Читаем Strip Jack полностью

'Mind out for the shoogly leg,' warned Rebus. 'Any progress on Steele?'

'Not much.' Holmes paused. 'None at all, really. Why didn't he take his car?'

'We know it too well, remember? I thought you were responsible for putting together that list? Everybody in the world's car make, colour and registration number. Oh no, I forgot, you delegated the work to a detective constable.'

'What was it for anyway?' Rebus stared at him. 'Seriously. I'm just a sergeant, as you'll recall. Nobody tells me anything. Lauderdale was vaguer even than usual.'

'Mrs Jack's BMW was parked in a lay-by,' explained Rebus.

'That much I knew.'

'So was another car. An eye witness said it might be blue. It wasn't, it was green.'

'That reminds me,' said Holmes, 'I meant to ask you: what was she waiting around for?'

'Who?'

'Mrs Jack. At that lay-by, what was she hanging around there for?' While Rebus considered this, Holmes thought of another question. 'What about Mr Jack's car?'

Rebus sighed. 'What about it?'

'Well, I didn't get a good look at it that night you dragged me out there… I mean, it was in the garage, and there were lights to the front and back of the house, but not to the side. But you did say to have a snoop. The side door to the garage was open, so I wandered in. Too dark really, and I couldn't find the light switch…'

'Jesus Christ, Brian, get on with it!'

'Well, I was only going to ask: what about the car in Jack's garage? It was blue. At least, I think it was blue.'

This time, Rebus rubbed his temples. 'It's white,' he explained, slowly. 'It's a white Saab.'

But Holmes was shaking his head. 'Blue,' he said. 'It could never have been white, it was blue. And it was an Escort, definitely an Escort.'

Rebus stopped rubbing his temples. 'What?'

There was some stuff on the passenger seat, too. I peered in through the side window. All that bumpf they give you with hire cars. That sort of thing. Yes, the more I think back on it, the clearer it comes. A blue Ford Escort. And whatever else was in that garage, there certainly wasn't room to swing a Saab…'

No rooster now, no strutting cock, no bloodhound. But rather cowed, sheepish, with his tail between his legs… Rebus took Holmes and his story to Watson first, and Watson called for Lauderdale.

'I thought,' Lauderdale said to Rebus, 'you told us Mr Jack's car was white.;'

'It is white, sir.'

'You're sure it was a hire car?' Watson asked Holmes. Holmes thought again before nodding. This was serious. He was where he wanted to be, in the thick of things, but he was realizing, too, that here one mistake – one slightest error -could send him to limbo.

'We can check,' said Rebus.

'How?'

'Phone Gregor Jack's house and ask.'

'And warn him off?'

'We don't have to talk to Jack. Ian Urquhart or Helen Greig would know.'

'They could still tip him off.'

'Maybe. Of course, there's another possibility. The car Brian saw could have been Urquhart's or even Miss Greig's.'

'Miss Greig doesn't drive,' said Holmes. 'And Urquhart's car's nothing like the one I saw. Remember, they've all been checked.'

'Well, whatever,' said Watson, 'let's tread carefully, eh? Get on to the hire firms first.'

'What about Steele?' Rebus asked.

'Until we know what we're dealing with, we still want to talk to him.'

'Agreed,' said Lauderdale. He seemed aware that Watson was back in control, at least for now.

'Well,' said Watson, 'what are you all waiting for? Jump to it!'

They jumped.

There weren't that many hire firms in Edinburgh, and the third call brought a result. Yes, Mr Jack had hired a car for a few days. Yes, a blue Ford Escort. Did he give any reason for the hire? Yes, his own car was going in for a service.

And, thought Rebus, he needed a change of cars so he could escape the attentions of the press. Christ, hadn't Rebus put the idea into his head himself? Your car's out there… being photographed… everyone'll know what it looks like. So Jack had hired another car for a few days, just to help him get around incognito.

Rebus stared at the office wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He would have banged his head against the wall if he could have been sure it wouldn't fall down…

It had been a devil of a job, the man from the hire firm said. The client had wanted his car-phone transferred from his own car to the hire car.

Of course: how else could Liz Jack have contacted him? He had been on the move all day, hadn't he?

Had the hire car been cleaned since its return? Naturally, a full valet service. What about the boot? The boot? The boot, had it been cleaned too? A bit of a wipe maybe… Where was the car now? On hire again, a London businessman. A forty-eight-hour hire only, and due back by six o'clock. It was now a quarter to five. Two CID men would be waiting to drive it from the car-hire offices to the police pound. Were there any forensics people available at Fettes HQ…?