Liz. I
am
worried about her, I admit it. I didn’t want to say anything before . . .’
‘Why not, sir?’ So far, the speech sounded well prepared. But then he’d had over an hour in which to prepare it. Soon enough, it would run out. Rebus could be patient. He wondered where Urquhart was . . .
‘Publicity, Inspector. Ian calls Liz my liability. I happen to think he’s going a bit far, but Liz is . . . well, not quite temperamental . . .’
‘You think she saw the newspapers?’
‘Almost certainly. She always buys the tabloids. It’s the gossip she likes.’
‘But she hasn’t been in touch?’
‘No, no, she hasn’t.’
‘And that’s a bit strange, wouldn’t you say?’
Jack creased his face. ‘Yes and no, Inspector. I mean, I don’t know what to think. She’s capable of just laughing the whole thing off. But then again . . .’
‘You think she might harm herself, sir?’
‘Harm herself?’ Jack was slow to understand. ‘You mean suicide? No, I don’t think so, no, not that. But if she felt embarrassed, she might simply disappear. Or something could have happened to her, an accident . . . God knows what. If she got angry enough . . . it’s just possible . . .’ He bowed his head again, elbows resting on his knees.
‘Do you think it’s police business, sir?’
Jack looked up with glinting eyes. ‘That’s the crux, isn’t it? If I report her missing . . . I mean report her
officially
. . . and she’s found, and it turns out she was simply keeping out of things . . .’
‘Does she seem the type who
would
stay out of things, sir?’ Rebus’s thoughts were spinning now. Someone had set Jack up . . . but not his wife, surely? Sunday newspaper thoughts, but still they worried him.
Jack shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s hard to tell with Liz. She’s changeable.’
‘Well, sir, we could make a few discreet inquiries up north. Check hotels, guest houses –’
‘It would have to be hotels, Inspector, where Liz is concerned.
Expensive
hotels.’
‘Okay then, we check hotels, ask around. Any friends she might visit?’
‘Not many.’
Rebus waited, wondering if Jack would change his mind. After all, there was always Andrew Macmillan, the murderer. Someone she probably knew, someone nearby. But Jack merely shrugged and repeated, ‘Not many.’
‘Well, a list would help, sir. You might even contact them yourself. You know, just phoning for a chat. If Mrs Jack was there, they’d be bound to tell you.’
‘Unless she’d told them not to.’
Well, that was true.
‘But then,’ Jack was saying, ‘if it turned out she’d been off to one of the islands and hadn’t heard a thing . . .’
Politics, it was all about politics in the end. Rebus was coming to respect Gregor Jack less, but, in a strange way, like him more. He rose and walked over towards the shelf unit,ostensibly to put his glass there. At the mantelpiece, he stopped by the card and picked it up. The front was a cartoon showing a young man in an open-topped sports car, champagne in an ice bucket on the passenger seat. The message above read GOOD LUCK ! Inside was another message, written in felt pen: ‘Never fear, The Pack is with you’. There were six signatures.
‘Schoolfriends,’ Jack was saying. He came over to stand beside Rebus. ‘And a couple from university days. We’ve stuck pretty close over the years.’
A few of the names Rebus recognized, but he was happy to look puzzled and let Jack provide the information.
‘Gowk, that’s Cathy Gow. She’s Cath Kinnoul now, Kinnoul as in Rab, the actor.’ His finger drifted to the next signature. ‘Tampon is Tom Pond. He’s an architect in Edinburgh. Bilbo, that’s Bill Fisher, works in London for some magazine. He was always daft on Tolkien.’ Jack’s voice had become soft with sentiment. Rebus was thinking of the schoolfriends
he’d
kept up with – a grand total of none. ‘Suey is Ronnie Steele . . .’
‘Why Suey?’
Jack smiled. ‘I’m not
am
worried about her, I admit it. I didn’t want to say anything before . . .’
‘Why not, sir?’ So far, the speech sounded well prepared. But then he’d had over an hour in which to prepare it. Soon enough, it would run out. Rebus could be patient. He wondered where Urquhart was . . .
‘Publicity, Inspector. Ian calls Liz my liability. I happen to think he’s going a bit far, but Liz is . . . well, not quite temperamental . . .’
‘You think she saw the newspapers?’
‘Almost certainly. She always buys the tabloids. It’s the gossip she likes.’
‘But she hasn’t been in touch?’
‘No, no, she hasn’t.’
‘And that’s a bit strange, wouldn’t you say?’
Jack creased his face. ‘Yes and no, Inspector. I mean, I don’t know what to think. She’s capable of just laughing the whole thing off. But then again . . .’
‘You think she might harm herself, sir?’
‘Harm herself?’ Jack was slow to understand. ‘You mean suicide? No, I don’t think so, no, not that. But if she felt embarrassed, she might simply disappear. Or something could have happened to her, an accident . . . God knows what. If she got angry enough . . . it’s just possible . . .’ He bowed his head again, elbows resting on his knees.
‘Do you think it’s police business, sir?’
Jack looked up with glinting eyes. ‘That’s the crux, isn’t it? If I report her missing . . . I mean report her
officially
. . . and she’s found, and it turns out she was simply keeping out of things . . .’
‘Does she seem the type who
would
stay out of things, sir?’ Rebus’s thoughts were spinning now. Someone had set Jack up . . . but not his wife, surely? Sunday newspaper thoughts, but still they worried him.
Jack shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s hard to tell with Liz. She’s changeable.’
‘Well, sir, we could make a few discreet inquiries up north. Check hotels, guest houses –’
‘It would have to be hotels, Inspector, where Liz is concerned.
Expensive
hotels.’
‘Okay then, we check hotels, ask around. Any friends she might visit?’
‘Not many.’
Rebus waited, wondering if Jack would change his mind. After all, there was always Andrew Macmillan, the murderer. Someone she probably knew, someone nearby. But Jack merely shrugged and repeated, ‘Not many.’
‘Well, a list would help, sir. You might even contact them yourself. You know, just phoning for a chat. If Mrs Jack was there, they’d be bound to tell you.’
‘Unless she’d told them not to.’
Well, that was true.
‘But then,’ Jack was saying, ‘if it turned out she’d been off to one of the islands and hadn’t heard a thing . . .’
Politics, it was all about politics in the end. Rebus was coming to respect Gregor Jack less, but, in a strange way, like him more. He rose and walked over towards the shelf unit,ostensibly to put his glass there. At the mantelpiece, he stopped by the card and picked it up. The front was a cartoon showing a young man in an open-topped sports car, champagne in an ice bucket on the passenger seat. The message above read GOOD LUCK ! Inside was another message, written in felt pen: ‘Never fear, The Pack is with you’. There were six signatures.
‘Schoolfriends,’ Jack was saying. He came over to stand beside Rebus. ‘And a couple from university days. We’ve stuck pretty close over the years.’
A few of the names Rebus recognized, but he was happy to look puzzled and let Jack provide the information.
‘Gowk, that’s Cathy Gow. She’s Cath Kinnoul now, Kinnoul as in Rab, the actor.’ His finger drifted to the next signature. ‘Tampon is Tom Pond. He’s an architect in Edinburgh. Bilbo, that’s Bill Fisher, works in London for some magazine. He was always daft on Tolkien.’ Jack’s voice had become soft with sentiment. Rebus was thinking of the schoolfriends
he’d
kept up with – a grand total of none. ‘Suey is Ronnie Steele . . .’
‘Why Suey?’
Jack smiled. ‘I’m not
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