“We just need your help, sir.”
He stared at her. “And that’s the one thing I’m determined not to give you.”
“We’ll need to talk to your wife and daughter,” Siobhan said, but Jensen was on his feet.
“I want you to leave now. I have to look after Vicky.”
“Of course, sir,” Rebus said.
“But we’ll be back,” Siobhan added. “Lawyer or no lawyer. And remember, Mr. Jensen, tampering with evidence can get you locked up.” She strode toward the door, Rebus following in her wake. Outside, he lit a cigarette, staring toward a makeshift game of soccer on the links.
“See, when I said diplomacy wasn’t my strong point…?”
“What?”
“Five more minutes in there, you’d’ve been roughing him up.”
“Don’t be stupid.” But the blood had risen to her face. She puffed out her cheeks and made an exasperated sound.
“What did you mean about evidence?” Rebus asked.
“Web sites can be wound down,” she explained. “Subscriber lists can be lost.”
“Which means the sooner we speak to Brains, the better.”
Eric Bain was watching the Live 8 concert on his computer-at least, that was what it looked like to Rebus, but Bain soon corrected him.
“Editing it, actually.”
“A download?” Siobhan guessed, but Bain shook his head.
“Burned it onto DVD-ROM; now I’m taking out anything I don’t need.”
“That would take some time in my case,” Rebus said.
“It easy enough once you get the hang of the tools.”
“I think,” Siobhan broke in, “DI Rebus means he’d be deleting a lot of stuff.”
Bain smiled at this. He hadn’t gotten up since they’d arrived, hadn’t so much as glanced up from the screen. It was his girlfriend, Molly, who’d opened the door for them; Molly who’d asked if they’d like a cup of tea. She was in the kitchen now, boiling the kettle, while Bain stuck to his task in the living room.
It was a top-floor apartment in a warehouse conversion off Slateford Road. The brochure had probably referred to it as the “penthouse.” There were expansive views from the small windows, mostly of chimneys and abandoned factories. The top of Corstorphine Hill was just visible in the distance. The room was neater than Rebus had expected. No lengths of wiring, cardboard boxes, soldering irons, or game consoles. Hardly the typical residence of a self-confessed gadget geek.
“How long you been here, Eric?” Rebus asked.
“Couple of months.”
“Pair of you decided to move in together?”
“That’s about the size of it. I’ll be finished here in a minute…”
Rebus nodded, went over to the sofa and made himself comfortable. Molly shuffled in with the tea tray, fizzing with energy. She was wearing mules on her feet. Tight blue jeans that only reached as far as her calves. A red T-shirt with Che Guevara on it. Great figure, and long blond hair-dyed that color, but still suiting her. Rebus had to admit he was impressed. He’d risked several glances toward Siobhan, who on each occasion had been studying Molly the way a scientist would a lab rat. Clearly she too thought Bain had done well for himself.
And Molly had made her mark on Brains: the boy had been housebroken. What was that Elton John line? You nearly had me roped and tied…Bernie Taupin actually. The original Brown Dirt Cowboy to Reg’s Captain Fantastic.
“Place looks great,” Rebus said to Molly as she handed him a mug. His reward: her pink lips and perfect white teeth breaking into a smile. “Didn’t catch your last name…?”
“ Clark,” she said.
“Same as Siobhan here,” Rebus informed her. Molly looked to Siobhan for confirmation.
“I’ve an e at the end,” Siobhan offered.
“Not me,” Molly replied. She’d settled on the sofa next to Rebus but kept moving her bottom, as if unable to get comfortable.
“Still, it gives you something else in common,” Rebus added teasingly, receiving a scowl from Siobhan for his effort. “How long have you two been an item then?”
“Fifteen weeks,” she said breathlessly. “Doesn’t seem long, does it? But sometimes you just know.”
Rebus nodded agreement. “I’m always saying, Siobhan here should settle down. It can be the making of you, can’t it, Molly?”
Molly didn’t look convinced, but still looked at Siobhan with something like sympathy. “It really can,” she stressed. Siobhan gave Rebus a hard stare and accepted her own mug.
“Actually,” Rebus went on, “for a wee while back there, Siobhan and Eric looked like becoming an item.”
“We were just friends,” Siobhan said, forcing out a laugh. Bain seemed frozen in front of the computer screen, hand unmoving on the mouse.
“Is that right, Eric?” Rebus called to him.
“John’s just teasing,” Siobhan was assuring Molly. “Take no notice of him.”
Rebus offered Molly a wink. “Lovely spot of tea,” he said. She was still fidgeting.
“And we’re really sorry to disturb your Sunday,” Siobhan added. “If it wasn’t an emergency…”
Bain’s chair creaked as he rose from it. Rebus noticed he had lost a good bit of weight, maybe as much as fifteen pounds. His pale face was still fleshy, but the gut had shrunk.
“Still based at the Forensic computer branch?” Siobhan asked him.
“That’s right.” He accepted some tea and sat down next to Molly. She slid an arm protectively around him, stretching the material of her T-shirt, further accentuating her breasts. Rebus concentrated all the harder on Bain. “Been busy with G8,” he was saying, “sifting intelligence reports.”
“What sort of stuff?” Rebus asked, getting up as if to stretch his legs. With Bain on the sofa, it was getting crowded there. He began sauntering toward the computer.
“The secret sort,” Bain replied.
“Come across anyone called Steelforth?”
“Should I have?”
“He’s SO12…seems to be running the show.”
But Bain just shook his head slowly and asked them what they wanted. Siobhan handed him the sheet of paper.
“It’s a Web site,” she explained. “Might suddenly disappear. We need everything you can get: subscription lists, anyone who’s been looking at it, maybe downloading stuff…”
“That’s a big ask…”
“I know it is, Eric.” The way she said his name seemed to hit a nerve. He got up and walked to the window, perhaps to hide from Molly the flush of color that had risen up his neck.
Rebus had picked up a piece of paper from beside the computer. It was a letter, headed Axios Systems, signed by someone called Tasos Symeonides. “Sounds Greek,” he said. Eric Bain seemed relieved to be changing the subject.
“Based right here,” he said. “An IT outfit.”
Rebus wafted the letter in front of him. “Sorry to be nosy, Eric…”
“It’s a job offer,” Molly explained. “Eric gets them all the time.” She had risen to her feet and crossed to the window, sliding an arm around Bain. “I have to keep persuading him that his police work is crucial.”
Rebus put the letter back and returned to the sofa. “Any chance of a refill?” he asked. Molly was happy to pour. Bain seized the moment, fixed Siobhan with a stare, dozens of unspoken words transmitted in a few seconds.
“Lovely,” Rebus said, accepting a bit of milk. Molly was seated next to him again.
“How soon could it be shut down?” Bain asked.
“I don’t know,” Siobhan admitted.
“Tonight?”
“More likely tomorrow.”
Bain studied the piece of paper. “All right,” he said.
“Isn’t this nice?” Rebus seemed to be asking the question of the whole room, but Molly wasn’t listening. She’d slapped both of her hands to her face, mouth falling open.
“I forgot the biscuits!” She jumped back to her feet. “How could I have done that? And nobody said…” She turned to Bain. “You could have said!” Color was flushing her cheeks as she flew from the room.