Inside the hotel, he approved of his room. Stevens couldn’t get one next door, had to settle for down the hall. Stuck the rooms on plastic and said they’d need them for a few days. He found Oakes lying on the bed in his room, shoes still on, holdall on the bed beside him. He’d taken one item from it: a battered Bible. It lay on the bedside table. Nice touch: Stevens would use it in his intro.
‘You a religious man, Jim?’ Oakes asked.
‘Not especially.’
‘Shame on you. Bible’ll teach you a lot of things. I got my first taste in prison. Time was, I’d no time for the Good Book.’
‘Did you go to church?’
Oakes nodded, seeming distracted. ‘We had Sunday service in the jail. I was a regular.’ He looked to Stevens. ‘I’m not a prisoner, right? I mean, I can come and go?’
‘Last thing I want is for you to feel like a prisoner.’
‘Makes two of us.’
‘But there are a few rules, so long as I’m paying your way. If you go out, I want to know. In fact, I’d like to tag along.’
‘Afraid the competition will hook me?’
‘Something like that.’
Oakes turned his head, grinned. ‘Supposing I want a woman? You going to be sitting in the corner while I hump her?’
‘Listening at the door will be fine,’ Stevens said.
Oakes laughed, wriggled on the mattress. ‘Softest bed I ever had. Smells nice too.’ He lay a moment longer, then swung swiftly to his feet. Stevens was surprised at the turn of speed.
‘Come on then,’ Oakes told him.
‘Where?’
‘Out, man. But don’t fret, I’m not going more than fifty yards.’
Stevens followed him outside, but stayed by the hotel, could see where Oakes was headed.
The police car; lights still on; three figures inside. Oakes peered through the windscreen, headed for the driver’s side, tapped on the glass. The one he now knew as Rebus wound down the window.
‘Hey,’ Oakes said by way of greeting, nodding his head to the other two — young woman, and a senior-looking man with a huge scowl on his face. He gestured towards the hotel. ‘Nice place, huh? Any of you ever stay someplace like that?’ They said nothing. He leaned one arm on the roof of the car, the other on the door panel.
‘I was...’ All at once he looked a little shy. ‘Yeah,’ knowing now how to put it, ‘I was real sorry to hear about your daughter. Man, that’s got to be a bitch.’ Looking at Rebus with liquid, soulless eyes. ‘One of the killings they pinned me for, girl would have been about the same age. I mean, same age as your daughter. Sammy, that’s her name, right?’
Rebus pushed open his door so hard, it propelled Oakes back almost to the water’s edge. The other man — Rebus’s boss — was calling out a warning; the young woman was coming out of the car behind Rebus. Rebus himself was up in Cary Oakes’s face. Jim Stevens was sprinting from the hotel.
Oakes had his hands raised high over his head. ‘You touch me, it’s assault.’
‘You’re a liar.’
‘Say again?’
‘They didn’t charge you with anybody my daughter’s age.’
Oakes laughed, rubbed his chin. ‘Well, you’ve got something there. Guess that gives you the first round, huh?’
The woman officer was gripping one of Rebus’s arms. Jim Stevens was panting after the short jog. The chief stayed sitting in the car, watching.
Oakes bent a little to peer in. ‘Too important for all this, huh? Or no stomach for it? Your call, man.’
Stevens grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Come on.’
Oakes shrugged free. ‘Nobody touches me, that’s rule one.’ But he allowed himself to be steered back across the road towards the hotel. Stevens turned round, found Rebus staring at him hard, knowing who’d told Oakes about him, about his family.
Oakes started laughing, laughed all the way to the hotel’s glass doors. He stood on the inside, looking out.
‘That Rebus,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s not exactly what you’d call a slow burner, now is he?’
Back at Patience’s flat in Oxford Terrace, Rebus poured himself a whisky and added water from a bottle in the fridge. She came through from the bedroom, eyes slanted in the sudden light, a pale yellow nightdress falling to her ankles.
‘Sorry if I woke you,’ Rebus said.
‘I wanted a drink anyway.’ She took grapefruit juice from the fridge door, poured herself a large glass. ‘Good day?’
Rebus didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They took the drinks into the living room, sat together on the sofa. Rebus picked up a copy of The Big Issue: Patience always bought it, but he was the one who read it. Inside, there were fresh appeals for MisPer information. He knew if he turned on the TV and went to Teletext, there was a listing for missing persons. He’d watched it from time to time, scanning a few pages. It was run by the National MisPer Helpline. Janice had said she’d contact them...
‘What about you?’ he asked.
Patience tucked her feet beneath her. ‘Same old story. Sometimes, I almost think a robot could do the work. Same symptoms, same prescriptions. Tonsils, measles, dizzy spells...’
‘Maybe we could go away.’ She looked at him. ‘Just for a weekend.’
‘We tried it, remember? You got bored.’
‘Ach, that was the country.’
‘So which romantic interlude did you have in mind? Dundee? Falkirk? Kirkcaldy?’
He got up for a refill, asked her if she wanted one. She shook her head, her eyes on his empty glass.
‘Second one today,’ he said, making for the kitchen.
‘What’s brought this on anyway?’ She was following him.
‘What?’
‘The sudden notion of a holiday.’
He glanced towards her. ‘I went to see Sammy yesterday. She said she speaks to you more than I do.’
‘A bit of an exaggeration...’
‘That’s what I said. But she has a point all the same.’
‘Oh?’
He poured less water into the glass this time. And maybe a drop more whisky too. ‘I mean, I know I can be... distracted. I know I’m a pretty lousy proposition.’ He closed the fridge, turned to her and shrugged. ‘That’s about it, really.’
Kept his eyes on the glass as he spoke, wondering why it was that as he said the words, a holiday snap of Janice Mee flashed across his mind.
‘I keep thinking you’ll come back,’ Patience said. He looked at her. She tapped her own head. ‘From wherever it is you’ve gone.’
‘I’m right here.’
She shook her head. ‘No you’re not. You’re not really here at all.’ She turned away, walked back through to the living room.
A little later, she went to bed. Rebus said he’d stay up a bit longer. Flipped TV channels, finding nothing. Went to Teletext, page 346. Stuck the headphones on so he could listen to Genesis: ‘For Absent Friends’. Jack Morton sitting on the arm of the sofa as screen after screen of missing persons appeared. No sign of Damon yet. Rebus lit a cigarette, blew smoke at the television, watching it dissolve. Then remembered this was Patience’s flat, and she didn’t like smoking. Back into the kitchen to extinguish his guilty pleasure. After Genesis, he switched to Family: ‘Song for Sinking Loves’.
Something’s gone bad inside you.
It was your lot wanted him here.
Saw two men in the dock, their lawyer working on the jury. Saw Cary Oakes leaning into the car.
He’ll do it again.
Saw Jim Margolies take that final flight into darkness. Maybe there was no way to understand any of it. He turned to Jack. Often he’d phoned Jack — didn’t matter what time of night it was, Jack never complained. They’d talk around subjects, share worries and depressions.