‘I’m closing the door now,’ she said, almost in a whisper.
‘Is it the same writing as the other note?’ Rebus asked.
Instead of answering, she shut the door.
He looked down and realised he was still holding the piece of paper.
After closing time again at The Glen, Rebus was perched on a stool, nursing a well-watered whisky. He’d asked May Collins if Helen’s sister Chrissy was still alive.
‘Died a few years back — I remember Helen heading south for the funeral.’
She was in the office now, putting the day’s takings into the safe. Cameron was outside, smoking a roll-up. Rebus took out the note and unfolded it. He felt helpless and was struggling not to turn that feeling into anger.
I don’t think you did it...
Despite everything.
He was rubbing his stinging eyes when Cameron barged back into the pub.
‘Someone’s just had a go at your car,’ he exclaimed.
‘What?’ Rebus slid from the stool and strode towards the door. He followed Cameron outside. The Saab was parked kerbside about forty feet away, the closest he had been able to get to the pub at the time. As they approached the car, Cameron walked out onto the roadway, pointing to the bodywork. He flicked his phone’s torch on so Rebus could see the damage. A long, ugly line weaving its way along both rear door and front.
‘You saw them?’ Rebus asked, running a finger along the scratch.
‘Car pulled up, driver got out. I wasn’t sure what he was doing. Drove off again. Thought it odd so I came and looked.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I was checking my phone,’ Cameron said with a shrug.
‘The car, then?’
Another shrug. ‘Mid-sized. Dark colour.’
‘Some eyewitness you make, son.’ Rebus looked around. ‘No other cars on his hit list?’ He paused. ‘I’m assuming it was a he?’
‘Think so.’
He glanced at his phone, checking for signal. ‘Go back in and get yourself a drink,’ he told Cameron. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘Sorry I didn’t...’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Rebus had already started calling Creasey’s number. He walked the length of the roadway, checking the other parked vehicles. No damage to any of them.
‘I’m off duty,’ Creasey eventually answered.
‘Murder inquiries must’ve changed since my day.’ Rebus could hear music in the background — supper-club jazz by the sound of it. ‘You at home?’
‘Enjoying a well-deserved rest and about to turn in for the night.’
‘Did you do that check on Colin Belkin?’
‘Turns out you were right.’
‘He has a record?’
‘Had to go back a few years, but yes — a few minor assaults and the like.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘Sent a couple of uniforms.’
‘I think they maybe pissed him off.’
‘How so?’
‘Someone just had a go at my car. Drove off when spotted.’
‘And you’re stretching that all the way to Colin Belkin? How do you reckon he got to you?’
‘Remember his friendly cop in Thurso, the one who checked up on Malcolm Fox? You could do worse than ask him.’
‘In my acres of free time, you mean? I’ll be sure to add it to the list. You think this Belkin character’s going to cause you trouble?’
‘I’ve already seen evidence of his temper. Seems to be very protective of his employer.’
‘Don’t do anything rash, John.’
‘Perish the thought, DS Creasey.’
‘And Samantha and Carrie are okay?’
‘I’ll let you get back to your jazz. Speak tomorrow.’
Rebus ended the call and went indoors. May Collins had taken the stool next to his. She was holding a glass with a half-inch of whisky in it. He saw that his own glass had been topped up. Cameron was the other side of the bar, his cider already half finished.