‘Not far off it,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack without knowing which field to start with.’
‘How big a problem is it?’
She puffed out her cheeks. ‘Last figures I saw were for the whole of Britain. I think there are around 25,000 a year. Those are the reported MisPers. You can add a few thousand for the ones nobody notices. There’s a nice distinction actually: if nobody knows you’re missing, are you really missing?’
Afterwards, Rebus telephoned Janis Mee and told her she might think about running up some flyers and putting them up in positions of prominence in nearby towns, maybe even handing them out to Saturday shoppers or evening drinkers in Kirkcaldy. A photo of Damon, a brief physical description, and what he was wearing the night he left. She said she’d already thought of doing so, but that it made his disappearance seem so final. Then she broke down and cried and John Rebus, thirty-odd miles away, asked if she wanted him to ‘drop by’.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said.
‘Sure?’
‘Well… ’
Rebus reasoned that he was going to go to Fife anyway. He had to drop the tape back to Gaitanos, and wanted to see the club when it was lively. He’d take the photos of Damon with him and show them around. He’d ask about the candyfloss blonde. The technician who had worked with the videotape had transferred a still to his computer and managed to boost the quality. Rebus had some hard copies in his pocket. Maybe other people who’d been queuing at the bar would remember something.
Maybe.
His first stop, however, was the cemetery. He didn’t have any flowers to put on his parents’ grave, but he crouched beside it, fingers touching the grass. The inscription was simple, just names and dates really, and underneath, ‘Not Dead, But at Rest in the Arms of the Lord’. He wasn’t sure whose idea that had been, not his certainly. The headstone’s carved lettering was inlaid with gold, but it had already faded from his mother’s name. He touched the surface of the marble, expecting it to be cold, but finding a residual warmth there. A blackbird nearby was trying to worry food from the ground. Rebus wished it luck.
By the time he reached Janis’s, Brian was home from work. Rebus told them what he’d done so far, after which Brian nodded, apologised, and said he had a Burns Club meeting. The two men shook hands. When the door closed, Janis and Rebus exchanged a look and then a smile.
‘I see that bruise finally faded,’ she said.
Rebus rubbed his right cheek. ‘It was a hell of a punch.’
‘Funny how strong you can get when you’re angry.’
‘Sorry.’
She laughed. ‘Bit late to apologise.’
‘It was just…’
‘It was everything,’ she said. ‘Summer holidays coming up, all of us leaving school, you going off to join the army. The last school dance before all of that. That’s what it was.’ She paused. ‘Do you know what happened to Mitch?’ She watched Rebus shake his head. ‘Last I heard,’ she said, ‘he was living somewhere down south. The two of you used to be so close.’
‘Yes.’
She laughed again. ‘Johnny, it was a long time ago, don’t look so solemn.’ She paused. ‘I’ve sometimes wondered… ach, not for years, but just now and then I used to wonder what would have happened… ’
‘If you hadn’t punched me?’
She nodded. ‘If we’d stayed together. Well, you can’t turn the clock back, eh?’
‘Would the world be any better if we could?’
She stared at the window, not really seeing it. ‘Damon would still be here,’ she said quietly. A tear escaped her eye, and she fussed for a handkerchief in her pocket. Rebus got up and made towards her. Then the front door opened, and he retreated.
‘My mum,’ Janis smiled. ‘She usually pops in around this time. It’s like a railway station around here, hard to find any privacy.’
Then Mrs Playfair walked into the living-room.
‘Hello, Inspector, thought that was your car. Is there any news?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Rebus said. Janis got to her feet and hugged her mother, the crying starting afresh.
‘There there, pet,’ Mrs Playfair said quietly. ‘There there.’
Rebus walked past the two of them without saying a word.
It was still early when he reached Gaitanos. He had a word with one of the bouncers, who was keeping warm in the lobby until things started getting busy, and the man lumbered off to fetch Charles Mackenzie, aka Charmer. It seemed strange to Rebus: here he was, standing in the very foyer he’d stared at for so long on the video monitor. The camera was high up in one corner with nothing to show whether it was working. Rebus gave it a wave anyway. If he disappeared tonight, it could be his farewell to the world.
‘Inspector Rebus.’ They’d spoken on the phone. The man who came forward to shake Rebus’s hand stood about five feet four and was as thin as a cocktail glass. Rebus placed him in his mid-fifties. He wore a powder-blue suit and an open-necked white shirt with suntan and gold jewellery beneath. His hair was silver and thinning, but as well-cut as the suit. ‘Come through to the office.’
Rebus followed Mackenzie down a carpeted corridor to a gloss-black door with a sign on it saying ‘Private’. There was no door handle. Mackenzie unlocked the door and motioned for Rebus to go in.
‘After you, sir,’ Rebus said. You never knew what could be waiting behind a locked door.
What greeted Rebus this time was an office which seemed to double as a broom-cupboard. Mops and a vacuum cleaner rested against one wall. A bank of screens spread across three filing cabinets showed what was happening inside and outside the club. Unlike the video Rebus had watched, these screens each showed a certain location.
‘Are these recording?’ Rebus asked. Mackenzie shook his head.
‘We’ve got a roaming monitor, and that’s the only recording we get. But this way, if we spot trouble anywhere, we can watch it unfold.’
‘Like that knifing in the alley?’
‘Messed up my Mercedes.’
‘So I heard. Is that when you called the police? When your car stopped being a bystander?’
Mackenzie laughed and wagged a finger, but didn’t answer. Rebus couldn’t see where he’d earned his nickname. The guy had all the charm of sandpaper.
‘I brought back your video.’ Rebus placed it on the desk.
‘All right to record over it now?’
‘I suppose so.’ Rebus handed over the computer-enhanced photograph. ‘The missing person is slightly right of centre, second row.’
‘Is that his doll?’
‘Do you know her?’
‘Wish I did.’
‘You haven’t seen her before.’
‘She doesn’t look the sort I’d forget.’
Rebus took back the picture. ‘Mind if I show this around?’
‘The place is practically empty.’
‘I thought I might stick around.’
Mackenzie frowned and studied the backs of his hands. ‘Well, you know, it’s not that I don’t want to help or anything… ’
‘But?’
‘Well, it’s hardly conducive to a party atmosphere, is it? That’s our slogan – “The best party of your life, every night!” – and I don’t think a police officer mooching around asking questions is going to add to the ambience.’
‘I quite understand, Mr Mackenzie. I was being thoughtless. ’ Mackenzie lifted his hands, palms towards Rebus: no problem, the hands were saying.
‘And you’re quite right,’ Rebus continued. ‘In fact, I’d be a lot quicker if I had some assistance – say, a dozen uniforms. That way, I wouldn’t be “mooching around” for nearly so long. In fact, let’s make it a couple of dozen. We’ll be in and out, quick as a virgin’s first poke. Mind if I use your phone?’
‘Whoah, wait a minute. Look, all I was saying was… Look, how much do you want?’
‘Sorry, sir?’