Tooth and Nail ir-3

by Ian Rankin

  'And you.'

  The girl followed obligingly and Rebus' hurled himself into the cab, slamming shut the door.

  'Drive!' he yelled.

  'I'm not moving till I '-w'

  Rebus shoved his ID against the window' separating the back ' seats of the taxi from the front.

  'Inspector Rebus!' he called. 'This is an emergency. I need to get to the Old Bailey. Break every traffic law you like, I'll; sort it out later. But get your fucking skates on!'

  The driver responded by switching his headlights on full beam before setting out into the traffic.

  'Use your horn!', Rebus called. The driver did, so. A surprising number of cars eased out of his way. Rebus was on the edge of his seat, gripping it with. both hands to stop himself being thrown about. 'How long will it take?"

  'This, time, of day? — Ten or fifteen: minutes. What's the matter, guv? Can't they start without you?'

  Rebus smiled sourly. That was just the problem. Without him, the Wolfman could start whenever he liked. 'I need to use your radio,' he said. The driver slid his window further open.

  'Be my guest,' he said, pulling the, small microphone up, towards Rebus.- He'd worked on the cabs for twenty-odd years, but he'd- never had a fare like this.

  In fact, he was so excited, they were halfway there before he remembered to switch on the meter.

  Rebus had told Flight- as much as he could, trying not to sound hysterical. Flight sounded dubious about the whole thing, but agreed to send men to the Old Bailey. Rebus didn't blame George Flight for being wary. Hard to justify arresting a pillar of society on the strength of a gut feeling. Rebus remembered what else Lisa Frazer had said about serial killers: that they were products of their environments; that their ambitions had been thwarted, leading them to kin members of the social group above ' them. Well, that certainly wasn't true in Malcolm Chambers's case, was it? And what had she said about the Wolfman? His attacks were 'non-confrontational', so perhaps he was like that in his working life. Hah! So much for theory. But now Rebus began to doubt his own instincts. Jesus, what if he was wrong? What if the theory was right? He was going to look more than a little psychologically disturbed himself.

  — Then he recalled something George Flight had said. You could build up as neat a picture as you liked of the killer, but it wouldn't give you a name and address. Psychology was all well and good, but you couldn't beat a good oldfashioned hunch.

  'Nearly there, guv.'

  Rebus tried to' keep his breathing regular. Be calm, John, be calm. However, there were no police cars waiting by the entrance to the Old Bailey: No sirens and armed officers, just' people milling around, people finishing work for the day, people sharing a joke. Rebus' left the cab driver unpaid and untipped — 'I'll settle later' — and pushed open the heavy glass door. Behind more bulletproof glass stood two security personnel., Rebus stuck his ID in front of their noses. One of them' pointed towards the two vertical glass cylinders by which people were admitted to the building one at a time. Rebus went to one cylinder and waited. Nothing happened. Then he remembered, pushed the heel of his hand; against the button and the cylinder door opened. He walked- in. and waited for what seemed an eternity while the door slid shut behind him, before the door in front slid just as slowly open.

  Another guard stood beside the metal detection-equipment. Rebus, still holding open, his ID, walked quickly past until he found himself behind the bulletproof glass of the reception area.

  'Can, I help?', said one of the security men.

  'Malcolm Chambers,' said Rebus. 'He's a barrister. I need to see him urgently.'

  'Mr Chambers? Hold on, I'll just check.'

  'I don't want him to know I'm here,' Rebus warned. 'I just want to know where I can find him.'

  'Just one moment.' The guard moved off, consulting with one of his companions,' then slowly going through a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. Rebus's heart was pounding. He felt like he was about to explode. He couldn't just stand here. He had to do something. Patience, John. Less haste,' more speed, as his father had always said. But what the hell did that mean anyway? Surely haste was a kind of speed?

  The guard was coming back.

  'Yes, Inspector. Mr Chambers has a young lady with him at present. I'm told they're-sitting together upstairs.'

  Upstairs meant the concourse outside the courtrooms. Rebus flew up the imposing flight of steps two at a time. Marble. There was a lot of marble around him. And wood. And glass. The windows seemed huge. Bewigged counsels came down a spiral staircase, deep in conversation. A frayed-looking woman smoked a cheap cigarette as she waited for someone. It was a quiet pandemonium. People were moving past Rebus, moving in the opposite direction from him. Juries, finished for the day. Solicitors and guiltylooking' clients. The woman rose to greet her son. The son's solicitor had a bored, drawn look. The concourse was emptying rapidly, the stairs taking people down to more glass cylinders and to the outside world.

  About thirty yards from where Rebus stood, the two men were sitting, legs crossed, enjoying a cigarette. The two men Flight had sent with Lisa. Her bodyguards. Rebus ran to them.

