‘Your repair got me as far as a garage in Inverness,’ Rebus explained. He gestured towards the bike. ‘Another of your projects?’
‘It works well enough.’
‘And it belongs to you?’
‘Anyone who needs it can use it. You ever ridden one?’ Sanderson straddled the seat and gripped the handlebars.
‘Been out on it recently?’
‘The day I fixed your car.’
‘And before that?’
‘No idea.’
‘Who else uses it? Jess? Maybe Angharad Oates even?’
Sanderson’s smile was icy. ‘What’s your interest?’
Rebus offered a shrug, his hands sliding into his pockets. ‘Seen much of Samantha the past day or so?’
‘She’s been around.’
‘You know she was sent a threatening note?’
Sanderson’s face softened a little. He dismounted from the bike. ‘News to me.’ Rebus’s attention had shifted to the barn. Music was wafting from it. ‘Yoga class,’ Sanderson explained. ‘Want a cuppa?’
‘If you’re offering.’
Sanderson studied him. ‘I don’t think you’re our friend — unlikely it’ll ever happen — but you’re a friend’s father and that gets you a mug of tea.’ He paused. ‘But no more of your questions, okay?’
‘Fair enough, son. Lead the way.’
They walked the short distance to the farmhouse door, Sanderson pushing it open and allowing Rebus to precede him inside. The kettle was on the wood-burning stove, wisps of steam escaping its spout. Oates was seated at the dining table as before, the child on her lap. She was helping him draw a castle with coloured crayons.
‘Your old place?’ Rebus made show of guessing. ‘You must miss it.’
‘What’s he doing here?’ Oates demanded of Sanderson.
‘Tea, and then he’s going.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’ Her eyes were drilling into Rebus. Rebus nodded towards the child.
‘Didn’t catch his name last time I was here.’
She thought about not answering, but then relented. ‘Bram — short for Abraham.’
‘As in Bram Stoker? Vampires and all that?’
‘Jess liked the name.’
‘And he usually gets his way, eh? Like an old-fashioned lord and master. Are you stuck here all the time, or do you make the occasional getaway?’
‘Mr Rebus is very interested in our Kawasaki,’ Sanderson explained.
‘It’s a hefty machine,’ Rebus said. ‘Just wondering if you’ve managed to master it?’
‘This is the twenty-first century, if you hadn’t noticed.’
‘So you do take it out sometimes?’
‘We all do.’
‘Those of you who’ve got a licence...’
‘We’re very law-abiding up here, Mr Rebus,’ Sanderson said, handing him a mug. ‘Milk’s in the jug, sugar in the bowl.’
Rebus placed the mug on the table and added a splash of milk. A second mug had been set in front of Oates, who accepted it without any show of thanks. Rebus took a slurp, peering over the rim of the mug to the plastic box of crayons.
‘Got any felt pens in there?’ he asked, shifting his focus to Oates. ‘Nice thick black ones?’
She leapt to her feet, hoisting a shocked Bram to her shoulder. ‘Get out!’ she barked.
‘You’re upsetting the wee one,’ Rebus chided her.
‘And you’re upsetting all of us! Now get the hell out.’
Rebus placed the mug back on the table. ‘Milk’s on the turn,’ he said. He was halfway to the door when he paused. ‘Seen anything of your ex-husband lately? People are getting a bit worried.’
Oates half turned her head towards Sanderson. ‘I swear to God, Mick, if you don’t kick him out, I will!’
Rebus held up both hands in a show of appeasement. ‘A peaceful, welcoming place — you really are all living the dream here.’ He closed the door after him and made for his car.
A few minutes later, as he passed the camp again, he prepared to sound his horn, but there was no sign of the uniform. He wasn’t much further on when his phone rang. It was Samantha, so he pulled into the backpackers’ parking area and answered.
‘It’s me,’ his daughter began.
‘I know — how are you doing?’
‘Press are all over this note I got. They wanted to photograph it but I couldn’t find it. I gave it to you, didn’t I?’
‘And I handed it to Creasey. Good news is, the publicity might stop whoever did it sending any more.’
‘It was you that alerted the media, wasn’t it?’
‘Time we got them on your side, Samantha. This isn’t much, but it’s a start.’
‘I’m not sure whether to thank you or not.’ He heard her sigh. ‘Are you still sleeping at the pub? Sofa’s available here...’
‘I appreciate that, but a bed suits me better and the wee bit of distance might be good for us. How’s Carrie doing?’
‘Devastated. She’s going to get counselling, though it might mean trips to Thurso. They can’t release the body yet, so no point planning anything.’ Her voice began to crack. ‘If they arrest me, you’ll need to make the funeral arrangements.’
‘Not going to happen, trust me.’
‘It’s hard to trust anyone right now.’ She gave a long exhalation and seemed to pick herself up a little. Rebus saw that Ron Travis had come to the door. He lowered the driver’s-side window and gave a wave. Recognising him, Travis waved back then cupped the same hand to his mouth in imitation of taking a drink. Rebus shook the offer away and turned his attention back to the conversation, making Samantha repeat what she’d just been telling him.
‘Creasey delivered it all in a bag this morning — not the clothes, I suppose they’re evidence, but stuff from Keith’s pockets. Money and credit cards. His phone’s still missing, but attached to his house keys there’s a memory stick. I’d forgotten he had it.’
‘What’s on it?’ Rebus asked quietly.
‘I’ve not looked. Can’t be important, though, or Creasey would have hung onto it.’
‘True.’ Rebus was watching Travis disappear back indoors. ‘Will you still be at home in ten minutes or so?’
‘I’m meeting Julie for a coffee. She’s picking me up so I don’t have to brave whatever’s waiting for me in the village.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Rebus said, working the steering wheel with one hand.
27
Samantha and Julie were already in the car when Rebus arrived. Julie waved and smiled while Samantha got out, hugging him briefly before pressing the small plastic device into his hand.
‘Sorry about yesterday,’ she said.
‘Me too.’ He watched as she ducked back into the car, no hanging around. He hoped it was because of the chill wind and the sudden needles of rain. He got back into his rental and followed the two women into Naver. The TV camera crew had just packed up, and as they manoeuvred out of their space, Rebus grabbed it. The rental car was smaller than his Saab, easier to handle. He entered The Glen. May was serving coffees and teas to a table of regulars.
‘Will I be seeing you on the news tonight?’ he asked her.
‘Cheeky beggars wanted to film in here but I told them where to go.’
Rebus was waiting for her at the bar when she brought the empty tray back. He held up the memory stick. ‘Can I use your computer again?’
‘If you promise not to plant a virus.’
He promised, heading behind the bar and through the doorway into the cramped office. There was a backlog of paperwork on the large desk. On one wall was a framed photo of a younger May embracing her father outside the pub. Rebus peered at the password taped to the bottom edge of the computer screen. The hard drive was beneath the desk, and it took him some effort to lean down far enough to slot home the memory stick. Once done, he settled himself on the swivel chair. May’s face appeared in the doorway.