A new bogeyman for the nineties, someone to be scared of again. One mythology erased and replaced by another.
Yes, Rebus could feel it. He could sense Bible John’s hostility to the young pretender. No flattery in imitation, none at all...
And he knows where I live, Rebus thought. He’s been there, touched my obsession, and wondered how far I’m willing to take it. But why? Why would he place himself in danger like that, breaking into a flat in the middle of the day? Looking for what exactly? Looking for something in particular? But what? Rebus turned the question over in his mind, wondered if a drink would help, got as far as the safe before turning back, standing there in the middle of the room, his whole body crackling with need.
The hotel felt asleep; easy to imagine the whole country asleep and dreaming blameless dreams. Stemmons and Fuller, Uncle Joe, Major Weir, Johnny Bible... everyone was innocent in sleep. Rebus walked over to the connecting door and unlocked it. Eve’s door was slightly ajar. Silently, he pushed it wide open. Her room was in darkness, curtains closed. Light from his own room lay like an arrow along the floor, pointing towards the king-size bed. She lay on her side, one arm on top of the covers. Her eyes were closed. He took one step into her room, not merely a voyeur now but an intruder. Then he just stood there, watching her. Maybe he’d have stayed that way for long minutes.
‘Wondered how long it would take you,’ she said.
Rebus walked across to her bed. She reached both arms up to him. She was naked beneath the covers, warm and sweet-smelling. He sat down on the bed, took her hands in his.
‘Eve,’ he said quietly, ‘I need one favour from you before you go.’
She sat up. ‘Not counting this?’
‘Not counting this.’
‘What?’
‘I want you to phone Judd Fuller. Tell him you need to see him.’
‘You should stay away from him.’
‘I know.’
She sighed. ‘But you can’t?’ He nodded, and she touched his cheek with the back of her hand. ‘OK, but now I want a favour in return.’
‘What?’
‘Take the rest of the night off,’ she said, pulling him towards her.
He woke up alone in her bed, and it was morning. He checked to see if she’d left a note or anything, but of course she hadn’t: she wasn’t the type.
He walked through the open doorway and locked his door after him, then switched off the lights in his room. There was a knock at his door: Jack. Rebus pulled on pants and trousers and was halfway to the door when he remembered something. He walked back to the bed and removed the chocolates from the pillow, then pulled the covers down, messing them up. He surveyed the scene, punched a head-shaped dent in one pillow, then answered the door.
And it wasn’t Jack at all. It was one of the hotel staff, carrying a tray.
‘Morning, sir.’ Rebus stood aside to let him in. ‘Sorry if I woke you. Miss Cudden specified the time.’
‘That’s OK.’ Rebus watched the young man slide the tray on to the table by the window.
‘Would you like me to open it?’ Meaning the half bottle of champagne resting in an ice-bucket. There was a jug of fresh orange juice, a crystal glass, and a folded copy of the morning’s Press & Journal. In a slim porcelain vase stood a single red carnation.
‘No.’ Rebus lifted the bucket. ‘This, you can take away. The rest is fine.’
‘Yes, sir. If you’ll just sign...?’
Rebus took the proffered pen, and added a hefty tip to the bill. Fuck it, Uncle Joe was paying. The young man broke into a big grin, making Rebus wish he was this generous every morning.
‘Thank you, sir.’
When he’d gone, Rebus poured a glass of juice. The fresh-squeezed stuff, cost a fortune in the supermarket. Outside, the roads were still damp, and there was plenty of cloud overhead, but the sky looked like it might break into a grin of its own before the morning was out. A light aircraft took off from Dyce, probably Shetland-bound. Rebus looked at his watch, then called Jack’s room. Jack answered with a noise somewhere between an inquiry and an oath.
‘Your morning alarm call,’ Rebus trilled.
‘Fuck off.’
‘Come by for orange juice and coffee.’
‘Give me five minutes.’
Rebus said that was the least he could do. Next he tried phoning Siobhan at home — got her machine. Tried her at St Leonard’s, but she wasn’t there. He knew she wouldn’t be slow in going about the work he’d given her, but he wanted to stick close to her, needed to know when she got a result. He put down the phone and looked at the tray again, then smiled.
Eve had left him a message after all.
The dining room was quiet, most tables taken by single men, some of them already at work on portable phones and laptops. Rebus and Jack got stuck in — juice and cornflakes, then the Full Highland Breakfast with a big pot of tea.
Jack tapped his watch. ‘Quarter of an hour from now, Ancram’s going to hit the roof.’
‘Might knock some sense into him.’ Rebus scraped a pat of butter on to his toast. Five-star hotel, but the toast was still cold.
‘So what’s our plan of attack?’
‘I’m looking for a girl, she’s in photos with Allan Mitchison, an environmental protester.’
‘Where do we start?’
‘You sure you want in on this?’ Rebus looked around the dining room. ‘You could spend the day here, try the health club, watch a film... It’s all on Uncle Joe.’
‘John, I’m sticking by you.’ Jack paused. ‘As a friend, not Ancram’s dog’s-body.’
‘In that case, our first port of call’s the Exhibition Centre. Now eat up, it’s going to be a long day, believe me.’
‘One question.’
‘What?’
‘How come you got the orange juice this morning?’
The Exhibition Centre was almost deserted. The various stalls and stands — many of them, as Rebus now knew, designed by Johnny Bible’s fourth victim — had been dismantled and taken away, the floors hoovered and polished. There were no demonstrators outside, no inflatable whale. They asked to speak to someone in charge, and were eventually taken to an office where a brisk, bespectacled woman introduced herself as ‘the Deputy’ and asked them how she could help.
‘The North Sea Conference,’ Rebus explained, ‘you had a bit of trouble with protesters.’
She smiled, her mind on other things. ‘Bit late to do anything about that, isn’t it?’ She moved some papers around her desk, looking for something.
‘I’m interested in one particular protester. What was the name of the group?’
‘It wasn’t that organised, Inspector. They came from all over: Friends of the Earth, Greenpeace, Save the Whale, God alone knows.’
‘Did they cause any trouble?’
‘Nothing we couldn’t handle.’ Another frozen smile. But she was looking harassed: she really had misplaced something. Rebus got to his feet.
‘Well, sorry to trouble you.’
‘No trouble. Sorry I can’t help.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
Rebus turned to go. Jack bent down and retrieved a sheet of paper from the floor, handed it to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said. Then she followed them out of her office. ‘Look, a local pressure group was responsible for the march on the Saturday.’
‘What march?’