Rebus - Naughts And Crosses Part 14

'Nothing,' said Michael.

Then Rebus recalled that Michael had hypnotised him.

'Nothing?' cried Gill. 'You call that nothing?'

'John,' said Michael, 'I didn't realise that you felt that way about the old man and me. I'm sorry we made you feel bad.' Michael rested his hand onhis brother's shoulder, the brother he had never known.

Gordon, Gordon Reeve. What happened to you? You're all torn and dirty, whirling around me like grit on a windswept street. Like a brother. You've got my daughter. Where are you?

'Oh, Jesus.' Rebus let his head fall, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his eyes shut. Gill's hand stroked his hair.

It was growing light outside. The birds were back into their untiring routine. Rebus was glad that they were calling him back into the real world. They reminded him that there might be someone out there who was feeling happy. Perhaps lovers awakening in each other's arms, or a man who was realising that today was a holiday, or an elderly woman thanking G.o.d that she was alive to see the first hints of reawakening life.

'A real dark night of the soul,' he said, beginning to shake. 'It's cold in here. The pilot-light must have blown out.'

129 --I! XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX.

o 0 x x o 0 XO Part Five XO o 0 x x o KNOTS & CROSSES 0 x x o 0 xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox XXIII.

When John Rebus awoke from what had seemed a particularly deep and dream-troubled sleep, he found that he was not in bed. He saw that Michael was standing over him, a wary smile on his face, and that Gill was pacing to and fro, sniffing back tears.

'What happened?' said Rebus.

'Nothing,' said Michael.

Then Rebus recalled that Michael had hypnotised him.

'Nothing?' cried Gill. 'You call that nothing?'

'John,' said Michael, 'I didn't realise that you felt that way about the old man and me. I'm sorry we made you feel bad.' Michael rested his hand on his brother's shoulder, the brother he had never known.

Gordon, Gordon Reeve. What happened to you? You're all torn and dirty, whirling around me like grit on a windswept street. Like a brother. You've got my daughter. Where are you?

'Oh, Jesus.' Rebus let his head fall, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his eyes shut. Gill's hand stroked his hair.

It was growing light outside. The birds were back into their untiring routine. Rebus was glad that they were calling him back into the real world. They reminded him that there might be someone out there who was feeling happy. Perhaps lovers awakening in each other's arms, or a man who was realising that today was a holiday, or an elderly woman thanking G.o.d that she was alive to see the first hints of reawakening life.

'A real dark night of the soul,' he said, beginning to shake. 'It's cold in here. The pilot-light must have blown out.'

129 Gill blew her nose and folded her arms.

'No, it's warm enough in here, John. Listen,' she spoke slowly, deferentially, 'we need a physical description of this man. I know that it will have to be a fifteen-year old description, but it'll be a start. Then we need to check up on what happened to him after you ..... . after you left him.'

'That will be cla.s.sified, if it exists at all.'

'And we need to tell the Chief about all of this.' Gill went on as if Rebus had said nothing. Her eyes were fixed in front of her. 'We need to find that creep.'

The room seemed very quiet to Rebus, as though a death had occurred, when really it had been a birth of sorts, the birth of his memory. Of Gordon. Of walking out of that cold, merciless cell. Of turning his back .

'Can you be sure that this Reeve character is your man~' Michael was pouring more whisky. Rebus shook his head at the proffered gla.s.s.

'Not for me thanks. My head feels all fuzzy. Oh yes, I think we can be pretty certain who's behind it. The messages, the knots and the crosses. It all makes sense now. It's been making sense all along. Reeve must think I'm really thick. He's been sending me clear messages for weeks, and I've failed to realise I've let those girls die . . . All because I couldn't face the facts . . . the facts Gill bent down behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. John Rebus shot out of his chair and turned to her. Reeve. No, Gill, Gill. He shook his head in mute apology. Then burst into tears.

Gill looked towards Michael, but Michael had lowered his eyes. She hugged Rebus hard, not allowing him to break away from her again, all the time whispering that it was she, Gill, beside him, and not any ghost from the past. Michael was wondering what he had got himself into. He had never seen John cry before. Again, the guilt flooded him. He would stdp it all. He didn't need it any more. He would lie low and just let his dealer get tired of looking for him, let his clients find new people. He would do it, not for John's sake but for his own.

We treated him like s.h.i.+t, he thought to himself, it's true. The old man and me treated him as though he were an intruder.

130 Later, over coffee, Rebus seemed calm, though Gill's eyes were still on him, wondering, fearing.

'We can be sure that this Reeve is off his chump,' she said.

'Perhaps,' said Rebus. 'One thing is for sure, he'll be armed. He'll be ready for anything. The man was a Seaforths regular and a member of the SAS. He'll be hard as nails.'

'You were too, John.'

