10 Great Rebus Novels (John Rebus) (387 page)

‘You know damned well where the body was found!’ Alan Archibald snapped.

Oakes turned his lips into a pout. Rebus wanted to see blood there, wanted teeth dislodged and a gushing nose. Instead, his fingernails bit more deeply into his palms.

‘Did you kill her?’ he asked.

‘Kill her when?’

Rebus felt his voice rising. ‘Did you kill her?’

Oakes wagged a finger. ‘I might not have been back that long, but don’t think I don’t know how it’s played. There are two of you. Anything I admit, you’ve got corroboration.’

‘This is between ourselves,’ Alan Archibald said. ‘It’s gone beyond anything I’d take to the police.’

Oakes smiled. ‘How long have you been chasing ghosts? If I say I killed her, will you rest easy in your bed?’ Archibald didn’t answer. ‘How about you, Inspector: any ghosts keeping
you
awake at night?’

As if he knew. Rebus tried not to show anything, but Oakes was nodding, smiling to himself. ‘A career littered with bodies, man,’ Oakes went on, ‘and
I’m
the one they lock up.’ He paused. ‘Tell me something,’ folding his arms, eyes on Archibald now, ‘how did the killer get her up here? Long way to bring a victim.’

‘She was terrified.’

‘What if she wasn’t? What if she was willing? She’d been out drinking, right? Feeling a bit horny . . .’

‘Shut up, Oakes.’

‘I thought you
wanted
me to talk?’ He opened his arms wide. ‘I might just be speculating here, but say he picked
her up, drove her up here. Say it’s exactly what she wanted. I mean, this is a complete stranger she’s in the car with, but tonight she’s in the mood for
danger
. She feels reckless. Who knows, maybe she even
wants
it to happen.’

Archibald turned on him, waving his fist. ‘Don’t talk about her like that.’

‘I’m just—’

‘You abducted her. Knocked her cold and dragged her up here.’

‘Any signs of a struggle, Al? Huh? Did the post-mortem show she’d been dragged anywhere?’

Archibald looked at him. ‘You know it didn’t.’

More laughter. ‘No, Al, I don’t know jack-shit. I’m just guessing, that’s all. Same as you are.’

Oakes started walking again. The wind was rising, a fine rain blowing into their faces, threatening to drench them. Rebus looked back. Already the car was lost to view.

‘It’s OK,’ Archibald assured him. ‘I’m marking our route as we go.’ He had the map folded, tapped a pen against one of the contour lines.

Rebus took the map from him, wanting to be sure. He’d done map-reading in the army. It looked like Archibald knew what he was doing. Rebus nodded and handed the map back. But the look in Archibald’s eyes, that mix of fear and expectation . . . Rebus patted his shoulder.

‘Come on, slowcoaches,’ Oakes said, waiting till they caught up.

‘You took it too far,’ Rebus told him.

‘Huh?’

‘Your little joke with the skip, I didn’t mind that so much. But the cemetery, the patio . . . no way you’re getting away with those.’

‘You’re forgetting your old flame.’ Oakes turned towards him. There wasn’t more than a foot or two between them. ‘I talked to her, remember? How come
she’s not on your little hit-list? She told me the two of you might be hooking up again.’ He tutted. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to let her down? Does she know?’

Rebus caught Oakes a glancing blow. Fist barely connected with cheek, Oakes arching back on the balls of his feet. Fast, he was hellish fast. Didn’t change his stance, so confident, so sure of his opponent. Archibald’s arms wrapped themselves around Rebus, but Rebus shrugged them off.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, voice lacking emotion.

‘Want some more?’ Oakes threw open his arms. ‘I’m right here, man.’ There was a graze on his cheek, but he paid it no notice.

Rebus
knew
he couldn’t afford to lose it; had to stay calm. But Oakes had crawled all the way under his skin. Laughing at him now, putting a theatrical hand to his face.

‘Ouch! That
stings
.’ Laughing all the time. Then walking away, and now it was Archibald’s turn to pat Rebus’s shoulder.

‘I’m OK,’ Rebus told him, making after Oakes.

A little later, Oakes stopped. Visibility was down to a hundred yards, maybe less. ‘Where’s Swanston Village from here?’ he asked. He seemed to have forgotten all about Rebus. Archibald checked the map, pointed with his finger. He was pointing into swirling smoke, pointing into nothingness.

‘It’s like bloody
Brigadoon
,’ Rebus said, lighting a cigarette. Oakes took a bar of chocolate from his pocket, offered it around.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m amazed you’re trusting me. Not you, Mr Archibald, you’ve got no choice. But the Inspector here.’ Oakes fixed Rebus with his dark, peering eyes. ‘You’re a hard man to figure.’

