Mortal Causes

Though the bell was a long way off, he heard it. 'Front door,' he said.

'They're early.’

She looked at her watch. 'Well, not much actually. I'd better get the potatoes on.’

'I'll let them in.’

She squeezed his arm as they separated, and Rebus made his way down the hallway towards the front door. He straightened himself, readying the smile he'd be wearing all evening. Then he opened the door.

'Bastard!' Something hissed, a spray-can, and his eyes stung. He'd closed them a moment too late, but could still feel the spray dotting his face. He thought it must be Mace or something similar, and swiped blindly, trying to knock the can out of his assailant's hand. But the feet were already on the stone steps, shuffling upwards and away. He didn't want to open his eyes, so staggered blindly towards the bathroom, his hands feeling the hallway walls, past the bedroom door then hitting the light switch. He slammed the door and locked it as Patience was coming into the hall.

'John? John, what is it?’

'Nothing,' he said through his teeth. 'It's all right.’

'Are you sure? Who was at the door?’

'They were looking for the upstairs neighbours.’

He was running water into the sink. He got his jacket off and plunged his head into the warm water, letting the sink fill, wiping at his face with his hands.

Patience was still waiting on the other side of the bathroom door. 'Something's wrong, John, what is it?’

He didn't say anything. After a few moments, he pried open one eye, ken shut it again. Shit, that stung! He swabbed again with the water, opening his eyes underwater this time. The water seemed murky to him. And when he looked at his hands, they were red and sticky.

Oh Christ, he thought. He forced himself to look in the mirror above the sink. He was bright red. It wasn't like earlier in the day when Smylie had attacked him. It was… paint. That's what it was, red paint. From an aerosol can. Jesus Christ. He staggered out of his clothes and got into the shower, turning his face up to the spray, shampooing s hair as hard as he could, then doing it again. He scrubbed at his face and neck. Patience was at the door again, asking him what the hell he was up to. And then he heard her voice change, rising on the final syllable of a name.

The Bremners had arrived.

He got out of the shower and rubbed himself down with a towel. When he looked at himself again, he'd managed to get a lot of the colour off, but by no means all of it. Then he looked at his clothes. His jacket was dark, and didn't show the paint too conspicuously; conspicuously enough though. As for his good shirt, it was ruined, no question about that. He unlocked the bathroom door and listened. Patience had taken the Bremners into the living room. He padded down the hall into the bedroom, noticing on the way that his hands had left red smears on the wallpaper. In the bedroom he changed quickly into chinos, yellow t-shirt and a linen jacket Patience had bought him for summer walks by the river which they never took.

He looked like a has-been trying to look trendy. It would do. The palms of his hands were still red, but he could say he'd been painting. He popped his head round the living room door.

'Chris, Jenny,' he said. The couple were seated on the sofa. Patience must be in the kitchen. 'Sorry, I'm running a bit late. I'll just dry my hair and I'll be with you.’

'No rush,' said Jenny as he retreated into the hall. He took the telephone into the bedroom and called Dr Curt at home.

'Hello?’

'It's John Rebus here, tell me about Caroline Rattray.’

'Pardon?’

'Tell me what you know about her.’

'You sound smitten,' Curt said, amusement in his voice. 'I'm smitten all right. She's just sprayed me with a can of paint.’

'I'm not sure I caught that.’

'Never mind, just tell me about her. Like for instance, is she the jealous type?’

'John, you've met her. Would you say she's attractive?’

'Yes.’

'And she has a very good career, plenty of money, a lifestyle many would envy?’

'Yes.’

'But does she have any beaux?’

'You mean boyfriends, and the answer is I don't know.’

'Then take it from me, she does not. That's why she can be at a loose end when I have ballet tickets to spare. Ask yourself, why should this be? Answer, because she scares men off. I don't know what's wrong with her, but I know that she's not very good at relationships with the opposite sex. I mean, she has relationships, but they never last very long.’

'You might have told me.’

'I didn't realise you two were an item.’

'We're not.’

'Oh?’

'Only she thinks we are.’

'Then you're in trouble.’

'It looks like it.’

'Sorry I can't be more help. She's always been all right with me, perhaps I could have a word with her…?’

'No thanks, that's my department.’

'Goodbye then, and good luck.’

Rebus waited till Curt had put his receiver down. He listened to the line, then heard another click. Patience had been listening on the kitchen extension. He sat on the bed, staring at his feet, till the door opened.