'That's why I'm the man to track him down. The Chief must be made to understand that, Gill. I'm back on the case.'

Gill pursed her lips.

'I'm not sure he'll go for that,' she said.

'Well, sod him then. I'll find the b.a.s.t.a.r.d anyway.'

'You do that, John,' said Michael. 'You do that. Don't care what any of them ~ 'Mickey,' said Rebus, 'you are absolutely the best brother I could have had. Now, is there any food on the go? I'm starved.'

'And I'm whacked,' said Michael, feeling pleased with himself. 'Do you mind if I lie down for an hour or two here before I drive back?'

'Not at all, go through to my room, Mickey.'

'Goodnight, Michael,' said Gill. He was smiling as he left them.

Knots and crosses. Noughts and crosses. It was so blatant, really. Reeve must have taken him for a fool, and in a way he had been right. Those endless games they had played, all those tricks and manoeuvres, and their talk about Christianity, those reef knots and Gordian knots. And The Cross. G.o.d, how stupid he had been, allowing his memory into tricking him that the past was a cracked and useless vessel, emptying its spirit. How stupid.

'John, you're spilling your coffee.'

Gill was bringing in a plateful of cheese on toast from the kitchen. Rebus roused himself awake.

'Eat this. I've been on to HQ. We've to be there in two hours' time. They've already started running a check on Reeve's name. We should find him.'

'I hope so, Gill. Oh G.o.d, I hope so.'

They hugged. She suggested that they lie on the couch. They did so, tight in a warming embrace. Rebus couldn't help '3' wondering whether his dark night had been an exorcism of sorts, whether the past would still haunt him s.e.xually. He hoped not. Certainly, it was neither the time nor the place to try it out.

Gordon, my friend, what did I do to you?

XXIV.

Stevens was a patient man. The two policemen had been firm with him. No one could see Detective Sergeant Rebus for the moment. Stevens had returned to the newspaper office, worked on a report for the paper's three-a.m. print-run, and then had driven back to Rebus's flat. There were still lights on up there, but also there were two new gorillas by the door of the tene- ment. Stevens parked across the street and lit another cigarette. It was tying together nicely. The two threads were becoming one. The murders and the drug-pus.h.i.+ng were involved in some way, and Rebus was the key by the look of things. What were his brother and he talking about at this hour? A contingency plan perhaps. G.o.d, he would have given anything to be a fly on the living-room wall just now. Anything. He knew reporters in Fleet Street who went in for sophisticated surveillance techniques-bugs, high-powered microphones, telephone- taps-and he wondered if it might not be worthwhile to invest in some of that equipment himself.

He formulated new theories in his head, theories with hundreds of permutations. If Edinburgh's drug-racketeers had gone into the abduction-and-murder business to put the frights on some poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, then things were taking a very grim turn indeed, and he, Jim Stevens, would have to be even more careful in future. Yet Big Podeen had known nothing. Say, then, that a new gang had broken into the game, bringing with it new rules. That would make for a gang-war, Glasgow-style. But things, surely, were not done that way today. Maybe.

In this way, Stevens kept himself awake and alert, scribbling his thoughts into a notebook. His radio was on, and he listened to the half-hourly news reports. A policeman's daughter was the new victim of Edinburgh's child-murderer. In the most recent abduction, a man was killed, strangled in the house of 132 the child's mother. And so on. Stevens went on formulating, went on speculating.

It had not yet been revealed that all the murders were linked to Rebus. The police were not about to make that public, not even to Jim Stevens.

At seven-thirty, Stevens managed to bribe a pa.s.sing newspaper-boy into bringing him rolls and milk from a nearby shop. He washed the dry, powdery rolls down with the icy milk. The heating was on in his car, but he felt chilled to the marrow. He needed a shower, a shave, and some sleep. Not necessarily in that order. But he was too close to let this go now. He had the tenacity-some would call it madness, fanaticism-of every good reporter. He had watched other hacks~arnving in the night and being sent away again. One or two had seen him sitting in his car and had come across for a chat and to sniff out any leads. He had hidden away his notebook then, feigning disinterest, telling them that he would be going home shortly. Lies, d.a.m.ned lies.

That was part of the business.

And now, finally, they were emerging from the building. A few cameras and microphones were there, of course, but nothing too tasteless, no pus.h.i.+ng and shoving and hara.s.sing. For one thing, this was a grieving father; for another, he was a policeman. n.o.body was about to hara.s.s him.

