‘Or it could be totally meaningless.’ He paused. ‘What is it you want to ask me?’
‘I need to know who the third man was.’
‘Wasn’t it Orson Welles?’
Rebus made himself smile. ‘I mean the night Ramsay Marshall brought Darren Rough to Shiellion.’
‘Long time ago. I was on the drink back then.’
‘You made Darren wear a mask.’
‘Did we?’
‘Because of the other man. Maybe it was his idea. Didn’t want Darren recognising him.’ Rebus lit another cigarette. ‘You’d been drinking. Maybe with this man. Chatting about this and that. Eventually telling him your secret.’ Rebus studied Ince. ‘Because you thought you could see something...’
Ince licked his lips. ‘What?’ Said so quietly it was barely above a whisper. Rebus lowered his own voice.
‘You thought he was like you. You could see a potential. The more you talked, the clearer you saw it. You told him Marshall was bringing some kid along. Maybe you suggested he stay.’
‘You’re making this up, aren’t you?’
Rebus nodded. ‘Insofar as I can’t prove any of it, yes, I’m making it up.’
‘This potential you speak of... I’d contend it’s in every one of us.’ Now Ince looked at Rebus, and his eyes seemed harder. He held Rebus’s gaze, returned it. ‘Do you have any children, Inspector?’
‘I’ve a daughter,’ Rebus admitted, knowing the danger of letting Ince into his personal life, letting him inside his head. But Ince was no Cary Oakes. ‘She’s grown up now.’
‘I bet at some point in your relationship you’ve thought about what it would be like to bed her, to have sex with her. Haven’t you?’
Rebus could feel the pressure behind his eyes: anger and revulsion. Strong enough to make him blink away the smoke.
‘I don’t think so.’
Ince grinned. ‘That’s what you tell yourself. But I think you’re lying, even if you don’t know it. It’s human instinct, nothing to be ashamed of. She might have been fifteen, or twelve, or ten.’
Rebus got to his feet. Had to keep moving, otherwise he’d pound Ince’s head into the desk. He wanted to light another cigarette, but was only halfway through the current one.
‘This isn’t about me,’ he said. Even to his ears, it sounded weak.
‘No? Perhaps...’
‘It’s about Darren Rough.’
‘Ah...’ Ince leaned back on his chair. ‘Poor Darren. They had him down on the list of witnesses, but didn’t use him. I’d have liked to see him again.’
‘Not possible. Someone murdered him.’
‘What? Before the trial?’
Rebus shook his head. ‘During it. I’ve been trying to find a motive, only now I think I was looking in all the wrong places.’ He rested a hand on the desk, leaned down over Ince. ‘I had a look at the charge sheets, the evidence. Just you and Marshall; none of the other victims mention a third abuser. Was it just that one night? Someone who tried it just the once...?’ Rebus sat back down in his seat. He’d finished the cigarette at last; lit himself another from its stub, chain-smoking now. ‘I found Darren at the zoo. Found out where he lived. It leaked to the newspapers. This third man... he knew you weren’t going to mention him in court. I don’t know why, but I can guess. But the one thing he was scared of was Darren. Which was fine — as far as he knew, Darren Rough was well out of things. Then suddenly he reads that Darren’s here, and he can guess why: Darren’s helping with Shiellion. There’s half a chance he saw something or heard something, maybe without knowing it. There’s half a chance our third man’s picture might end up in the paper after the trial, and Darren will recognise it.
‘Suddenly there’s danger. So he has to strike.’ Rebus blew a thin column of smoke at Ince. ‘We both know who I’m talking about. But for my own satisfaction, I’d be happier to hear a name.’
“That’s why Darren died?’
Rebus nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘But you’ve no proof?’
Rebus shook his head. ‘And I’m unlikely to find it. With you or without you.’
‘I’d like a mug of coffee,’ Harold Ince said. ‘Milk, two sugars. If you order it, it might come sans saliva.’
Rebus looked at him. ‘Anything to eat?’
‘I’m partial to a chicken korma curry. Nan bread, no rice. Sag aloo as a side dish.’
‘I can phone out for it.’
‘Again, I’d prefer it unadulterated.’ There was confidence in Ince’s voice now. He’d made a decision.
‘And meantime we’ll talk?’ Rebus asked.
‘For your own peace of mind, Inspector... yes, we’ll talk.’
49
Rebus sat in the darkness of his living room, sipping from a glass of whisky and water. The street outside was night-time quiet, interrupted by the occasional dull crunching sound of car tyres passing over the setts. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, maybe a couple of hours. He’d put a CD on, but hadn’t bothered getting up to change it. It had been on the repeat function for three or four plays. ‘Stray Cat Blues’ had never felt so sordid. It affected him more than the literate and well-mannered ‘Sympathy for the Devil’, which had an air of desperation to it. There was no desperation in ‘Stray Cat Blues’, just the certainty of underage sex...
When the phone rang, he was slow to answer. It was Siobhan, relaying a message. Patience’s flat had been broken into.
‘Did they get anyone?’
‘No. A couple of uniforms are still there. They’re waiting for someone who can deal with the alarm...’
Rebus called St Leonard’s, and a patrol car arrived to take him to Oxford Terrace. The driver could smell whisky on Rebus’s breath.
‘Been out partying, sir?’
‘Your basic party animal, that’s me.’ Rebus’s tone ensured no more questions came from the front of the car.
The alarm was still ringing. Rebus went down the steps and pushed open the front door. The two uniforms were in the kitchen, far away from the noise. They’d made themselves tea, and were searching the cupboards for biscuits.
‘Milk, no sugar,’ Rebus told them. Then he went back into the hall and used his key to disable the alarm. One of the uniforms handed him a mug.
‘Thank God for that. It was driving us mental.’
Rebus was at the front door, examining it.
‘Clean job,’ the uniform said. ‘Looks like they had a key.’
‘More likely he picked it.’ Rebus went back into the hall. ‘But he couldn’t pick the alarm box...’ He walked from room to room.
‘Anything missing, sir?’
‘Yes, son: some hot water from the kettle, two tea-bags and a spot of milk.’
‘Maybe the alarm scared him off.’
‘If he picked one lock, why not another?’ Rebus thought he knew the answer: because the very fact the alarm was set had told the intruder something.
Told him no one was home.
And he wanted someone to be home — Rebus or Patience — that was the whole point of the exercise. Cary Oakes hadn’t broken in with the intention of stealing anything. He’d had other plans altogether...
When they left, Rebus reset the alarm and made sure the mortice lock was engaged as well as the Yale.
In the trade, it was known as shutting the stable door.
He got the patrol car to take him home by way of Sammy’s. Not that he went into her flat — he just wanted to see everything was OK. She wouldn’t be on her own; Ned would be sleeping beside her. Not that Ned would give Oakes many problems...
‘Do me a favour, will you?’ Rebus asked the driver. ‘Arrange for a car to come past here once an hour until morning.’