‘And you’re full of shite.’

‘Please, John . . .’ Archibald had a hand on Rebus’s shoulder. Despite his clothing, he looked cold and tired
and suddenly so very old. Rebus realised what this meant to him: an answer, one way or another. Either Oakes had killed his niece – in which case there could be proper grieving – or someone else had, in which case he’d wasted these years with his pet theory, and her killer was still out there somewhere . . .

‘OK, Alan,’ Rebus said. The three of them out here: an old man, a nutter with shorn head and piercing eyes, and John bloody Rebus. Oakes enjoying every moment, Archibald looking as brittle as the chocolate bar.

And Rebus? Trying hard not to add another body to the hill’s death toll.

Oakes offered Archibald his flask, and Archibald took a grateful drink. Rebus declined, and Oakes screwed the top back on.

‘Not having one yourself?’ Rebus asked.

Oakes ignored him, offered him chocolate instead. Rebus again refused.

‘So where exactly are we going?’ Oakes asked.

‘It’s not far now,’ Archibald told him.

Oakes saw Rebus studying him. ‘Got any questions for me yourself, John? Any unsolveds you want to pin on me?’

‘Anything in particular you want me to ask?’

‘Nicely put, sir. I see someone killed Darren Rough.’

‘You were outside my flat that night.’

‘Was I?’

‘You took the car.’ Rebus paused. ‘You saw Rough leave.’

‘Man, I was busy that night, wasn’t I?’ Rebus stared him out. Oakes came close, leaned in towards him as if to speak confidentially. Rebus moved away. ‘I’m not going to bite,’ Oakes said.

‘Say what you were going to say.’

Oakes put on a wounded look. ‘I don’t know if I want to now.’ Then he grinned. ‘But I will anyway. I saw him leave your place, even followed him for a while. I
wondered who he was, only found out later when I saw his picture in the paper.’

‘What happened?’

‘You tell me. I lost him.’ Oakes shrugged. ‘He cut across The Meadows. No way to follow in a car.’ He gave another wink.

‘This is all just another part of your little—’

‘Don’t say it!’ Alan Archibald screeched. ‘Don’t say it’s a game! It’s not a game, not to me!’ He was shaking.

Rebus pointed to Oakes, but spoke to Archibald. ‘This is what he wants. You thought by bringing him up here you’d have the upper hand. Don’t you think he knew that, played on it? Look at him, Alan, he’s laughing at you. He’s laughing at all of us!’

‘I’m not laughing.’ And it was true: Oakes was stony-faced, his eyes on Archibald. He walked up to him, touched his arm. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Come on, you’re right – we’ve got work to do.’

He started walking again. Archibald made to apologise to Rebus, but Rebus waved it aside. Oakes was moving off at a brisk pace, as if determined to finish things. That look on his face . . . Rebus couldn’t read it. There had been something there, a gloss of sympathy. But beneath it he thought he detected something more feral, itself mixed with something like the curiosity of the scientist when faced with some unexpected result.

Visibility was decreasing as they climbed.

‘You’ve been playing a little game with
me
, haven’t you, Al?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, Al, the route you’ve brought us, we’ve already been past the spot where she was killed. I bet you’ve got it all planned so we’ll end up circling it. You want me rattled, don’t you, Al? It’s not going to happen.’

‘How do you know where she was killed?’ Rebus asked.

‘I got all the newspapers. Plus Al kept sending me stuff, didn’t you, Al?’

‘You said you never read any of it,’ Archibald said, trying to catch his breath.

‘So I lied. Thing is, I’m getting a picture in my head . . . They had sex further up the slope. Then she panicked, ran back down. That’s when he hit her. But where they had sex . . . he left something behind.’

‘What?’

‘Hidden.’

‘What?’

‘Alan, he’s—’

Archibald turned on Rebus. ‘Shut up!’ he hissed.

‘I’m seeing three hillocks,’ Oakes called back. ‘If there’s a line of hillocks anywhere nearby, I’d be interested to see them.’

‘Hillocks . . .?’ Archibald broke into a trot, trying to reach Oakes. He had the map in front of his face, seeking the corresponding contours. ‘Maybe just to the west.’

Rebus hadn’t seen him mark anything on the map with his pen, not for a while.

‘How’s our position, Alan?’

But Archibald wasn’t listening, not to Rebus.

‘Maybe three-quarters of the way up the slope,’ Oakes was saying. ‘A line of three . . . maybe four . . . but three distinct outcrops, similar heights.’

