She ushered him inside, sliding the chain back across afterwards. ‘Reporter walked straight in yesterday,’ she muttered.
‘Which one?’
She shrugged, already slouching back towards the kitchen. It was messier than ever. Samantha’s face was paler even than before, cheeks sunken, hair unwashed.
‘How’s Carrie?’ he asked, watching his daughter slump onto one of the chairs around the breakfast table.
‘Full of questions I either can’t answer or don’t want to. She keeps looking at photos on her iPad — holidays and birthdays and Christmas...’ She got up, heading for the kettle and switching it on. ‘This is what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Make tea and pretend it makes everything bearable for a while?’
‘Is it all right if I ask a question?’
She gave him a quick glance. ‘Do you ever stop?’
‘It’s all I seem to be good for.’
She was concentrating all her efforts on lifting two tea bags from the box, placing them in mugs next to the kettle. It took her a moment to work out what came next. She walked to the fridge, checking the date on the milk.
‘I’m not even sure what day it is,’ she said to herself. Then, to her father: ‘Go on then.’
‘They’ve found the murder weapon. It’s the revolver that used to sit behind the bar in The Glen.’
‘They hit him with it? Why not just shoot him?’ She thought for a moment. ‘I think I remember it. May’s dad found it on the beach.’
Rebus nodded. ‘I don’t suppose you ever saw it here? In Keith’s bag maybe?’
She was shaking her head as she handed him his tea, having forgotten to take the tea bag out.
‘And he never mentioned taking it from the pub?’
‘No.’ She sat down again, her own tea forgotten about, the mug still over by the kettle. Her eyes met his. ‘Remember when that man abducted me, back when I was a kid? He did it to get at you. And afterwards, Mum took me to London. We couldn’t live in Edinburgh any more. Is that what I’m going to have to do with Carrie? Make a new life elsewhere? I’ll need to find a job, whatever happens...’
‘I’ve got money. Best you have it now rather than when I’m gone.’
‘Jesus, Dad.’ Her head went down into her hands. ‘Is one fucking death not enough to be getting on with?’
‘Sorry.’
After a moment, her head lifted again. ‘Why did they use the gun?’
‘Maybe to make a point,’ Rebus offered.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The camp, the revolver, the stuff still missing...’
‘It’s to do with the camp then? Not me, not Jess?’
‘Creasey and his team might take a bit more persuading,’ Rebus cautioned.
Samantha remembered her tea, got up to fetch it. ‘I see Strathy turned up. I remember how excited Keith was the day he went to the castle. On his way to work he’d seen the vans — the marquee company and caterers. He knew what he was doing — maximum embarrassment for his lordship. He was like a kid afterwards, bouncing off the walls like someone had given him too much sugar, when all he’d really been given was a burst lip.’
‘Courtesy of the gardener?’
‘I told him he should report it, but he laughed it off.’
She checked the time on her phone.
‘I’m seeing Julie,’ she explained. ‘Means running the gauntlet again.’ She exhaled noisily. ‘I just want to go back to being me — does that make any sense?’
Rebus nodded. ‘Mind if I stick around?’ he asked. ‘Not here, but the garage?’
‘You’ll need to unlock it. Key’s on the hall table. Put it through the letter box when you’re done.’
‘You’ll be locking up the house?’
She gave a slow, regretful nod. ‘Everything’s changed,’ she said.
33
After a couple of hours spent in the garage, Rebus felt the need to clear his head. He walked to the rear of the bungalow. The garden was basically just lawn, a tool shed, a swing and a folded-away whirligig clothes line. After less than a minute’s battering by the wind, he changed his mind and climbed into his rental car. One bar of signal on his phone, so he called Creasey.
‘You’re worse than a bloody newshound,’ Creasey answered. ‘And there’s nothing to report.’
‘That’s not why I’m calling.’
‘In which case, I can give you two minutes.’
‘I’ve got a fair idea who wrote the notes,’ Rebus began.
‘She’s had another?’
‘I meant the one telling Keith about Samantha’s fling with Hawkins.’
‘Okay, I’m listening.’
‘Angharad Oates.’
‘I suppose that’s credible. Not sure it makes any difference to—’
‘Are you forgetting the motorbike? They all get to use it. The night Keith was killed, Ron Travis heard it.’
‘So to your mind, because Oates wrote a couple of anonymous letters, she then murdered Keith, making it more likely that her lover Jess Hawkins and your daughter might be thrown together again?’
‘She’d know who the police would most likely point the finger at. Plus, chances are, it’d lead to Samantha getting out of Dodge.’
‘John...’
‘Okay, how about this — the day Keith barged into that party at Strathy Castle, he was hauled away by Colin Belkin, who gave him a smack in the mouth as a send-off.’
‘And?’
‘And these are leads you should be following.’
‘I’ve got the lead I need right here at the lab.’
‘Prints on the revolver?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ The line went dead. Rebus felt like punching something. Instead of which, he started the engine.
The cemetery lay a mile inland from Tongue, above the village and just off the road to Altnaharra. A low stone wall surrounded it, with high metal gates giving access for hearses. Rebus reckoned that at one time there’d have been a horse-drawn procession from the nearby communities. Maybe not even horses — the coffin carried aloft by family or friends. Only a handful of the gravestones looked new; most were weathered, their inscriptions faded. The grass had been mown recently, though, and fresh flowers had been added to several plots. Not an easy place to hide, and Rebus saw Helen Carter straight away. She was leaning on her walking frame, deep in thought — or more likely remembrance. Rebus approached her, clearing his throat to announce his presence.
‘I heard the car,’ she said.
‘And here was me thinking you’re stone deaf.’
‘I’ve got my hearing aid in.’ She pointed to one of her ears.
Rebus took up position next to her and studied the name on the headstone.
‘Anniversary of his death,’ she explained.
‘I know — I looked him up online. Thought he’d be in one of the war cemeteries.’
‘We guessed he’d want to be here,’ Carter said quietly. ‘Chrissy did anyway.’
Rebus took stock of the scenery. It felt like they might be the only living things in the whole landscape — no livestock visible, no birdsong. Then he turned his attention back to Sergeant Gareth Davies’s grave.
‘Age twenty-nine,’ he recited. ‘How old was Chrissy?’
‘Nineteen. Two years younger than me.’
‘I heard she died a few years back.’
‘She had a good life down south, and a long one.’
‘You kept in touch after she left?’
‘She didn’t often visit — too many memories.’
‘It was a terrible thing to happen.’
‘And such a stupid thing, too.’
‘Sergeant Davies’s killer must have harboured strong feelings for her,’ Rebus agreed. ‘That was what it was, wasn’t it — a crime of passion?’