Stevens watched as Gill and Rebus were allowed to disappear into the back of an idling Rover police-car. He studied their faces. Rebus looked washed-out. That was only to be expected. But, behind that, lay a grimness of look, something about the way his mouth made a straight line. That bothered Stevens a little. It was as if the man were about to enter a war. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. And then there was Gill Templer. She looked rough, rougher even than Rebus. Her eyes were red, but here too there was something a little out of the ordinary. Something was not quite as it should be. Any respecting reporter could see that, if he knew what he was looking for. Stevens gnawed at himself. He needed to know more. It was like a drug, this story. He needed bigger and bigger injections of it. He was a bit startled, too, to find himself admitting that the reason he needed these injections was not for the sake of his job, but for his own curiosity.

'33 Rebus intrigued him. Gill Templer, of course, interested him. And Michael Rebus.

Michael Rebus had not appeared from the flat. The circus was leaving now, the Rover turning right out of the quiet Marchmont street, but the gorillas remained. New gorillas. Stevens lit a cigarette. It might be worth a try at that. He walked back to his car and locked it. Then, taking a walk round the block, formed another plan.

'Excuse me, sir. Do you live here?'

'Of course I live here! What's all this about, eh? I need to get to my bed.'

'Had a heavy night, sir?'

The bleary-eyed man shook three brown paper-bags at the policeman. The bags each contained six rolls.

'I'm a baker. s.h.i.+ft-work. Now if you'll . .

'And your name, sir?'

Making to pa.s.s the man, Stevens had just had time enough to make out a few of the names on the door-buzzer.

'Laidlaw,' he said. 'Jim Laidlaw.'

The policeman checked this against a list of names in his hand.

'All right, sir. Sorry to have bothered you.'

'What's all this about?'

'You'll find out soon enough, sir. Good night now.

There was one more obstacle, and Stevens knew that for all his cunning, if the door was locked then the door was locked, and his game was up. He made a plausible push at the heavy door and felt it give. They had not locked it. His patron saint was smiling on him today.

In the tenement hallway, he ditched the rolls and thought of another ploy. He climbed the two ffights of stairs to Rebus's door. The tenement seemed to smell exclusively of cats'-p.i.s.s. At Rebus's door he paused, catching his breath. Partly, he was out of condition, but partly, also, he was excited. He had not felt anything like this on a story for years. It felt good. He decided that he could get away with anything on a day like this. He pushed the doorbell relentlessly.

The door was opened at last by a yawning, puffy-faced Michael Rebus. So at last they were face to face. Stevens flashed '34 a card at Michael. The card identified James Stevens as a member of an Edinburgh snooker club.

'Detective Inspector Stevens, sir. Sorry to get you out of bed.' He put the card away. 'Your brother told us that you'd probably still be asleep, but I thought I'd come up anyway. May I come in? Just a few questions, sir. Won't keep you too long.'

The two policemen, their feet numb despite thermal socks and the fact that it was the beginning of summer, shuffled one foot and then the other, hoping for a reprieve. The talk was all of the abduction and the fact that a Chief Inspector's son had been murdered. The main door opened behind them.

'You lot still here? The wife told me there was bobbies at the door, but I didnae believe her. Yon wis last night though. What's the matter?'

This was an old man, still in his slippers but with a thick, winter overcoat on. He was half-shaven only, and his bottom false-teeth had been lost or forgotten about. He was attaching a cap to his bald head as he sidled out of the door.

'Nothing for you to worry about, sir. You'll be told soon enough, I'm sure.'

'Oh aye, well then. I'm just away to fetch the paper and the milk. We usually have toast for breakfast, but some b.u.g.g.e.r's gone and left about twa dozen new rolls in the lobby. Well, if they're no' wanted, they're aye welcome in my house.'

He chuckled, showing the raw red of his bottom gum.

'Can I get you twa anything at the shop?'

But the two policemen were staring at one another, alarmed, speechless.

'Get up there,' one said, finally, to the other. Then: 'And your name, sir?'

The old man preened himself; an old trooper. 'Jock Laidlaw,' he said, 'at your service.'

Stevens was drinking, thankfully, the black coffee. The first hot thing he'd had in ages. He was seated in the living-room, his eyes everywhere.

'I'm glad you woke me,' Michael Rebus was saying. 'I've got to get back home.

I'll bet you have, thought Stevens. I'll bet you have. Rebus '35 looked altogether more relaxed than he had foreseen. Relaxed, rested, easy with his conscience. Curiouser and curiouser.

'Just a few questions, Mister Rebus, as I said.' Michael Rebus sat down, crossing his legs, sipping his own coffee.

'Yes?'

Stevens produced his notebook.

'Your brother has had a very great shock.'

'Yes.'

'But he'll be all right you think?'

'Yes.'

Stevens pretended to write in his book.

'Did he have a good night, by the way? Did he sleep all right?'

'Well, none of us got much sleep. I'm not sure John slept at all.' Michael's eyebrows were gathering. 'Look, what is all this?'

'Just routine, Mister Rebus. You understand. We need all the details from everyone involved if we're going to crack this case.'