10 Great Rebus Novels (John Rebus) (85 page)

About thirty yards from where Rebus stood, the two men were sitting, legs crossed, enjoying a cigarette. The two men Flight had sent with Lisa. Her bodyguards. Rebus ran to them.

‘Where is she?’

They recognised him, seemed to realise immediately that something was wrong, and rose to their feet.

‘She’s interviewing some barrister –’

‘Yes, but
where
?’

The man nodded towards one of the courtrooms. Court Eight! Of course: hadn’t Cousins been due to give evidence in Court Eight? And wasn’t Malcolm Chambers the prosecuting counsel?

Rebus pushed through the doors into the courtroom, but, cleaners apart, it was completely empty. There had to be another exit. Of course there was: the green padded door to the side of the jury-box. The door leading to the judges’ rooms. He ran across the court and up the steps to the door, pulling it open, finding himself in a bright carpeted corridor. A window, flowers in a pot on a table. A narrow corridor, doors only on one side, the other wall a blank. Judges’ names above the doors. The doors themselves locked. There was a tiny kitchenette, but it too was empty. One door eventually gave, and he peered into a jury room. Empty. Back into the corridor again, hissing now with frustration. A court usher, cradling a mug of tea, was coming towards him.

‘No one’s allowed –’

‘Inspector Rebus,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for an advocate . . . I mean, a barrister. Malcolm Chambers. He was here with a young woman.’

‘They’ve just left.’

‘Left?’

She gestured along towards the far end of the corridor. ‘It leads to the underground car park. That’s where they were headed.’ Rebus made to squeeze past her. ‘You won’t catch them now,’ she said. ‘Not unless they’re having trouble with the car.’

Rebus thought about it, gnawing at his bottom lip. There wasn’t time. His first decision had to be the right one. Decision made, he turned from the usher and ran back towards the court, back across the court itself and out into the concourse.

‘They’ve gone!’ he yelled to the bodyguards. ‘Tell Flight! Tell him they’re in Chambers’s car!’ And then he was off again, down the steps towards the exit, pausing only to grab at a security man’s sleeve. ‘The car park exit, where is it?’

‘Round the other side of the building.’

Rebus stuck a finger in the guard’s face. ‘Buzz down to the car park. Don’t let Malcolm Chambers leave.’ The guard stood there dumbly, staring at the finger. ‘
Do it!
’

And then he was off again, running, taking the stairs down three at a time, great leaps which almost sent him flying. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd waiting to leave.

‘Police,’ he said, ‘emergency.’ Nobody said anything. They were like cows, patiently waiting to be milked. Even so, it took a silent scream of an age for the cylinder to empty its cargo, close its doors, then open them again for Rebus.

‘Come on, come on.’ And then the door sucked itself open and he was out, out in the foyer, bursting through the main doors. He ran up to the corner, took a right, and ran again along the face of the building. Another right. He was on the other side of the building now. Where the car park exit was. A slope of road down into darkness. The car screeched as it came to the surface, hardly slowing as it climbed the hill to Newgate Street. It was a long gloss-black BMW. And in the passenger seat sat Lisa Frazer, looking relaxed, smiling, talking to the driver, not realising.

‘Lisa!’ But he was too far away, the traffic around him too loud. ‘Lisa!’ Before he could reach it, the car had turned into a flow of traffic and disappeared. Rebus cursed under his breath. Then looked around him for the first time and saw that he was standing next to a parked Jaguar, in the front of which sat a liveried chauffeur, staring out of the window at him. Rebus yanked at the doorhandle and threw open the door, reaching in with one hand to pull out the bemused driver. He was getting to be a dab hand at this: relieving people of their vehicles.

‘Hoi! What the bleedin’ ’ell –’

The man’s cap rolled along the ground, given force by a gust of wind. For a moment, he knelt on the pavement, undecided whether to rescue the cap or the car. The moment was enough. Rebus gunned the engine and pulled away from the kerb, horns sounding behind him as he did so. At the top of the slight incline, he pressed his hand hard on the horn and careered left into the main road. A squeal of brakes. More horns. The pedestrians looking at him as though he were mad.

‘Need lights,’ he said to himself, glancing at the dashboard. Eventually, he found the headlamp switch and flipped them to full beam. Then took a hard right to bring himself into the middle of the road, passing the traffic, scraping the passenger side against an oncoming red bus, clipping a central bollard, uprooting the flimsy plastic construction and sending it flying into the path of the oncoming traffic.

