‘Really?’

Rebus sighed. The real world, it seemed, stopped at the door to Costello’s office. This was a lighter realm altogether. He was almost startled by the sudden electronic twittering of the high-tech telephone. Costello apologized and picked up the receiver.

‘Yes? Speaking. Yes, he is. Wait one moment, please.’ He held the receiver out towards Rebus. ‘It’s for you, Inspector,’ Somehow, Rebus wasn’t surprised . . .

‘Hello?’

‘The Chief Superintendent said I’d find you there.’ It was Lauderdale.

‘Good morning to you too, sir.’

‘Cut the crap, John. I’m just in and already a bit of the ceiling’s fallen off and missed my head by inches. I’m not in the mood for it okay?’

‘Understood, sir.’

‘I’m only phoning because I thought you’d be interested.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Forensics didn’t take long with those two glasses you found in Mr Pond’s bathroom.’

Of course they didn’t. They had all the match-up prints they needed, taken so as to eliminate people from Deer Lodge.

‘Guess who they belong to?’ Lauderdale asked.

‘One set will be Mrs Jack, the other set Ronald Steele.’

There was silence on the other end of the telephone.

‘Was I close?’ asked Rebus.

‘How the hell did you know?’

‘What if I told you it was an inspired guess?’

‘I’d tell you you’re a liar. Get back here. We need to talk.’

‘Right you are, sir. Just one more thing . . .?’

‘What?’

‘Mr Glass . . . is he still on for the double?’

The line went dead.

12
Escort Service

The way Rebus saw it . . .

Well, it didn’t take too much brain activity once the name had been established. The way he saw it, Ronald Steele and Elizabeth Jack had been lovers, probably for some time. (Christ, Sir Hugh was going to love this when it came out.) Maybe nobody knew. Maybe everybody but Gregor Jack knew. Anyway, Liz Jack decided to head north, and Steele joined her whenever he could. (Deer Lodge and back every day? A superhuman effort. No wonder Steele looked ready to drop all the time . . .) Deer Lodge itself though was a tip, a heap. So they moved into Pond’s cottage, only using Deer Lodge itself for fetching changes of clothes. Maybe Liz Jack had been fetching clean clothes when she’d stopped and bought the Sunday rags . . . and found out all about her husband’s apparently naughty night.

Steele, though, had plans way above the occasional legover scenario. He wanted Liz. He wanted her to himself. The quiet ones always got intense about that sort of thing, didn’t they? He’d been making anonymous calls maybe. And sending letters. Anything to throw a spanner in the works of the marriage, anything to unsettle Gregor. Maybe that’s why Liz had headed north, to get away from it all. Steele saw his chance. He’d already been to the brothel, and he’d already discovered just who Gail Crawley was. (All it took was a halfway decent memory, and maybe a question or two asked of the likes of Cathy Kinnoul.) Ah, Cathy . . . Yes, maybe Steele was seeing her too. But Rebus doubted it was for anything but conversation and counselling. There was that side to Steele, too.