`What would you say?’
`I'm not a detective.’
But Rebus knew Mayerlink was lying: detection was exactly the role he'd chosen in life. A detective of history.
`I need to talk to David Levy,' Rebus said. `Do you have his address and phone number?’
`He came to see you?’
`You know he did.’
`It's not that simple with David. He doesn't work for the Bureau.
He's self-motivated. I ask him for help occasionally. Sometimes he helps, sometimes he doesn't.’
`But you do have some way of contacting him?’
It took Mayerlink a, full minute to come up with the details. An address in Sussex, plus telephone number.
`Is David your number one suspect, Inspector?’
`Why do you ask?’
`I could tell you you're barking up the wrong tree.’
`The same tree Joseph Lintz swung from?’
`Can you really see David Levy as a murderer, Inspector?’
Safari suit, walking stick. `It takes all sorts,' Rebus said, putting down the phone.
He tried Levy's number. It rang and rang. He gave it a couple of minutes, drank a coffee, tried again. Still no answer. He called British Telecom instead, explained what he needed, was finally put through to the right person.
`My name's Justine Graham, Inspector. How can I help?’
Rebus gave her Lintz's details. `He used to get itemised bills, then he switched.’
He heard her fingers hammer a keyboard. `That's right,' she told him. `The customer asked for itemised billing to be discontinued.’
`Did he say why?’
`.No record of that. You don't need to give an excuse, you know.’
`When was this?’
`A couple of months back. The customer had requested monthly billing several years previously.’
Monthly billing: because he was meticulous, kept his accounts by the month. A couple of months back – September the Lintz/ Linzstek story had blown up in the media. And, suddenly, he hadn't wanted his phone calls to be a matter of record.
`Do you have records of his calls, even the unitemised ones?’
`Yes, we should have that information.’
`I'd like to see a list. Everything from the first unitemised call through to this morning.’
`Is that when he died – this morning?’
`Yes.’
She was thoughtful. `Well, I'll need to check.’
`Please do. But remember, Ms Graham, this is a murder inquiry.’
`Yes, of course.’
`And your information could be absolutely crucial.’
`I'm quite aware of -'
`So if I could have that by the end of today…?’
She hesitated. `I'm not sure I can promise that.’
`And one last thing. The bill for September is missing. I'd like a copy of it. Let me give you the fax number here, speed things up.’
Rebus congratulated himself with another cup of coffee and a cigarette in the car park. She might or might not deliver later in the day, but he was confident she'd be trying her best. Wasn't that all you could ask of anybody? Another calclass="underline" Special Branch in London. He asked for Abernethy. `I'll just put you through.’
Someone picked up: a grunt in place of an acknowledgement.
'Abernethy?’ Rebus asked. He heard liquid being swallowed. The voice became clearer.
`He's not here. Can I help?’
`I really need to speak to him.’
`I could have him paged, if it's urgent.’
`My name's DI Rebus, Lothian and Borders Police.’
`Oh, right. Have you lost him or something?’
Rebus's expression turned quizzical. His voice carried a false note of humour. `You know what Abernethy's like.’
A snort. `Don't I just.’
`So any help appreciated.’
`Yeah, right. Look, give me your number. I'll get him to call you.’
Have you lost him or something? `You've no idea where he is then?’
`It's your city, chum. Take your best shot.’
He's up here, Rebus thought. He's right here.
`I bet the office is quiet without him.’
Laughter on the line, then the sounds of a cigarette being lit. A long exhalation. `It's like being on holiday. Keep him as long as you like.’
`So how long have you been without him?’
A pause. As the silence lengthened, Rebus could feel the change of atmosphere.
`What did you say your name was?’
`DI Rebus. I -was only asking when he left London.’
`This morning, soon as he heard. So what have I won: the hatchback or the hostess trolley?’
Rebus's turn to laugh. `Sorry, I'm just nosy.’
`I'll be sure to tell him that.’
A single click, then the sound of an open line.
Later that afternoon, Rebus chased up British Telecom, then tried Levy's house again. This time he got through to a woman.
`Hello, Mrs Levy? My name's John Rebus. I was wondering if I could have a word with your husband?’
`You mean my father.’
`I'm sorry. Is your father there?’
`No, he's not.’
`Any idea when…?’
`Absolutely none.’
She sounded peeved. `I'm just his cook and cleaner. Like I don't have a life of my own.’
She caught herself. `Sorry, Mr…?’
`Rebus.’
`It's just that he never says how long he's going to be away.’
`He's away just now?’
`Has been for the best part of a fortnight. He rings two or three times a week, asks if there've been any calls or letters. If I'm lucky, he might remember to ask how I'm doing.’
`And how are you doing?’
A smile in her voice. `I know, I know. I sound like I'm his mother or something.’
`Well, you know, fathers…’
Rebus stared into the middle distance… `if you don't tell them anything's wrong, they're happy to assume the best and hold their peace.’
`You speak from experience?’
`Too much experience.’
She was thoughtful. `Is it something important?’
`Very.’
`Well, give me your name and number, and next time he calls I'll have him phone you.’
`Thanks.’
Rebus reeled off two numbers: home and mobile.
`Got that,' she said. `Any other message?’
`No, just have him call me.’
Rebus thought for a moment. `Has he had any other calls?’
`You mean, people trying to reach him? Why do you ask?’
`I just… no real reason.’
He didn't want to say he was a policeman; didn't want her spooked. `No reason,' he repeated.
As he came off the phone, someone handed him another coffee. `That receiver must be red hot.’
He touched it with the tips of his fingers. It was pretty warm. Then it rang and he picked it up again.
`DI Rebus,' he said.
`John, it's Siobhan.’
`Hiya, how's tricks?’
`John, you remember that guy?’
Her tone was warning him of something.
`What guy?’
The humour was gone from his voice.
`Danny Simpson.’
He of the flappy skull; Telford's lackey.
`What about him?’
`I've just found out he's HIV positive. His GP let the hospital know.’
Blood in Rebus's eyes, his ears, dribbling down his neck…
`Poor guy,' he said quietly.
`He should have said something at the time.’
`When?’
`When we got him to the hospital.’
`Well, he had other things on his mind, and some of them were in danger of falling off.’
`Christ, John, be serious for a minute!' Her voice was loud enough to have people glance up from their desks. `You need to get a blood test.’
`Fine, no problem. How is he, by the way?’
`Back home but poorly. And sticking to his story.’
`Do I detect the influence of Telford's lawyer?’
`Charles Groal? That one's so slimy, he's practically primordial.’
`Saves you the cost of a valentine.’
`Look, just phone the hospital. Talk to a Dr Jones. She'll fix an appointment. They can do a test right away. Not that it'll be the last word – there's a three-month incubation.’
`Thanks, Siobhan.’
Rebus put down the receiver, drummed his fingers against it. Wouldn't that be a nice irony? Rebus out to get Telford, does the Good Samaritan bit for one of his men, gets AIDS and dies. Rebus stared at the ceiling.