‘Hang on a second,’ Archibald said. His finger scratched over the map. He folded it smaller, brought it closer to his face, blinked so as to focus better. ‘Yes, just to the west. That way, about a hundred yards.’

He started to climb. Oakes was already on his way, Rebus bringing up the rear. He looked behind him: couldn’t see a damned thing. It was a landscape out of time. Kilted warriors might have emerged from that mist and he wouldn’t have been surprised. He rounded some bracken and kept moving, his joints aching, a slight burning in his chest. Archibald was moving faster, moving with the zeal of the possessed.

Rebus wanted to tell him:
you’ve
got a map, what’s to
say Oakes didn’t buy one too? What’s to say he didn’t study it, looking for certain features? He might even have been here already on a recce – he’d given his minders the slip plenty of times.

‘Hang on!’ he called, quickening his pace.

‘John!’ Archibald called back, his form ghostlike up ahead. ‘You try that way, we’ll take the other two!’ Meaning Rebus was to explore the easternmost outcrop.

‘Will I need to dig?’ he called out. Receiving laughter in reply: Oakes’s laughter. The more unsettling for the fact he could barely be seen.

‘Will we?’ he heard Archibald asking Oakes.

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Oakes answered. ‘We’ll just leave the bodies where they fall.’

Rebus was still wondering if he’d misheard when he heard the dull sound of an impact, and a distant groan.

‘Oakes!’ he roared, upping his pace. He could make out the shadowy silhouette: Oakes standing over the fallen Archibald, a rock in his hand, raised to strike again.

‘Oakes!’ he repeated.

‘I hear you!’ Oakes yelled back, bringing the rock down on to Archibald’s head.

By now Rebus was almost upon him. Oakes tossed the rock on to the ground and was licking his lips as Rebus reached him. ‘You’ll never know the satisfaction,’ he said. ‘A flea’s been biting me for years, and now I’ve squashed it.’ He slipped a hand into his waistband and brought out a folding knife.

‘Amazing what the human body can hide,’ Oakes said, grinning now. ‘A rock was good enough for the old man, but I thought maybe you deserved something with a bit more bite.’ He lunged. Rebus jumped back, lost his footing and was skidding back down the slope. Above him, he saw Oakes in pursuit, bounding like a mountain goat.

‘I’m going to enjoy this!’ Oakes called. ‘You’ll never know how much!’

Rebus kept himself rolling until bracken stopped him.
He clambered to his feet, picking up a stone and hurling it. His aim was wild. Oakes dodged it easily, only ten yards away now and slowing his descent.

‘Ever skinned a rabbit?’ Oakes said, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his skull.

‘You’re just where I want you,’ Rebus hissed.

Oakes gave a look of mock surprise. ‘And where’s that?’

‘Committing an offence. Now I get to arrest you, and it’s clean.’

‘You get to
arrest
me?’ Spluttering laughter. He was so close, his saliva hit Rebus’s face. ‘Man, you’ve got balls.’ Moving the knife. ‘Enjoy them while you can.’

‘All these games,’ Rebus was saying. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you don’t want us to know. Keeping us all busy so we don’t go looking.’

‘No shit?’

‘What is it?’

But Oakes was shaking his head, working the knife. Rebus turned and ran. Oakes was after him, whooping, bounding through bracken. Rebus looking around, seeing nothing but hillside and a killer with a knife. He stumbled, came to a stop and turned to face Oakes.

‘Gotcha,’ Oakes called out.

Rebus, almost out of breath, just nodded.

‘Know what you are, man?’ Oakes asked. ‘You’re my spot of R&R, that’s all.’

Rebus, walking backwards, started tugging his shirt out of his waistband. Oakes looked puzzled, until Rebus pulled the shirt up, revealing a tiny mike taped to his chest. Oakes looked at him, Rebus holding the stare. Then looked around, seeking shapes.

Voices approaching at speed.

‘Thanks for all that shouting,’ Rebus said. ‘Better than a trail of breadcrumbs any day.’

With a roar, Oakes took a final lunge at him. Rebus sidestepped it, and Oakes was past him and running. Downhill to start with, then changing his mind and
making an arc, climbing now, further into the hills. The first uniforms appeared out of the mist. Rebus pointed after Oakes.

‘Get him!’ he called. Then he started climbing too, making his way back to where Alan Archibald lay, still conscious but with blood pouring from his wounds. Rebus crouched beside him as more uniforms ran past.

‘Radio down for help!’ Rebus called out to them. One of the uniforms turned back to him.