The Falls Read Free

from the study. Rebus stuck his head round the door.
    ‘I’m putting the kettle on.’
    ‘Good idea.’ Detective Constable Siobhan Clarke didn’t take her eyes from the computer screen.
    ‘Anything?’
    ‘Tea, please.’
    ‘I meant—’
    ‘Nothing yet. Letters to friends, some of her essays. I’ve got about a thousand e-mails to go through. Her password would help.’
    ‘Mr Costello says she never told him.’
    Clarke cleared her throat.
    ‘What does that mean?’ Rebus asked.
    ‘It means my throat’s tickly,’ Clarke said. ‘Just milk in mine, thanks.’
    Rebus left her and went into the kitchen, filled the kettle and searched for mugs and tea-bags.
    ‘When can I go home?’
    Rebus turned to where Costello was standing in the hall.
    ‘Might be better if you didn’t,’ Rebus told him. ‘Reporters and cameras … they’ll keep on at you, phoning day and night.’
    ‘I’ll take the phone off the hook.’
    ‘Be like being a prisoner.’ Rebus watched the young man shrug. He said something Rebus didn’t catch.
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘I can’t stay here,’ Costello repeated.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I don’t know … it’s just …’ He shrugged again, ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back from his forehead. ‘Flip should be here. It’s almost too much. I keep remembering that the last time we were here together, we were having a row.’
    ‘What was it about?’
    Costello laughed hollowly. ‘I can’t even remember.’
    ‘This was the day she disappeared?’
    ‘The afternoon, yes. I stormed out.’
    ‘You argue a lot then?’ Rebus tried to make the question sound casual.
    Costello just stood there, staring into space, head shaking slowly. Rebus turned away, separated two Darjeeling tea-bags and dropped them into the mugs. Was Costello unravelling? Was Siobhan Clarke listening from behind the study door? They were babysitting Costello, yes, part of a team running three eight-hour shifts, but they’d brought him here for another reason, too. Ostensibly, he was on hand to explain names that occurred in Philippa Balfour’s correspondence. But Rebus had wanted him there because just maybe it was the scene of the crime. And just maybe David Costello had something to hide. The betting at St Leonard’s was even money; you could get two-to-one at Torphichen, while Gayfield had him odds-on favourite.
    ‘Your parents said you could move into their hotel,’ Rebus said. He turned to face Costello. ‘They’ve booked two rooms, so one’s probably going spare.’
    Costello didn’t take the bait. He watched the detective for a few seconds more, then turned away, putting his head around the study door.
    ‘Have you found what you’re looking for?’ he asked.
    ‘It could take some time, David,’ Siobhan said. ‘Best just to let us get on with it.’
    ‘You won’t find any answers in there.’ He meant the computer screen. When she didn’t answer, he straightened a little and angled his head. ‘You’re some sort of expert, are you?’
    ‘It’s something that has to be done.’ Her voice was quiet, as though she didn’t want it to carry beyond the room.
    He seemed about to add something, but thought better of it, and stalked back towards the drawing room instead. Rebus took Clarke’s tea through.
    ‘Now that’s class,’ she said, examining the tea-bag floating in the mug.
    ‘Wasn’t sure how strong you’d want it,’ Rebus explained. ‘What did you think?’
    She considered for a moment. ‘Seems genuine enough.’
    ‘Maybe you’re just a sucker for a pretty face.’
    She snorted, fished the tea-bag out and tipped it into the waste-bin. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘So what’s your thinking?’
    ‘Press conference tomorrow,’ Rebus reminded her. ‘Reckon we can persuade Mr Costello to make a public appeal?’
    Two detectives from Gayfield Square had the evening shift. Rebus headed home and started to fill a bath. He felt like a long soak, and squeezed some washing-up liquid under