‘No night to be yacking on the doorstep.’
It was a tidy little flat just off Abbeyhill. Duggan gave Rebus a warning look as he led him, at his mother’s insistence, into the living room. Duggan’s dad was there, smoking a pipe and reading the paper. He stood up to shake Rebus’s hand. He was small, like his wife. So here was the arch criminal, Paul Duggan, in his lair.
‘Paul’s not in any trouble, I hope,’ the father asked, teeth grinning around the stem of his pipe.
‘Not at all, Mr Duggan, I’m just looking for a friend of Paul’s.’
‘Well, Paul will help if he can, won’t you, Paul?’
‘Aye, sure,’ Paul Duggan mumbled.
‘It’s Kirstie,’ Rebus said.
‘Kirstie?’ Mr Duggan said. ‘That name’s familiar.’
‘Maybe Paul’s brought her back here once or twice, Mr Duggan.’
‘Well, Inspector, he does sometimes bring a girlfriend back — but not for hanky-panky, mind you.’ He winked. ‘We keep an eye on him.’
The two men shared a laugh. Paul Duggan was shrinking almost visibly, bowed over on the sofa, hands between his legs. The years were peeling off him like paper from a damp wall.
‘I haven’t seen her,’ he told Rebus.
‘Since when?’
‘Since the time we took her home.’
‘Any idea where she could be?’
Mr Duggan removed the pipe from his mouth. ‘I’m sure Paul would tell you if he could, Inspector.’
‘Have you tried the flat?’ Paul asked. Rebus nodded.
‘She’s not in your bedroom, is she, Paul?’
Duggan twitched, and his father sat forward in the chair. ‘Now, Inspector,’ he said, trying for another grin. Trying too hard.
‘Where’s your wife, Mr Duggan?’
Rebus got up and walked into the hall. Mrs Duggan was about to sneak Kirstie Kennedy out the front door.
‘Bring her through here instead, Mrs Duggan,’ Rebus said.
So they all sat in the living room, and the Duggans explained everything.
‘See, we know who Kirstie is’, Mrs Duggan said, ‘and she’s told us why she ran away, and I can’t say I blame her.’ The Lord Provost’s daughter sat next to her on the sofa, staring into the fire, and Mrs Duggan ran her hand through Kirstie’s hair. ‘Kirstie’s got a problem with drugs, she accepts that and so do we. We thought if she was going to fight it, she better move in here for a wee while, get right away from all the … from the people who live that sort of life.’
‘Is that right, Kirstie? Are you kicking it?’
She nodded, suppressing a shiver. Mrs Duggan put an arm around her. ‘Sweats and shivers,’ she said. ‘Mr Leitch told us to expect them.’ She turned to Rebus. ‘He works at the Waverley drop-in.’ Rebus nodded. ‘He told us all about cold turkey.’ She turned her attention back to the girl. ‘Cold turkey, Kirstie, like on Boxing Day, eh?’
Kirstie snuggled deeper into Mrs Duggan’s side, like she was a child again and Mrs Duggan her mother … Yes, thought Rebus, the mother she’s been denied. And here was a willing substitute.
‘See,’ Mr Duggan said, ‘we’re afraid you’ve come to take her away. She doesn’t want to go home.’
‘She doesn’t have to go home, Mr Duggan. The drugs apart, she’s done nothing wrong.’ Paul and Kirstie looked at him, and saw he wasn’t going to mention the hoax kidnap. ‘But the thing is,’ Rebus said, his eyes holding Kirstie’s, ‘I need a favour. I’ve seen your stepmother, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to see her … But what about your father? Would it hurt you to talk to him for five minutes, just to let him see you’re all right?’
There was a long silence. Mrs Duggan whispered something in Kirstie’s ear.
‘I don’t suppose so,’ Kirstie said at last. ‘Just now? Tonight?’
Rebus shook his head. ‘Tomorrow will be fine.’
‘I might be worse tomorrow.’
‘I’ll take that chance. Just one other thing: last time we met, you were telling me why you took that document from your dad’s office.’
She nodded. ‘I heard him talking on the telephone. He was talking about covering something up, some scandal. I heard him mention LABarum. He’d always told me I had to follow his example, but he turned out to be just like all the others — a liar, a cheat, a coward.’ She was bursting into tears. ‘He let me down again. So I grabbed that … whatever it was. I saw it was about LABarum.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Maybe I just wanted him to know I knew. It’s all rotten, all of it.’
Mrs Duggan was still trying to quiet her as Rebus left the flat.
Back home, Rebus got the feeling the phone had just stopped ringing. Two minutes later, with the Stones softly on the hi-fi, it rang again. He’d been sitting with the whisky bottle in his lap, wondering if he could resist, wondering why he bothered.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Davidson.’
‘Still at the station?’
‘That I am. Gerry’s still not talking.’
‘Have you offered him a deal?’
‘Not yet. We’re holding him on a charge of assault, naming you as the injured party.’
‘I’ll never get the grease off that jacket. What about the search warrant?’
‘We got it. I’m just waiting for Burns to get back. Hold on, here he comes.’ Davidson put his hand over the mouthpiece. Rebus unscrewed the bottle with his free hand, but couldn’t find a glass. Davidson came back on the line. ‘It’s a result. Two credit cards, Access and Visa, in the name of Thomas Gillespie, hidden under the mattress.’
‘So now will you go for a deal?’
‘I’ll talk to his solicitor.’
‘We don’t just want Dip, remember. We want whoever ordered the hit.’
‘Sure, John.’ There wasn’t what Rebus would call fervour in Davidson’s voice. ‘Now the bad news.’
‘Listen, I’m serious — we want the paymaster!’
‘And I’m serious about it being bad news.’
Rebus quietened. ‘OK, what is it?’
‘You told me to check if Charters had had any visitors since you saw him Sunday night. Well, he had one the next morning, and then again today. She’s a regular apparently.’
‘Yes?’
‘Her name’s Samantha Rebus. Now, John, it may be nothing at all. I mean, she’s visited other prisoners too, and we know she works for SWEEP. It could just be that she ’
But John Rebus was already on his way.
‘I don’t see what the big deal is,’ Sammy said.
‘What?’
‘I don’t see what’s the big deal.’
He’d been so steamed up, he’d rung Patience’s doorbell twice before remembering the unpleasantness surrounding his last visit. But Sammy opened the door.
‘Grab your coat,’ he hissed, ‘tell Patience it’s a friend and you’re going out.’
They’d gone to a hotel just around the corner from the flat. The bar was almost deserted, just the barmaid and one regular at the corner of the bar, the hatch open so there was no barrier between them. Rebus and Sammy took their drinks to the furthest corner.
‘The big deal is,’ he said, ‘you smuggled something out of jail for him.’
‘Just a letter.’
She calmly sipped her tequila and orange. Fathers and daughters, Rebus thought. He pictured the Lord Provost and Kirstie. You knew they had to make choices, and nobody in life made the right choices all the time. Daughters never grew up; in their fathers’ eyes, all they did was become women.
‘I’ve done it before,’ Sammy was saying. ‘You know the warders read all the mail before it goes out? They censor it and leer over it and … and I think it’s revolting.’ She paused. ‘They can get very sniffy about gay love letters.’
‘Charters told you he was gay?’
‘He hinted at it: “a very special friend”, he said.’
Rebus shook his head. ‘Gerry Dip’s special, all right. He’s absolutely choice. Did you take the note to his flat?’
‘The only address Derwood had was the chip shop.’
‘And did you read the note?’
‘Of course not.’
‘A sealed envelope?’ She nodded. ‘Quite a fat envelope?’
She thought about it. ‘Yes,’ she said.