‘I suppose we could bounce a few ideas around.’
‘Not on the phone, though. I can come to you or you can come to me. Some pretty nice hotels in Scotland — even if I don’t own any of them yet.’
‘Eyeball to eyeball, eh?’
Cafferty had picked up the other phone. The screen still showed Rebecca’s message. ‘Sometimes,’ he said softly, ‘the old ways are the best.’
Epilogue
A bright Sunday afternoon. John Rebus and Deborah Quant walked hand in hand to Bruntsfield Links. Brillo’s leash was in Rebus’s free hand, the dog leading the way. They soon caught sight of Clarke and Sutherland. Both were wrapped up against the east wind. Both carried a putter and a nine iron. Malcolm Fox gave a wave of greeting as Rebus and Quant approached.
‘You the referee?’ Rebus asked.
‘There’d be rampant cheating otherwise. Three holes played. Graham’s not showing much mercy. You heard the news?’
‘What news is that?’
‘Steele seems to have gone AWOL.’
‘Is that right? Vacancy for you at ACU then, always supposing you want it.’
Fox gave him an appraising look. ‘Sounds like you think he’s not coming back.’
The gesture Rebus made with his shoulders could have been a shrug or a shiver. They watched as Clarke took her tee shot, missing the ball completely with her first swing, then sending it rolling and bouncing along the turf with her second.
‘Shouldn’t there be slightly more elevation?’ Quant asked.
‘She’d be better off just using the putter,’ Rebus added.
They watched as Sutherland connected cleanly, sending his ball up into the air and landing it on the edge of the green.
‘Turning into a massacre,’ Fox commented. They joined the players as they walked towards their next shot.
‘Twenty quid says Siobhan wins this hole,’ Rebus called out to Sutherland.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Never more so.’
‘You’re on,’ Sutherland said with a grin. Clarke took her shot and almost reached the green.
‘Not a bad lie,’ Rebus stated. Sutherland started lining up his putt. Rebus reached down and unhooked Brillo’s leash.
‘Go fetch,’ he said. Brillo didn’t need telling twice. He bounded across the fairway and scooped up Sutherland’s ball in his mouth. Rebus turned to Fox.
‘The hole’s forfeit, wouldn’t you say, ref?’
Deborah Quant was squeezing his arm. ‘You’re a bad, bad man, John.’
‘But we’ve all known worse in our time, right?’ Rebus pecked her on the cheek and tried not to glance in the direction of Quartermile.