seat.
‘What about it?’
‘Maybe Candice was there. Her city of bridges. She might link Telford to this Geordie gangster.’
Ormiston and Claverhouse looked at one another.
‘She’ll need a safe place to stay,’ Rebus told them. ‘Money, somewhere to go afterwards.’
‘A first-class flight home if she helps us nail Telford.’
‘I’m not sure she’ll want to go home.’
‘That’s for later,’ Claverhouse said. ‘First thing is to talk to her.’
‘You’ll need a translator.’
Claverhouse looked at him. ‘And of course you know just the man … ?’
She was asleep in her cell, curled under the blanket, only her hair visible. The Mothers of Invention: ‘Lonely Little Girl’. The cell was in the women’s block. Painted pink and blue, a slab to sleep on, graffiti scratched into the walls.
‘Candice,’ Rebus said quietly, squeezing her shoulder. She started awake, as if he’d administered an electric shock. ‘It’s okay, it’s me, John.’
She looked round blindly, focused on him slowly. ‘John,’ she said. Then she smiled.
Claverhouse was off making phone calls, squaring things. Ormiston stood in the doorway, appraising Candice. Not that Ormiston was known to be choosy. Rebus had tried Colquhoun at home, but there’d been no answer. So now Rebus was gesturing, letting her know they wanted to take her somewhere.
‘A hotel,’ he said.
She didn’t like that word. She looked from him to Ormiston and back again.
‘It’s okay,’ Rebus said. ‘It’s just a place for you to sleep, that’s all, somewhere safe. No Telford, nothing like that.’
She seemed to soften, came off the bed and stood in front of him. Her eyes seemed to say, I’ll trust you, and if you let me down I won’t be surprised.
Claverhouse came back. ‘All fixed,’ he said, his examination falling on Candice. ‘She doesn’t speak any English?’
‘Not as practised in polite society.’
‘In that case,’ Ormiston said, ‘she should be fine with us.’
Three men and a young woman in a dark blue Ford Orion, heading south out of the city. It was late now, past midnight, black taxis cruising. Students were spilling from pubs.
‘They get younger every year.’ Claverhouse was never short of a cliché.
‘And more of them end up joining the force,’ Rebus commented.
Claverhouse smiled. ‘I meant prossies, not students. We pulled one in last week, said she was fifteen. Turned out she was twelve, on the run. All grown up about it.’
Rebus tried to remember Sammy at twelve. He saw herscared, in the clutches of a madman with a grievance against Rebus. She’d had lots of nightmares afterwards, till her mother had taken her to London. Rhona had phoned Rebus a few years later. She just wanted to let him know he’d robbed Sammy of her childhood.
‘I phoned ahead,’ Claverhouse said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve used this place before. It’s perfect.’
‘She’ll need some clothes,’ Rebus said.
‘Siobhan can fetch her some in the morning.’
‘How is Siobhan?’
‘Seems fine. Hasn’t half cut into the jokes and the language though.’
‘Ach, she can take a joke,’ Ormiston said. ‘Likes a drink, too.’
This last was news to Rebus. He wondered how much Siobhan Clarke would change in order to blend with her new surroundings.
‘It’s just off the bypass,’ Claverhouse said, meaning their destination. ‘Not far now.’
The city ended suddenly. Green belt, plus the Pentland Hills. The bypass was quiet, Ormiston doing the ton between exits. They came off at Colinton and signalled into the hotel. It was a motorist’s stop, one of a nationwide chain: same prices, same rooms. The cars which crowded the parking area were salesmen’s specials, cigarette packets littering the passenger seats. The reps would be sleeping, or lying in a daze with the TV remote to hand.
Candice seemed reluctant to get out of the car, until she saw that Rebus was coming, too.
‘You light up her life,’ Ormiston
‘What about it?’
‘Maybe Candice was there. Her city of bridges. She might link Telford to this Geordie gangster.’
Ormiston and Claverhouse looked at one another.
‘She’ll need a safe place to stay,’ Rebus told them. ‘Money, somewhere to go afterwards.’
‘A first-class flight home if she helps us nail Telford.’
‘I’m not sure she’ll want to go home.’
‘That’s for later,’ Claverhouse said. ‘First thing is to talk to her.’
‘You’ll need a translator.’
Claverhouse looked at him. ‘And of course you know just the man … ?’
She was asleep in her cell, curled under the blanket, only her hair visible. The Mothers of Invention: ‘Lonely Little Girl’. The cell was in the women’s block. Painted pink and blue, a slab to sleep on, graffiti scratched into the walls.
‘Candice,’ Rebus said quietly, squeezing her shoulder. She started awake, as if he’d administered an electric shock. ‘It’s okay, it’s me, John.’
She looked round blindly, focused on him slowly. ‘John,’ she said. Then she smiled.
Claverhouse was off making phone calls, squaring things. Ormiston stood in the doorway, appraising Candice. Not that Ormiston was known to be choosy. Rebus had tried Colquhoun at home, but there’d been no answer. So now Rebus was gesturing, letting her know they wanted to take her somewhere.
‘A hotel,’ he said.
She didn’t like that word. She looked from him to Ormiston and back again.
‘It’s okay,’ Rebus said. ‘It’s just a place for you to sleep, that’s all, somewhere safe. No Telford, nothing like that.’
She seemed to soften, came off the bed and stood in front of him. Her eyes seemed to say, I’ll trust you, and if you let me down I won’t be surprised.
Claverhouse came back. ‘All fixed,’ he said, his examination falling on Candice. ‘She doesn’t speak any English?’
‘Not as practised in polite society.’
‘In that case,’ Ormiston said, ‘she should be fine with us.’
Three men and a young woman in a dark blue Ford Orion, heading south out of the city. It was late now, past midnight, black taxis cruising. Students were spilling from pubs.
‘They get younger every year.’ Claverhouse was never short of a cliché.
‘And more of them end up joining the force,’ Rebus commented.
Claverhouse smiled. ‘I meant prossies, not students. We pulled one in last week, said she was fifteen. Turned out she was twelve, on the run. All grown up about it.’
Rebus tried to remember Sammy at twelve. He saw herscared, in the clutches of a madman with a grievance against Rebus. She’d had lots of nightmares afterwards, till her mother had taken her to London. Rhona had phoned Rebus a few years later. She just wanted to let him know he’d robbed Sammy of her childhood.
‘I phoned ahead,’ Claverhouse said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve used this place before. It’s perfect.’
‘She’ll need some clothes,’ Rebus said.
‘Siobhan can fetch her some in the morning.’
‘How is Siobhan?’
‘Seems fine. Hasn’t half cut into the jokes and the language though.’
‘Ach, she can take a joke,’ Ormiston said. ‘Likes a drink, too.’
This last was news to Rebus. He wondered how much Siobhan Clarke would change in order to blend with her new surroundings.
‘It’s just off the bypass,’ Claverhouse said, meaning their destination. ‘Not far now.’
The city ended suddenly. Green belt, plus the Pentland Hills. The bypass was quiet, Ormiston doing the ton between exits. They came off at Colinton and signalled into the hotel. It was a motorist’s stop, one of a nationwide chain: same prices, same rooms. The cars which crowded the parking area were salesmen’s specials, cigarette packets littering the passenger seats. The reps would be sleeping, or lying in a daze with the TV remote to hand.
Candice seemed reluctant to get out of the car, until she saw that Rebus was coming, too.
‘You light up her life,’ Ormiston
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