‘I don’t think you’re winning them over,’ Leary said, laughing.
Rebus fixed Gates with a hard look. ‘I’m serious,’ he said.
‘So am I. First night off I’ve had in ages, and you’re after one of your famous “favours”.’
Rebus decided there was no point pushing it, not when Gates was in a mood. Hard day at the office maybe, but then weren’t they all?
Devlin cleared his throat. ‘Might I perhaps...?’
Leary slapped Devlin’s back. ‘There you are, John. A willing victim!’
‘I know I’ve been retired a good few years, but I don’t suppose the theory and practice have changed.’
Rebus looked at him. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘the most recent case is nineteen eighty-two.’
‘Donald was still wielding the scalpel in eighty-two,’ Gates said. Devlin acknowledged this truth with a small bow.
Rebus hesitated. He wanted someone with a bit of clout, someone like Gates.
‘Motion carried,’ Curt said, deciding the matter for him.
Siobhan Clarke sat in her living room watching TV. She’d tried cooking herself a proper dinner, but had given up halfway through chopping the red peppers, putting everything in the fridge and pulling a ready-meal from the freezer. The empty container was on the floor in front of her. She sat on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, head resting on one arm. The laptop was on the coffee table, but she’d unhooked her mobile phone. She didn’t think Quizmaster would be calling again. She lifted her notepad and stared at the clue. She’d gone through dozens of sheets of paper, working out possible anagrams and meanings. Seven fins high is king... and mentions of the queen and ‘the bust’: it sounded like something from a card game, but the compendium of card games she’d borrowed from the Central Library hadn’t been any help. She was just wondering if she should read it through a final time when her phone rang.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Grant.’
Siobhan turned the sound down on the TV. ‘What’s up?’
‘I think maybe I’ve cracked it.’
Siobhan swivelled her legs so her feet were on the floor. ‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘I’d rather show you.’
There seemed to be a lot of background noise on the line. She stood up. ‘Are you on your mobile?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Parked right outside.’
She walked over to the window and looked out. Sure enough, his Alfa was sitting in the middle of the street. Siobhan smiled. ‘Find a parking space then. My buzzer’s second from the top.’
By the time she’d taken the dirty dishes through to the sink, Grant was at her intercom. She checked anyway that it was him, then pressed the button to let him into the tenement. She was standing by the open door when he hauled himself up the last few steps.
‘Sorry it’s so late,’ he said, ‘but I couldn’t keep it to myself.’
‘Coffee?’ she asked, closing the door after him.
‘Thanks. Two sugars.’
They took the coffees into the living room. ‘Nice place,’ he said.
‘I like it.’
He sat down next to her on the sofa and placed his coffee mug on the table. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a London A — Z.
‘London?’ she said.
‘I went through all the kings I could think of from history, then anything else to do with the word king.’ He held up the book so its back cover was showing. A map of the London Underground.
‘King’s Cross?’ she guessed.
He nodded. ‘Take a look.’
She took the book from him. He could hardly sit still in his seat.
‘Seven fins high is king,’ he said.
‘And you think the king is King’s Cross?’
He slid across the sofa, his finger tracing the light blue line which went through the station. ‘Do you see?’ he said.
‘No,’ she said grimly. ‘So you’d better tell me.’
‘Go one stop north of King’s Cross.’
‘Highbury and Islington?’
‘And again.’
‘Finsbury Park... then Seven Sisters.’
‘Now backwards,’ he said. He was practically bouncing on the spot.
‘Don’t wet yourself,’ she said. Then she looked at the map again. ‘Seven Sisters... Finsbury Park... Highbury and Islington... King’s Cross.’ And saw it. The exact same sequence, but abbreviated. ‘Seven... Fins... High Is... King.’ She looked at Grant. He was nodding. ‘Well done you,’ she added, meaning it. Grant leaned over and gave her a hug, which she squirmed out of. Then he leaped from the sofa and clapped his hands together.
‘I couldn’t believe it myself,’ he said. ‘The way it just suddenly screamed at me. It’s the Victoria Line.’
She nodded, couldn’t think of anything to say. It was indeed a section of London Underground’s Victoria Line.
‘But what does it mean?’ she said at last.
He sat down again, leaning forward, elbows on knees. ‘That’s what we have to work out next.’
She slid across the sofa a little, making some space between them, then lifted her pad and read from it. ‘“This queen dines well before the bust.”’ She looked at him, but he just shrugged.
‘Could the answer be in London?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Buckingham Palace? Queen’s Park Rangers?’ He shrugged. ‘Could be London.’
‘All these Underground stops... what do they mean?’
‘They’re all on the Victoria Line,’ was all he could think to say. Then they stared at one another.
‘Queen Victoria,’ they said in unison.
Siobhan had a London guidebook, bought for a weekend away which she’d never taken. It took her a while to find it. Meantime Grant booted up the computer and did a search on the Internet.
‘Could be the name of a pub,’ he suggested. ‘Like in EastEnders.’
‘Yes,’ she said, busy reading. ‘Or the Victoria and Albert Museum.’
‘Not forgetting Victoria Station — also on the Victoria Line. There’s a coach station there too. Worst cafeteria in Britain.’
‘You’re speaking from experience?’
‘I bussed it down there a few weekends in my teens. Didn’t like it.’ He was scrolling down some text.
‘Didn’t like the bus or didn’t like London?’
‘Both, I suppose. “Bust” couldn’t mean a drug bust, could it?’
‘Maybe. Or some stock-market crash. There was one not that long back, wasn’t there? Black Monday?’
He nodded.
‘Still, more likely it’s a statue,’ she said. ‘Maybe of Queen Victoria, with a restaurant in front of it.’
They worked in silence for a while after that, until Siobhan’s eyes started to hurt and she got up to make more coffee.
‘Two sugars,’ Grant said.
‘I remember.’ She looked at him, hunched over the computer screen, one knee pumping away. She wanted to say something about the hug... warn him off somehow... but she knew she’d missed her chance.
Bringing the mugs back through from the kitchen, she asked if he’d found anything.
‘Tourist sites,’ he said. He took the mug from her with a nod of thanks.
‘Why London?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’ His eyes were still on the screen.
‘I mean, why not somewhere closer to home?’
‘Could be Quizmaster lives in London. We don’t know, do we?’
‘No.’
‘And who’s to say Flip Balfour was the only one playing the game? Something like this, my bet is there’s a website somewhere — or was. Anyone wanting to join in could go there. They wouldn’t all come from Scotland.’
She nodded. ‘I’m just wondering... was Flip bright enough to solve this clue?’