‘Perhaps if I call you when I’m ready?’
‘I’ll phone again in an hour, Mr Westerman. I do appreciate this.’
He put the phone down, bit a fingernail. Would Westerman try phoning Queen Street CID, asking for a DS Collier? He’d give him forty minutes.
But in the end, he gave him thirty-five.
‘Mr Westerman? That call didn’t take as long as I thought. I wonder if you’ve come up with anything for me?’
‘Yes, I think I’ve got what you need.’
Bible John concentrated on the tone of voice, listening for any doubt or suspicion, any inkling Westerman might have that he was not talking to a policeman. He found none.
‘As I said,’ Westerman continued, ‘we pitched for a Yetland contract but didn’t get it. That was in March this year. Lancer... we did a panel display for them in February. They had a stand at the Safety at Sea conference.’
Bible John consulted his list. ‘Do you happen to know who your contact was?’
‘I’m sorry, Vanessa handled it. She was very good with clients.’
‘The name Martin Davidson doesn’t ring any bells?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Not to worry, sir. And the other two companies...?’
‘Well, we’ve worked for Eskflo in the past, but not for a couple of years. And Gribbin’s... well, to be honest, I’ve never heard of them.’
Bible John ringed Martin Davidson’s name. Put a question mark beside James Mackinley: a lag-time of a couple of years? Doubtful, but possible. Decided that Yetland was a distant third, but just to be sure...
‘Would Yetland have dealt with yourself or Ms Holden?’
‘Vanessa was on holiday around then. It was just after Safety at Sea, she was exhausted.’
Bible John scored both Yetland and Gribbin’s off his list.
‘Mr Westerman, you’ve been a big help. I appreciate it.’
‘Glad to help. Just one thing, Detective Sergeant?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘If you ever find the bastard who killed Vanessa, give him one from me.’
Two M. Davidsons in the phone book, one James Mackinley and two J. Mackinleys. Addresses noted.
Then another phone call, this time to Lancer Technical Support.
‘Hello, it’s the Chamber of Commerce here, just a general question. We’re compiling a database on local companies connected to the oil business. That would include LancerTech, wouldn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes,’ the receptionist said. ‘Definitely.’ She sounded a bit frazzled. Background noise: staff talking, a photocopier, another phone ringing.
‘Can you give me a thumbnail sketch?’
‘Well... we, erm, we design safety aspects into oil platforms, support vessels...’ She sounded like she was reading from a crib-sheet. ‘That sort of thing.’ Her voice trailed off.
‘I’m just writing that down,’ Bible John told her. ‘If you work in safety design, can I take it you have links to RGIT?’
‘Oh yes, close links. We cooperate on half a dozen projects. A couple of our staff are partly based there.’
Bible John underlined the name Martin Davidson. Twice.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Goodbye.’
Two M. Davidsons in the phone book. One might be a woman. He could telephone, but that would be to give the Upstart advance warning... What would he do with him? What did he want to do with him? He had begun his task in anger, but was now composed... and more than a little curious. He could call the police, an anonymous tip-off, that’s what they were waiting for. But he knew now that he wasn’t going to do that. At one point, he’d assumed he could simply dispatch the wretch and resume his life as before, but that just wasn’t possible. The Upstart had changed everything. His fingers went to his tie, checked the knot. He ripped the sheet from his notepad and tore it into tiny pieces, letting them flutter into the waste-bin.
He wondered if he should have stayed in the States. No, there would always have been the craving for home. He remembered one of the early theories about him — that he had been a member of the ‘Exclusive Brethren’. And in a sense, he had been and still was. And intended to remain a member.
Good understanding giveth favour, but the way of transgressors is hard.
Hard it was, hard would always be. He wondered if he had ‘good understanding’ of the Upstart? He doubted it, and wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.
The truth was, now he was here, he didn’t know what he wanted.
But he knew what he needed.
32
They crash-landed in Arden Street at breakfast time, neither of them feeling much like breakfast. Rebus had taken over the driving at Dundee, so Jack could crawl into the back seat for an hour. It was like driving back after one of his all-nighters, the roads quiet, rabbits and pheasant in the fields. The cleanest time of day, before everyone got busy messing it up again.
There was mail behind the door of the flat, and so many messages on his machine the red indicator was almost solid.
‘Don’t you dare leave,’ Jack said, before shuffling into the guest room, leaving the door open. Rebus made a mug of coffee, then slumped into his chair by the window. The blisters on his wrists looked like nettle-rash. His nostrils were crusted with blood.
‘Well,’ he said to the waking world, ‘that went as well as could be expected.’ He closed his eyes for five minutes. The coffee was cold when he opened them again.
His phone was ringing. He got to it before the machine.
‘Hello?’
‘CID awakes. It’s like a Ray Harryhausen film.’ Pete Hewitt from Howdenhall. ‘Look, I shouldn’t be doing this, but strictly off the record...’
‘What?’
‘All those forensic checks we ran on you — nothing. I expect they’ll get round to telling you officially, but I thought I’d put your mind at rest.’
‘If only you could, Pete.’
‘Hard night?’
‘Another one for the record books. Thanks, Pete.’
‘Bye, Inspector.’
Rebus didn’t put down the receiver; called Siobhan instead. Got her answering machine. Told her he was at home. Another home number, this time answered.
‘What?’ The voice groggy.
‘Morning, Gill.’
‘John?’
‘Alive and kicking. How did it go?’
‘I talked with Malcolm Toal, I think he’s good as gold — that is, when he’s not hitting his head against the cell wall — but...’
‘But?’
‘But I’ve passed everything on to the Squaddies. They’re the experts, after all.’ Silence. ‘John? Look, I’m sorry if you think I bottled out...’
‘You can’t see me smiling. You played it just right, Gill. You’ll get your share of the glory, but let them do the dirty work. You’ve learned.’
‘Maybe I had a good teacher.’
He laughed quietly. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘John... thanks... for everything.’
‘Want to know a secret?’
‘What?’
‘I’m on the wagon.’
‘Good for you. I’m really impressed. What happened?’
Jack slouched into the room, yawning and scratching his head.
‘I had a good teacher,’ Rebus said, replacing the receiver.
‘I heard the phone,’ Jack said. ‘Any coffee on the go?’
‘In the kettle.’
‘Want one?’
‘Go on then.’ Rebus went into the hall and picked up his mail. One envelope was fatter than the others. London postmark. He tore it open as he walked through to the kitchen. There was another envelope inside, fat, with his name and address printed on it. There was also a single sheet of notepaper. Rebus sat down at the table to read it.
It was from Lawson Geddes’ daughter.