‘kit,’” Rebus went on. Whiteread peeled the tape away and looked inside. Desk, chair, a single filing cabinet. No space for anything else, other than what looked like a two-way radio on a shelf. No computers or copiers or fax machines. The desk drawers had been opened, contents examined. Whiteread lifted out a sheaf and started flipping through.
“You’re army,” Rebus stated into the silence. “You might be in mufti, but you’re still army. No women in the SAS as far as I know, so what does that make you?”
She snapped her head towards him. “It makes me someone who can help.”
“Help what?”
“With this sort of thing.” She went back to her work. “To stop it from happening again.”
Rebus stared at her. Siobhan and Simms were standing just outside the door. “Siobhan, call Bobby Hogan for me. I want to know what he knows about these two.”
“He knows we’re here,” Whiteread said, not looking up. “He even told me we might be bumping into you. How else would I know your name?”
Siobhan had the mobile in her hand. “Make the call,” Rebus told her.
Whiteread stuffed the paperwork back into its drawer and pushed it shut. “You never quite made it into the regiment, did you, DI Rebus?” She turned slowly towards him. “Way I hear it, the training broke you.”
“How come you’re not in uniform?” Rebus asked.
“It scares some people,” Whiteread said.
“Is that it? Couldn’t be that you don’t want to add to all the bad publicity?” Rebus was smiling coldly. “Doesn’t look good when one of your own throws a maddie, does it? Last thing you want is to remind everybody that he was one of yours.”
“What’s done is done. If we can stop it from happening again, so much the better.” She paused, standing right in front of him. Half a foot shorter, but every bit his equal. “Why should you have a problem with that?” Now she returned his smile. If his had been cold, hers came straight from the deep freeze. “You fell down, didn’t make the grade. No need to let that get to you, Detective Inspector.”
Rebus heard “Detective” as “Defective.” Either her accent, or she’d been trying for the pun. Siobhan had been connected, but it was taking a few moments for Hogan to come to the phone.
“We should take a look in the boat,” Whiteread said to her partner, squeezing past Rebus.
“There’s a ladder,” Simms said. Rebus tried to place the accent: Lancashire or Yorkshire maybe. Whiteread he wasn’t so sure about. Home Counties, whatever that meant. A kind of generic English as taught in the posher schools. Rebus realized, too, that Simms didn’t appear comfortable in either his suit or this role. Maybe it was a class thing again, or maybe he was new to both.
“First name’s John, by the way,” Rebus told him. “What’s yours?”
Simms looked to Whiteread. “Well, tell the man!” she snapped.
“Gav . . . Gavin.”
“Gav to your friends, Gavin when on business?” Rebus guessed. Siobhan was handing him the phone. He took it.
“Bobby, what the hell are you doing letting two numpties from Her Majesty’s armed forces crawl all over our case?” He paused to listen, then spoke again. “I used the word advisedly, Bobby, as they’re about to start crawling over Herdman’s boat.” Another pause. “That’s hardly the point, though . . .” And then: “Okay, okay. We’re on our way.” He pushed the phone back into Siobhan’s hand. Simms was steadying the ladder while Whiteread climbed.
“We’re just away,” Rebus called to her. “And if we don’t see each other again . . . well, I’ll be crying inside, believe me. The smile will just be for show.”
He waited for the woman to say something, but she was aboard now and seemed to have lost interest in him. Simms was climbing the ladder, giving a backwards glance at the two detectives.
“I’ve half a mind,” Rebus said to Siobhan, “to grab the ladder and run for it.”
“I don’t
“You’re army,” Rebus stated into the silence. “You might be in mufti, but you’re still army. No women in the SAS as far as I know, so what does that make you?”
She snapped her head towards him. “It makes me someone who can help.”
“Help what?”
“With this sort of thing.” She went back to her work. “To stop it from happening again.”
Rebus stared at her. Siobhan and Simms were standing just outside the door. “Siobhan, call Bobby Hogan for me. I want to know what he knows about these two.”
“He knows we’re here,” Whiteread said, not looking up. “He even told me we might be bumping into you. How else would I know your name?”
Siobhan had the mobile in her hand. “Make the call,” Rebus told her.
Whiteread stuffed the paperwork back into its drawer and pushed it shut. “You never quite made it into the regiment, did you, DI Rebus?” She turned slowly towards him. “Way I hear it, the training broke you.”
“How come you’re not in uniform?” Rebus asked.
“It scares some people,” Whiteread said.
“Is that it? Couldn’t be that you don’t want to add to all the bad publicity?” Rebus was smiling coldly. “Doesn’t look good when one of your own throws a maddie, does it? Last thing you want is to remind everybody that he was one of yours.”
“What’s done is done. If we can stop it from happening again, so much the better.” She paused, standing right in front of him. Half a foot shorter, but every bit his equal. “Why should you have a problem with that?” Now she returned his smile. If his had been cold, hers came straight from the deep freeze. “You fell down, didn’t make the grade. No need to let that get to you, Detective Inspector.”
Rebus heard “Detective” as “Defective.” Either her accent, or she’d been trying for the pun. Siobhan had been connected, but it was taking a few moments for Hogan to come to the phone.
“We should take a look in the boat,” Whiteread said to her partner, squeezing past Rebus.
“There’s a ladder,” Simms said. Rebus tried to place the accent: Lancashire or Yorkshire maybe. Whiteread he wasn’t so sure about. Home Counties, whatever that meant. A kind of generic English as taught in the posher schools. Rebus realized, too, that Simms didn’t appear comfortable in either his suit or this role. Maybe it was a class thing again, or maybe he was new to both.
“First name’s John, by the way,” Rebus told him. “What’s yours?”
Simms looked to Whiteread. “Well, tell the man!” she snapped.
“Gav . . . Gavin.”
“Gav to your friends, Gavin when on business?” Rebus guessed. Siobhan was handing him the phone. He took it.
“Bobby, what the hell are you doing letting two numpties from Her Majesty’s armed forces crawl all over our case?” He paused to listen, then spoke again. “I used the word advisedly, Bobby, as they’re about to start crawling over Herdman’s boat.” Another pause. “That’s hardly the point, though . . .” And then: “Okay, okay. We’re on our way.” He pushed the phone back into Siobhan’s hand. Simms was steadying the ladder while Whiteread climbed.
“We’re just away,” Rebus called to her. “And if we don’t see each other again . . . well, I’ll be crying inside, believe me. The smile will just be for show.”
He waited for the woman to say something, but she was aboard now and seemed to have lost interest in him. Simms was climbing the ladder, giving a backwards glance at the two detectives.
“I’ve half a mind,” Rebus said to Siobhan, “to grab the ladder and run for it.”
“I don’t
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