‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ he kept saying.
‘Where’s Damon Mee?’
‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’
‘I don’t think He’s in a position to help you, Nicky.’
Rebus looked at the clothes. They could belong to Ama Petrie: brother and sister were of similar build, Nicky slightly taller and broader. The black dress looked tight on him.
‘This is what you like to do, Nicky? Dress up as a woman?’
‘No harm in it,’ Clarke added quickly. ‘We’re all different.’
Nicky looked at her, blinking to refocus his eyes.
‘You could do with a makeover, sweetheart,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘Who does your make-up, Nicky?’ Rebus asked. ‘Ama?’
He straightened up. ‘All my own work.’
‘And then you head for this side of town? Walk up and down and soak up the admiration?’
‘I don’t expect you to—’
‘Nobody’s asking what you expect, Mr Petrie.’ He turned to Clarke. ‘Go fetch the car.’ Handed her the keys. ‘We’ll need to take Mr Petrie here to the station.’
Petrie’s eyes widened with fear. ‘Why?’
‘To answer a few questions about Damon Mee. And to explain why you’ve been lying to us all along.’
Petrie made to say something, then bit his lip.
‘Suit yourself,’ Rebus told him. Then, to Clarke: ‘Go get the car.’
Rebus questioned Nicky Petrie for half an hour. He made sure that anyone who wanted to gawp had the chance to come into the interview room. Petrie sat there with his head in his hands, not looking up, while a parade of CID and uniforms commented on his shoes, tights and dress.
‘I can get you some trousers and a shirt,’ Rebus offered.
‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ Petrie said when they were alone. ‘Humiliate me all you like, this lady’s not for talking.’ He managed a small defiant smile.
‘I’m sure your dad will come riding to the rescue anyway,’ Rebus commented, pleased to see some of the colour leave the young man’s lips.
‘I don’t need my father.’
‘That’s as may be, but we’ll need to contact him. Best for us to do it rather than the papers.’
‘Papers?’
Rebus barked a laugh. ‘Think they’ll let something like this pass them by? No, sir, you’re going to be cover-boy for a day, Nicky. Congratulations. Bit of pan-stick and a wig, they might even pay you for the privilege.’
‘They don’t need to know,’ Petrie said quietly.
Rebus shrugged. ‘Cop-shops are like sieves, Nicky. All these people who’ve seen you here... I can’t promise they won’t talk.’
‘Bastard.’
‘If you like, Nicky.’ Rebus leaned forward. ‘All I want to know is where I can find Damon Mee.’
‘Then I can’t help you,’ Nicky Petrie said, with all the defiance he could muster.
Plan Two: Ama Petrie.
She flew into the station like a whirlwind. Cal Brady was right: she had a soft spot for her little brother.
‘Where is he? What have you done with him?’
Rebus looked at her with a façade of utter calm. ‘Shouldn’t those be my questions?’
She didn’t seem to understand.
‘Damon Mee,’ Rebus explained. ‘Nicky met him at Gaitano’s, took him to the boat where you were having one of your parties. That’s the last time he was seen alive, Ms Petrie.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with Nicky.’
They were seated in the same interview room, Nicky Petrie having been taken down to the cells. It was also the same interview room where Harold Ince had first been questioned. Ince had been sentenced to twelve years, Marshall to eight, the bulk of both sentences to be served at Peterhead. Had Rebus known anyone there, he might have put in a word for Ince. But he didn’t know a single damned soul...
‘What’s got nothing to do with Nicky?’ he asked.
‘It’s my fault, not his.’
Rebus understood: she thought Nicky had talked, had somehow incriminated himself. She was underestimating him. The chink in her armour which Cal Brady had detected: she loved her brother too much.
Rebus sat back, knew how to play this. He asked her if she wanted anything to drink. She shook her head violently.
‘I want to make a statement,’ she blurted out.
‘You’ll probably want a solicitor, Ms Petrie.’
‘Bugger that.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Is Nicky here? In this station?’
‘Safely in the cells.’
‘Safely?’ Her voice trembled. ‘Poor Nicky...’ She was dry-eyed but her face was tense.
‘Did Damon Mee know Nicky wasn’t really a woman?’
‘How could he not?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘Your brother’s pretty convincing.’
She allowed herself a brief smile. ‘He always said he should have been the girl and I the boy.’
Rebus knew Nicky had run away from home aged twelve. He’d been running ever since...
‘So what happened on the boat?’
‘We’d all been drinking.’ She looked at him. ‘You know what parties are like.’
She was trying to win him round to her side. Too late for that, but he nodded anyway.
‘Then Nicky brought this piece of rough below decks.’
‘Piece of rough?’
‘As in rough and ready. I’m not being a snob, Inspector.’
‘Of course not. I take it all of you knew Nicky’s... preferences?’
‘The gang of us, yes. A few couples were up dancing. Nicky and this Damon joined them.’ Her eyes went unfocused; she was picturing the scene. ‘Nicky had his head on Damon’s shoulder, and just for a moment our eyes met... and he looked so happy.’ She screwed shut her eyes.
‘Then what happened?’
She opened her eyes again, staring at the desk. ‘Alfie and Cherie were one of the other couples. Alfie was as drunk as I’ve ever seen him. For a joke, he leaned over and snatched Nicky’s wig. Nicky chased him round the room. And Damon just stood there, like he was thunderstruck. He looked... it really seemed hilarious at the time. His face was a picture. Then he ran for the stairs. Nicky saw what was happening and went after him...’
‘They had a fight?’
She looked at him. ‘Is that what he told you?’ She smiled. ‘Dear Nicky... You’ve seen him, Inspector. He couldn’t hurt a fly. No, by the time I came up on deck, this Damon person had Nicky down on the ground. He was strangling the life out of him, at the same time thumping his head against the deck. Lifting it... thudding it back down. I grabbed an empty wine bottle, swung it at the side of his head. It didn’t knock him cold or anything. The bottle didn’t even break, not like in the films. But he let go of Nicky, staggered to his feet.’
‘And?’
‘And seemed to lose his balance. He fell over the side and into the water. It’s funny... the deck’s not that high above the water line... he hardly made a sound as he fell.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I had to make sure Nicky was all right. I took him back down below. His throat hurt, but I got a brandy down him.’
‘I meant, what did you do about Damon?’
‘Oh, him...’ She thought it over. ‘Well, by the time I went back up, there was no sign of him. I assumed he’d swum ashore.’
Rebus stared at her. ‘Are you quite sure that’s what you assumed?’
‘To be honest... I’m not sure I thought anything at all. He was gone, and he couldn’t hurt Nicky, that was all that mattered. That’s all that ever matters to me. So you see, whatever Nicky’s told you, he only did in order to protect me. I’m the one you should put in the cell. Nicky should go home.’