They couldn’t be too far ahead of him. Yes! He caught a glimpse of the BMW’s tail-lights as it braked to turn a corner. He’d be damned if they’d lose him.

‘Excuse me?’

Rebus flinched, startled, and nearly pulled the car onto the pavement. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw an elderly gentleman sitting in the back seat, arms spread so as to keep himself upright. He appeared calm as he leaned forward towards Rebus.

‘Would you kindly mind telling me what’s going on? Am I being kidnapped?’

Rebus recognised the voice before he remembered the face. It was the judge from the Watkiss case. Jesus Christ, he’d run off with a judge!

‘Only, if you are kidnapping me,’ the judge went on, ‘perhaps you’d allow me to call my wife. She’ll burn the chops otherwise.’

Call! Rebus looked down again. Below the dashboard, between the driver’s and front passenger seats, there was a neat black car-phone.

‘Do you mind if I use your phone?’ he asked, grinning with a face full of adrenalin.

‘Be my guest.’

Rebus grabbed at the contraption and fiddled as he drove, his steering becoming more erratic than ever.

‘Press the button marked TRS,’ the judge suggested.

‘Thank you, your honour.’

‘You know who I am? I thought I recognised the face. Have I had you before me recently?’

But Rebus had dialled and was now waiting for the call to be answered. It seemed to take forever. And meantime, the BMW had nipped across an amber traffic light.

‘Hold tight,’ Rebus said, baring his teeth. The horn was a banshee wail as they pushed past the waiting traffic and flew across the intersection, traffic from left and right braking hard. One car dented the back of another. A motorcycle slewed on the greasy road. But they were across. The BMW was still in sight, less than half a dozen cars ahead now, yet still apparently unaware of the pursuing demon.

Finally, the call was answered.

‘It’s Rebus here.’ Then, for his passenger’s sake: ‘Detective Inspector Rebus. I need to speak to Flight. Is he there?’ There was a long pause. The connection crackled wildly, as though about to short out altogether. Rebus gripped the handset between hunched shoulder and angled cheek, driving with both hands to take first one bend and then another.

‘John? Where are you?’ Flight’s voice sounded metallic and distant.

‘I’m in a car,’ said Rebus, ‘a car I commandeered. I’m following Chambers. He’s got Lisa Frazer with him. I don’t think she knows he’s the Wolfman.’

‘But for Christ’s sake, John,
is
he the Wolfman?’

‘I’ll ask him when I catch him. Did you send any cars to the Old Bailey?’

‘I sent one, yes.’

‘That was generous.’ Rebus saw what was ahead. ‘Oh shit!’ He braked hard, but not hard enough. The old lady was shuffling slowly across the zebra crossing, her shopping trolley a step behind her like a pet poodle. Rebus swerved but couldn’t avoid winging the trolley. It flew into the air as though fired from a cannon, dispensing groceries as it went: eggs, butter, flour, cornflakes raining down on the road. Rebus heard the woman screaming. At worst she’d have a broken arm. No, at worst the shock would kill her.

‘Oh shit,’ he said again.

The judge was staring out of the rear window. ‘I think she’s all right,’ he said.

‘John?’ It was Flight’s tin-can voice on the line. ‘Who was that speaking?’

‘Oh,’ said Rebus. ‘That was the judge. It’s his Jaguar I’ve commandeered.’ He had found the windscreen wiper switch and was letting them deal with the pancake mixture on the windscreen.

‘You
what
?’ So that was what a roar sounded like. The BMW was still in sight. But it had slowed a little, perhaps aware of the incident behind it.

‘Never mind,’ said Rebus. ‘Look, just get some patrol cars up here. We’re on . . .’ He glanced out of windscreen and side window, but could see no street signs.

‘High Holborn,’ said the judge.

‘Thanks,’ said Rebus. ‘We’re on High Holborn, George.’

‘Wait a second,’ said Flight. There was a muffled exchange at his end of the line. Then he came back on again. He sounded tired. ‘Please, John, tell me it isn’t you behind these reports we’re getting. The switchboards are lighting up like Christmas trees.’

‘That’s probably us, George. We took a bollard out a little way back, caused a couple of accidents and now we’ve just sent an old woman’s messages flying everywhere. Yes, that’s us.’

If Flight groaned, he did so quietly. Then: ‘What if it’s not him, John? What if you’re wrong?’

