And the nicotine? He knew himself that when he took a few days off the ciggies, he could sense how bad they made you smell — your skin, clothes, hair. Disgusting habit really: if you didn’t give yourself cancer, chances were you were giving it to some poor bastard whose only misfortune was in getting too close to you. Harry the barman was waiting for Rebus to act. The whole bar was. They knew something was happening; it was written on Rebus’s face — there was almost pain there. Jack stood beside him, holding his breath.
‘Harry,’ Rebus said, ‘take those away.’ Harry lifted the two drinks, shaking his head.
‘I wish we could get a picture of this,’ he said.
Rebus slid the cigarettes along the bar towards the smoker. ‘Here, take them. And don’t leave them lying too close to me, I might change my mind.’
The smoker lifted the packet, amazed. ‘Payback for the singles you’ve nicked off me in the past.’
‘With interest,’ Rebus said, watching Harry pour the beer down the sink.
‘Does it go straight back into the barrel, Harry?’
‘So, do you want anything else, or did you just come in for a seat?’
‘Coke and crisps.’ He turned to Jack. ‘I’m allowed crisps, right?’
Jack was resting a hand on his back, patting him softly. And he was smiling.
They stopped in at a shop on the way to the flat, came out again with the makings of a meal.
‘Can you remember the last time you cooked?’ Jack asked.
‘I’m not that cack-handed.’ The answer to the question was ‘no’.
Jack, it turned out, enjoyed cooking, but he found Rebus’s kitchen lacking the finer tools of his craft. No lemon zester, no garlic crusher.
‘Give the garlic here,’ Rebus offered, ‘I’ll stamp on it.’
‘I used to be lazy,’ Jack said. ‘When Audrey left, I tried cooking bacon in the toaster. But cooking’s a doddle once you get your head round it.’
‘What’s it going to be anyway?’
‘Low-fat spagbog, with salad if you’ll get your arse in gear.’
Rebus got his arse in gear, but found he had to nip out to the deli for the makings of the dressing. He didn’t bother with a jacket: it was mild out.
‘Sure you can trust me?’ he said.
Jack tasted the sauce, nodded. So Rebus went out on his own, and thought about not going back. There was a pub on the next corner, its doors open. But of course he was going back: he hadn’t eaten yet. The way Jack slept, if Rebus ever wanted to high-tail it that would be the time.
They set the table in the living room — the first time it had been used for a meal since Rebus’s wife had left. Could that be true? Rebus paused, a fork and spoon in his hand. Yes, it was true. His flat, his refuge, suddenly seemed emptier than ever.
Maudlin again: another reason he drank.
They shared a bottle of Highland spring water, chinked glasses.
‘Shame it’s not fresh pasta,’ Jack said.
‘It’s fresh food,’ Rebus replied, filling his mouth. ‘Rare enough in this flat.’
They ate the salad afterwards — French-style, Jack said. Rebus was reaching for seconds when the phone rang. He picked it up.
‘John Rebus.’
‘Rebus, it’s CI Grogan here.’
‘CI Grogan,’ Rebus looked to Jack, ‘what can I do for you, sir?’ Jack came to the phone to listen.
‘We’ve run preliminary tests on your shoes and clothing. Thought you’d like to know you’re in the clear.’
‘Was there ever any doubt?’
‘You’re a copper, Rebus, you know there are procedures.’
‘Of course, sir. I appreciate you phoning.’
‘Something else. I had a word with Mr Fletcher.’ Hayden Fletcher: PR at T-Bird. ‘He admitted knowing the latest victim. Gave us a detailed breakdown of his movements the night she was killed. He even offered blood for DNA analysis if we thought it would help.’
‘He sounds cocky.’
‘That just about sums him up. I took an instant dislike to the man, something I don’t often do.’
‘Not even with me?’ Rebus smiled at Jack. Jack mouthed the words ‘Go easy’.
‘Not even with you,’ Grogan said.
‘So that’s two suspects eliminated. Doesn’t get you much further, does it?’
‘No.’ Grogan sighed. Rebus could imagine him wiping tired eyes.
‘What about Eve and Stanley, sir? Did you heed my advice?’
‘I did. Mindful of your mistrust of DS Lumsden — an excellent officer, by the way — 1 set two men on it off my own bat, reporting directly to me.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Grogan coughed. ‘They were staying in a hotel near the airport. Five-star, usually an oil company hang-out. Driving a BMW.’ The one from Uncle Joe’s cul-de-sac no doubt. ‘I’ve a description of the car and licence details.’
‘Not needed, sir.’
‘Well, my men followed them to a couple of nightclubs.’
‘During business hours?’
‘Daylight hours, Inspector. They went in carrying nothing, and came out the same way. However, they also paid visits to several banks in the city centre. One of my men got close enough in one bank to see that they were making a cash deposit.’
‘In a bank?’ Rebus frowned. Was Uncle Joe the type to trust to banks? Would he let strangers get within a mile of his ill-gained assets?
‘That’s about it, Inspector. They ate a few meals together, went for a drive down to the docks, then left town.’
‘They’ve gone?’
‘Left tonight. My men followed them as far as Banchory. I’d say they were headed for Perth.’ And after that, Glasgow. ‘The hotel confirms they’ve checked out.’
‘Did you ask the hotel if they’re regulars?’
‘We did and they are. They started using it about six months ago.’
‘How many rooms?’
‘They always book two.’ There was a smile in Grogan’s voice. ‘But the story is, the maids only ever had to clean one of them. Seems they were sharing one room, and leaving the other untouched.’
Bingo, Rebus thought. Housey-housey and fucking click-ety-click.
‘Thanks, sir.’
‘Does this help you in something?’
‘It might help a lot, I’ll be in touch. Oh, something I meant to ask...’
‘Yes?’
‘Hayden Fletcher: did he say how he came to know the victim?’
‘A business acquaintance. She organised the stand for T-Bird Oil at the North Sea Convention.’
‘Is that what “corporate presentations” means?’
‘Apparently. Ms Holden designed a lot of the stands, then her company did the actual construction and setting-up. Fletcher met her as part of that process.’
‘Sir, I appreciate all of this.’
‘Inspector... if you’re coming north again any time, call to let me know, understood?’
Rebus understood that it wasn’t an invitation to afternoon tea.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, ‘good night.’
He put the phone down. Aberdeen beckoned, and he was damned if he’d give anyone prior notice. But Aberdeen could wait another day. Vanessa Holden connected to the oil industry...
‘What is it, John?’
Rebus looked up at his friend. ‘It’s Johnny Bible, Jack. I just got a strange feeling about him.’
‘What?’
‘That he’s an oilman...’
They tidied everything away and washed up, then made mugs of coffee and decided to go back to the decorating. Jack wanted to know more about Johnny Bible, and about Eve and Stanley, but Rebus didn’t know where to start. His head felt clogged. He kept filling it with new information, and nothing drained away. Johnny Bible’s first victim had been a geology student at a university with close ties to the oil industry. Now his fourth victim made stands for conventions, and working in Aberdeen, he could guess who her best clients had been. If there was a connection between victims one and four, was there something he was missing, something linking two and three? A prostitute and a barmaid, one in Edinburgh, the other Glasgow...