Strip Jack

'Put her through.' He waited till the connection was made. 'Rebus here,' he said.

He could hear background noise, announcements. A railway station. Then: 'About bleedin' time. I'm at Waverley. My train goes in forty-five minutes. Get here before it leaves and I'll tell you something.' The line went dead. Short and sour, but intriguing for all that. Rebus checked his watch.

'I've got to go to Waverley Station,' he told Lauderdale. 'Why don't you talk to Steele yourself meantime, sir? See what you make of him?'

'Thank you,' said Lauderdale. 'Maybe I will…"

She was sitting on a bench in the concourse, conspicuous in sunglasses which were supposed to disguise her identity.

'That bastard,' she said, 'putting the papers on to me like that.' She was talking of her brother, Gregor Jack. Rebus didn't say anything. 'One yesterday,' she went on, 'then this morning, half a dozen of the bastards. Picture plastered all over the front pages…'

'Maybe it wasn't your brother,' Rebus said.

'What? Who else could it be?' Behind the dark lenses, Rebus could still make out Gail Crawley's tired eyes. She was dressed as though in a hurry – tight jeans, high heels, baggy t-shirt. Her luggage seemed to consist of a large suitcase and two carrier bags. In one hand she clutched her ticket to London, in the other she held a cigarette.

'Maybe,' Rebus suggested, 'it was the person who knew who you were, the person who told Gregor where to find you.'

She shivered. 'That's what I wanted to tell you about. God knows why. I don't owe the bastard any favours…'

Nor do I, thought Rebus, yet I always seem to be doing them for him.

'What about a drink?' she suggested.

'Sure,' said Rebus. He picked up her suitcase, while she clip-clopped along carrying the bags. Her shoes made a lot of noise, and attracted glances from some of the men lolling about. Rebus was quite relieved to reach the safety of the bar, where he bought a half of export for himself and a Bacardi and Coke for her. They found a corner not too near the gaming machine or the frazzled loudspeaker of the jukebox.

'Cheers,' she said, trying to drink and inhale at much the same time. She spluttered and swore, then stubbed out the cigarette, only seconds later to light another.

'Good health,' said Rebus, sipping his own drink. 'So, what was it you wanted to get off your chest?'

She snorted. 'I like that: get off your chest.' This time she remembered to swallow her mouthful of rum before drawing on the cigarette. 'Only,' she said, 'what you were saying, about how somebody might have known who I was…'

'Yes?'

'Well, I remembered. It was a night a while back. Like, a couple of months. Six weeks… something like that. I hadn't been up here long. Anyway, the usual trio of pissed punters comes in. Funny how they usually come in threes…' She paused, snorted. 'If you'll pardon the expression.'

'So three men came to the brothel?'

"Just said so, didn't I? Anyway, one of them liked the look of me, so off we went upstairs. I told him my name was Gail. I can't see the point of all those stupid names everybody else uses – Candy and Mandy and Claudette and Tina and Suzy and Jasmine and Roberta. I'd just forget who I was supposed to be.'

Rebus glanced at his watch. A little over ten minutes left… She seemed to understand.

'So, anyway, I asked him if he had a name. And he laughed. He said, "You mean you don't recognize the face?" I shook my head, and he said, "Of course, you're a Londoner, aren't you? Well hen," he said, "I'm weel kent up here." Something stupid like that. Then he says, "I'm Gregor Jack." Well, I just started laughing, don't ask me why. He did ask me why. So I said, "No you're not. I know Gregor Jack." That seemed to put him off his stroke. In the end, he buggered off back to his pals. All the usual winks and slaps on the back, and I didn't say anything…'

'What did he look like?'

'Big. Like a Highlander. One of the other girls said she thought she had seen him on the telly…"

Rab Kinnoul. Rebus described him briefly.

'Sounds about right,' she conceded.

'What about the men who were with him?'

'Didn't pay much attention. One of them was the shy type, tall and skinny like a beanpole. The other was fat and had on a leather jacket.'

'You didn't catch their names?'

'No.'

Well, it didn't matter. Rebus would bet she could pick them out from a line-up. Ronald Steele and Barney Byars. A night out on the town. Byars, Steele, and Rab Kinnoul. A curious little assembly, and another incendiary he could toss in Steele's direction.

'Finish your drink, Gail,' he said. 'Then let's get you on to that train.'

But on the way, he extracted an address from her, the same one she had given before, the one he'd had George Flight check on.

'That's where I'll be,' she said. She took a final look around her. The train was idling, filling with people. Rebus lifted her suitcase in through one of the doors. She was still staring up at the glass roof of the station. Then she lowered her gaze to Rebus. 'I should never have left London, should I? Maybe nothing would have happened if I'd stayed where I was.'

Rebus tilted his head slightly. 'You're not to blame, Gail.' But all the same, he couldn't help feeling that she had a point. If she'd stayed away from Edinburgh, if she hadn't come out with that "I know Gregor Jack"… who could say? She stepped up on to the train, then turned back towards him.

'If you see Gregor…' she began. But there wasn't anything else. She shrugged and turned away, carrying her case and her bags with her. Rebus, never one for emotional farewells where prostitutes were concerned, turned briskly on his heels and headed back towards his car.

'You've what?'

'I've let him go.'

'You've let Steele go?' Rebus couldn't believe it. He paced what there was of Lauderdale's floor. 'Why?'

Now Lauderdale smiled coldly. 'What was the charge, John? Be realistic, for Christ's sake.'

'Did you talk to him?'

'Yes.'

'And?'

'He seems very plausible.'

'In other words, you believe him?'

'I think I do, yes.'

'What about his car boot?'

'You mean the mud? He told you himself, John, Mrs Kinnoul and he go for walks. That hillside's hardly what you'd call paved. You need wellies, and wellies get muddy. It's their purpose.'

'He admitted he was seeing Cath Kinnoul?'

'He admitted nothing of the sort. He just said there was a "woman".'

'That's all he'd say when I brought him in. But he admitted it back in his house.'

'I think it's quite noble of him, trying to protect her.'

'Or could it be that he knows she couldn't back up his story anyway?'

'You mean it's a pack of lies?'

Rebus sighed. 'No, I think I believe it, too.'

'Well then.' Lauderdale sounded – for Lauderdale – genuinely gentle. 'Sit down, John. You've had a hard twenty-four hours.'

Rebus sat down. 'I've had a hard twenty-four years.'

Lauderdale smiled. 'Tea?'

'I think some of the Chief Superintendent's coffee would be a better idea.'

Lauderdale laughed. 'Kill or cure, certainly. Now look, you've just admitted yourself that you believe Steele's story -'

'Up to a point.

Lauderdale accepted the clause. 'But still, the man wanted to leave. How the hell was I going to hold him?'

'On suspicion. We're allowed to hang on to suspects a bit longer than ninety minutes.'

Thank you, Inspector, I'm aware of that.'

'So now he toddles back home and gives the boot of his car a damned good clean.'

'You need more than mucky wellies for a conviction, John.'

'You'd be surprised what forensics can do…'

'Ah, now that's another thing. I hear you've been getting up people's noses faster than a Vick's inhaler.'

'Anybody in particular?'