‘Then it’s all a bit of a balls-up, George, and I’ll probably get to see what the inside of a dole office looks like, if not a prison cell. Meanwhile, get those coppers down here!’ Rebus looked at the handset. ‘Judge, help me. How do I –’

‘Just press Power.’ Rebus did, and the illuminated digits faded.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

The traffic was slowing, a jam of lights up ahead. ‘And,’ the judge was saying, ‘if you intend using the apparatus again, I should probably inform you that it can be used in hands-free mode. Just dial and leave it in its little compartment there. You’ll be able to hear the caller and they’ll be able to hear you.’ Rebus nodded his thanks. The judge’s head was close to Rebus’s ear, peering over his shoulder at the road ahead.

‘So,’ he said excitedly, ‘you think Malcolm Chambers is behind all these killings?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And what evidence do you have, Inspector?’

Rebus laughed, and tapped his head. ‘Just this, your lordship, just this.’

‘Remarkable,’ said the judge. He seemed to be considering something. ‘I always thought Malcolm was rather an odd young man. Fine in court, of course, very much the star prosecutor, playing to the gallery and what have you. But outside the courtroom, he seemed very different. Oh, very different indeed. Almost sullen, as though his mind were wandering.’

His mind had wandered all right, thought Rebus, wandered all the way over the edge.

‘Would you like to speak to him?’

‘You think I’m chasing him for a bet?’

The judge chuckled, pointing to the car-phone. ‘I meant talk to him right now.’

Rebus went rigid. ‘You mean you’ve got his number?’

‘Oh yes.’

Rebus thought it over, but shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He’s got someone with him. An innocent woman. I don’t want to panic him.’

‘I see,’ said the judge, settling back again. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.’

And then there was an electric purring inside the car. It was the phone, its display illuminated now and flashing. Rebus handed the set to the judge.

‘Probably for you,’ he said drily.

‘No,’ said the judge, ‘just put it back and press Receive.’ Rebus did so. Only then did the judge speak. ‘Hello?’

The voice was clear, the reception signal strong. ‘Edward? Is that you following me?’

It was Chambers’s voice, sounding amused about something. The judge stared at Rebus, who could offer no suggestion for an answer.

‘Malcolm?’ said the judge, his composure intact. ‘Is that you?’

‘You should know. You’re only about twenty yards behind me.’

‘Am I? Which road are you on?’

The voice altered, taking on an edge of sudden viciousness. ‘Don’t fuck with me, Ted! Who’s driving the fucking car? Can’t be you, you haven’t even got a licence. Who is it?’

The judge looked to Rebus again, seeking guidance. They listened together in silence and heard Lisa’s faint voice.

‘What’s going on?’ she was saying. ‘What’s happening?’

Then Chambers’s voice. ‘Shut up, bitch! You’ll get yours.’ The voice rose a chilling octave, sounding like a bad female impersonator, making the hairs on Rebus’s neck bristle. ‘You’ll get yours.’ Then it dropped again, speaking into the handset. ‘Hello? Who’s that? Who’s there? I can hear you breathing, you little shit.’ Rebus bit his lip. Was it better to let Chambers know, or to stay silent? He stayed silent.

‘Oh well,’ said Chambers with a sigh, as though resigned to this stalemate. ‘Out she goes.’

Ahead, Rebus saw the BMW’s passenger door swing open as the car veered onto the pavement.

‘What are you doing!’ screamed Lisa. ‘No! No! Let me go!’

‘Chambers!’ Rebus yelled towards the handset. ‘Leave her!’ The BMW swerved back into the road, the door drifting shut. There was a pause.

‘Hello,’ said Chambers’s voice. ‘To whom am I speaking?’

‘My name’s Rebus. We met at –’

‘John!’ It was Lisa’s voice, very afraid now, almost hysterical. The sound of the slap was a static crack in Rebus’s ear.

‘I said leave her!’ Rebus yelled.

‘I know you did,’ said Chambers, ‘but then you’re hardly in a position to give orders. Anyway, now that I know you two know each other, that makes things interesting, doesn’t it, Inspector?’

‘You remember me?’

‘I have an intimate knowledge of everyone on the Wolfman case. I’ve taken an interest in it from the start – for obvious reasons. There was always someone around willing to tell what they knew.’

‘So you could keep one step ahead?’

‘
One
step?’ Chambers laughed. ‘You flatter yourself. So tell me, Inspector, what do we do now? Do you stop your car – Edward’s car, I should say – or do I kill your friend here? Do you know, she wanted to ask
me
about the psychology of court trials. She couldn’t have picked better, could she, the little bitch?’ Lisa was sobbing. Rebus could hear her, and every sound cut him a little deeper. ‘Picture in the paper,’ Chambers was cooing. ‘Picture in the paper with the big tough detective.’