Mortal Causes

Edinburgh's Central Lending Library is situated on George IV Bridge, across the street from the National Library of Scotland. This was student territory, and just off the Royal Mile, and hence at the moment also Festival Fringe territory. Pamphleteers were out in force, still enthusing, sensing audiences to be had now that the least successful shows had packed up and headed home. For the sake of politeness, Rebus took a lurid green flyer from a teenage girl with long blonde hair, and read it as far as the first litter bin, where it joined many more identical flyers.

The Edinburgh Room was not so much a room as a gallery surrounding an open space. Far below, readers in another section of the library were at their desks or browsing among the bookshelves. Not that Mairie Henderson was reading books. She was poring over local newspapers, seated at one of the few readers' tables. Rebus stood beside Mairie, reading over her shoulder. She had a neat portable computer with her, flipped open and plugged into a socket in the library floor. Its screen was milky grey and filled with notes. It took her a minute to sense that there was someone standing over her. She looked round slowly, expecting a librarian.

'Let's talk,' said Rebus.

She saved what she'd been writing and followed him out onto the library's large main staircase. A sign told them not to sit on the window ledges, which were in a dangerous condition. Mairie sat on the top step, and Rebus sat a couple of steps down from her, leaving plenty of room for people to get past.

'I'm in a dangerous condition, too,' he said angrily.

'Why? What's happened?’ She looked as innocent as stained glass.

'Millie Docherty.’

'Yes?’

'You didn't tell me about her.’

'What exactly should I have told you?’

'That you'd been trying to talk to her. Did you succeed?’

'No, why?’

'She's run off:' 'Really?’

She considered this. 'Interesting.’

'What did you want to talk to her about?’

'The murder of one of her flatmates.’

'That's all?’

'Shouldn't it be?’ She was looking interested.

'Funny she does a runner when you're after her. How's the research?’

She'd told him over their drink in Newhaven that she was looking into what she called 'past loyalist activity' in Scotland.

'Slow,' she admitted. 'How's yours?’

'Dead stop,' he lied.

'Apart from Ms Docherty's disappearance. How did you know I wanted to talk to her?’

'None of your business.’

She raised her eyebrows. 'Her flatmate didn't tell you?’

'No comment at this time.’

She smiled.

'Come on,' said Rebus, 'maybe you'll talk over a coffee.’

'Interrogation by scone,' Mairie offered.

They walked the short walk to the High Street and took a right towards St Giles Cathedral. There was a coffee shop in the crypt of St Giles, reached by way of an entrance which faced Parliament House. Rebus glanced across the car park, but there was no sign of Caroline Rattray. The coffee shop though was packed, having not many tables to start with and this still being the height of the tourist season.

'Try somewhere else?’ Mairie suggested.

'Actually,' said Rebus, 'I've gone off the idea. I've got a bit of business across the road.’

Mairie tried not to look relieved. 'I'd caution you,' he warned her, 'not to piss me about.’

'Caution received and understood.’

She waved as she walked off back towards the library. Rebus watched her good legs recede from view. They stayed good-looking all the way out of his vision. Then he threaded his way between the lawyers' cars and entered the court building. He had an idea he was going to leave a note for Caroline Rattray in her box, always supposing she had one. But as he walked into Parliament Hall he saw her talking with another lawyer. There was no chance to retreat; she spotted him immediately. She kept up the conversation for a few more moments, then put her hand on her colleague's shoulder, said a brief farewell, and headed towards Rebus.

It was hard to reconcile her, in her professional garb, with the woman who had spray-painted him the previous night. She left her colleague with a faint smile on her lips, and met Rebus with that same smile. Under her arm were the regulation files and documents.

'Inspector, what brings you here?’

'Can't you guess?’

'Ah yes, of course, I'll send a cheque.’

He had kept telling himself all the way across the car park that he wasn't going to let her get under his skin. Now he found she was already there, like a half inch of syringe.

'Cheque?’

'For the dry cleaning or whatever.’

A passing lawyer nodded to her. 'Hullo, Mansie. Oh, Mansie?’

She spoke with the lawyer for a few moments, her hand on his elbow.

She was offering a cheque for the dry cleaning. Rebus was glad of a few moments in which to cool off: But now someone was tapping his shoulder. He turned to find Mairie Henderson standing there.

'I forgot,'. she said, 'the American's in town.’

'Yes, I know. Have you done anything about him?’

She shook her head. 'Biding my time.’

'Good, no use scaring him off.’