‘So go ahead and ask your question,’ he said.
‘Are you still working at the Warlock?’
He nodded. ‘That’s it?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘What I’m wondering is, do you have a key for the place?’
‘For the pub?’ He snorted. ‘Ray Mangold wouldn’t be that daft.’
Siobhan shook her head again. ‘I meant the cellar,’ she said. ‘Can you let yourself in and out of the cellar?’
Evans looked at her questioningly, then took a few more gulps of beer, wiping his top lip dry afterwards.
‘Maybe you want to ask the audience?’ Siobhan suggested. His face twitched in a smile.
‘The answer’s yes,’ he said.
‘Yes, you’ve got a key?’
‘Yes, I’ve got a key.’
Siobhan took a deep breath. ‘... is the correct answer,’ she said. ‘Now, do you want to go for the star prize?’
‘I don’t need to.’ There was a twinkle in Evans’s eye.
‘And why’s that?’
‘Because I know the question. You want me to lend you my key.’
‘And?’
‘And I’m wondering how far in the manure that would get me with my employer.’
‘And?’
‘I’m also wondering why you want it. You reckon there are more skeletons down there?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Siobhan admitted. ‘Answers to be provided at a later date.’
‘If I give you the key?’
‘It’s either that or I tell your wife I couldn’t find you at the quiz night.’
‘That’s a hard offer to refuse,’ Joe Evans said.
Late night in Arden Street. Rebus buzzed her up. He was waiting in his doorway by the time she reached his landing.
‘Happened to be passing,’ she said. ‘Saw your light was on.’
‘Bloody liar,’ he said. Then: ‘Feeling thirsty?’
She held up the carrier bag. ‘Great minds and all that.’
He gestured for her to enter. The living room was no messier than usual. His chair was by the window, phone, ashtray and tumbler next to it on the floor. Music was playing: Van Morrison, Hard Nose the Highway.
‘Things must be bad,’ she said.
‘When are they not? That’s pretty much Van’s message to the world.’ He lowered the volume a little. She lifted a bottle of red from the bag.
‘Corkscrew?’
‘I’ll fetch one.’ He started heading for the kitchen. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting a glass, too?’
‘Sorry to be fussy.’
She took off her coat, was resting on the arm of the sofa when he returned. ‘A quiet night in, eh?’ she said, taking the corkscrew from him. He held the glass for her while she poured. ‘You having any?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m three whiskies in, and you know what they say about the grape and the grain.’ She took the glass from him, made herself comfortable on the sofa.
‘Been having a quiet night yourself?’ he asked.
‘On the contrary — up until forty minutes ago, I was hard at it.’
‘Oh, aye?’
‘Managed to persuade Ray Duff to burn the midnight oil.’
Rebus nodded. He knew Ray Duff worked forensics at the police lab in Howdenhall; by now they owed him a world of favours.
‘Ray finds it hard to say no,’ he agreed. ‘Anything I should know about?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure... So how’s your day been?’
‘You heard about Alan Traynor?’
‘No.’
Rebus let the silence lie for a moment between them; picked up his glass and took a couple of sips. Took his time appreciating the aroma, the aftertaste.
‘Nice to sit and talk, isn’t it?’ he commented at last.
‘All right, I give in... You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.’
Rebus smiled, went to the table where the bottle of Bowmore sat. Refilled his glass and returned to his chair.
Started talking.
After which, Siobhan told him her own story. Van Morrison was swapped for Hobotalk and Hobotalk for James Yorkston. Midnight had come and gone. Slices of toast had been made, buttered, and consumed. The wine was down to its last quarter, the whisky to its final inch. When Rebus checked that she wouldn’t be trying to drive home, Siobhan admitted that she’d come by cab.
‘Meaning you assumed we were going to do this?’ Rebus teased.
‘I suppose.’
‘And what if Caro Quinn had been here?’
Siobhan just shrugged.
‘Not that that’s going to happen,’ Rebus added. He looked at her. ‘I think I may have blown it with the Lady of the Vigils.’
‘The what?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s what Mo Dirwan calls her.’
Siobhan was staring at her glass. It looked to Rebus as though she had a dozen questions waiting, a dozen things to say to him. But in the end, all she said was: ‘I think I’ve had enough.’
‘Of my company?’
She shook her head. ‘The wine. Any chance of a coffee?’
‘Kitchen’s where it’s always been.’
‘The perfect host.’ She got to her feet.
‘I’ll have one too, if you’re offering.’
‘I’m not.’
But she brought him a mug anyway. ‘The milk in your fridge is still useable,’ she told him.
‘So?’
‘So that’s a first, isn’t it?’
‘Listen to the ingratitude!’ Rebus put the mug on the floor. Siobhan returned to the sofa, cupping hers between her hands. While she’d been out of the room, he’d opened the window a little, so she wouldn’t complain about his smoke. He saw her notice what he’d done; watched her decide to make no comment.
‘Know what I’m wondering, Shiv? I’m wondering how those skeletons ended up in Stuart Bullen’s hands. Could he have been Pippa Greenlaw’s date that night?’
‘I doubt it. She said his name was Barry or Gary, and he played football — I think that’s how they met...’ She broke off as a smile started spreading across Rebus’s face.
‘Remember when I grazed my leg at the Nook?’ he said. ‘That Aussie barman told me he could sympathise.’
Siobhan nodded. ‘Typical football injury...’
‘And his name’s Barney, isn’t it? Not quite Barry, but close enough.’
Siobhan was still nodding. She’d reached into her bag for her mobile and notebook, flicked through it for the number.
‘It’s one in the morning,’ Rebus warned her. She ignored him. Pushed buttons and held the phone to her ear.
When it was answered, she started talking. ‘Pippa? It’s DS Clarke here, remember me? You out clubbing or something?’ Her eyes were on Rebus as she relayed the answers to him. ‘Just waiting for a taxi home...’ She nodded. ‘Been to the Opal Lounge or somewhere? Well, I’m sorry to bother you so late at night.’ Rebus was walking towards the sofa, leaning down to share the earpiece. He could hear traffic sounds, drunken voices close by. A screech of ‘Taxi!’ followed by swearing.
‘Missed that one,’ Pippa Greenlaw said. She sounded breathless rather than drunk.
‘Pippa,’ Siobhan said, ‘it’s about your partner... the night of Lex’s party...’
‘Lex is here! Do you want to talk to him?’
‘It’s you I want to talk to.’
Greenlaw’s voice grew muffled, as though she were trying not to let someone hear. ‘I think we might be starting something.’
‘You and Lex? That’s great, Pippa.’ Siobhan rolled her eyes, giving the lie to her words. ‘Now, about the night those skeletons went missing...’