  'Where is she?'

  They recognised him, seemed to realise immediately that something was wrong, and rose' to their feet. 'She's interviewing some barrister

  'Yes, but where?'

  The man nodded towards one of the courtrooms. Court Eight! Of course: hadn't Cousins been due to give evidence' in Court Eight? And wasn't Malcolm Chambers the prosecuting counsel?

  Rebus pushed through the doors into the courtroom, but, cleaners apart, it was completely empty. There had to be another exit. Of course there was: the green padded door to the side of the jury-box. The door leading to the judges' rooms. He ran across the court and up the steps to the door, pulling it open, finding himself in a bright carpeted corridor. A window, flowers in a pot on a table. A narrow corridor, doors only on one side, the other wall a blank. Judges' names above the › doors. The doors; themselves locked. There was a tiny kitchenette, but it too was empty. One door eventually, gave, and he peered into ay jury room. Empty. Back into the corridor again, hissing now with frustration. A court usher, cradling a mug of tea, — was coming towards him.

  'No one's allowed — '

  'Inspector Rebus,' he said:' 'I'm looking for an advocate …

  I mean, a barrister: Malcolm Chambers. He was here with a young woman.'

  'They've just left.'

  'Left?'-

  She gestured along towards the far end of-the corridor. 'It leads to the underground car park. That's where- they were headed.' Rebus made to squeeze past her. 'You won't catch them now,' she said. 'Not unless they're having trouble with the car.'

  Rebus thought about- it, gnawing at his bottom lip. There wasn't time. His first decision had to be the right one. Decision made, — he turned from the usher, and ran back towards the court, back across the court itself and. out into the concourse.

  'They've gone!' he yelled to the bodyguards. 'Tell Flight! Tell him they're in Chambers's car!' And then he was off again, down the steps towards the exit, pausing only to grab at a security man's sleeve. 'The car park exit, where is it?'

  'Round the other side of the building.' ' -

  Rebus stuck a finger in the guard's face. 'Buzz down to the car park. Don't let Malcolm Chambers leave.' The, guard stood there dumbly, staring at the finger. 'Do it!'

  And then he was off again, running, taking the stairs down three at a time, great leaps which almost sent him flying. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd waiting to leave.

  'Police,' he said, 'emergency.' Nobody said anything. They were like cows, patiently waiting to be milked. Even so, it took a silent scream of an age, for the cylinder to empty its cargo, close its doors, then open them again for Rebus. -

  'Come on, come on.' And then the door sucked itself open and he was out, out in the foyer, bursting through the main doors. He ran up to, the corner, took a right, and ran again along the face of the buildin
g. Another right. He was on the other side of the building now. Where the car; park exit was. A slope of road down into darkness. The car screeched as it came. to the surface, hardly slowing as it climbed the hill to Newgate Street. It was a long gloss-black BMW. And in the passenger seat sat Lisa Frazer, looking relaxed, smiling, talking to the driver, not realising.

  'Lisa!' But he was too far away, the traffic around him too loud. 'Lisa!' Before he could reach it, the car had turned into a flow of traffic and disappeared. Rebus cursed under his breath. Then looked around him for the first time and saw that he was standing next to a parked Jaguar, in the front of which sat a liveried chauffeur, staring out of the window at him. Rebus yanked at the doorhandle and threw open the door, reaching in with one hand to pull out the bemused driver. He was getting to be a dab hand at, this: relieving people of their' vehicles.

  'Hoi! What- the bleedin' 'ell — '

  The man's cap rolled along the ground, given force by a gust of wind. For a moment, he knelt on the pavement, undecided whether to rescue the cap or the car. The moment was enough. Rebus gunned the engine and pulled, away from the kerb, horns' sounding behind him as he did so. At the top of the slight incline, he pressed his hand hard on the horn and careered left into the main road. A squeal of brakes. More horns. The pedestrians looking at him as though he were mad.

  'Need lights,' he said to himself, — glancing at the dashboard. Eventually, he found the headlamp switch and flipped them to full beam. Then took a hard right to bring himself into the middle of the road, passing the traffic, scraping the passenger side against an oncoming red bus,' clipping a central bollard, uprooting the flimsy plastic construction and sending it flying- into, the path of the oncoming traffic

  They couldn't be too' far ahead of him. Yes! He caught a glimpse of the BMW's tail-lights as it braked to turn a corner. He'd be damned if they'd lose him.

  'Excuse me?'

  Rebus flinched, startled, and nearly pulled the car onto the pavement. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw an elderly gentleman sitting in the back seat, arms spread so as to keep himself upright. He appeared calm as he leaned forward towards Rebus.

  'Would you kindly mind telling me what's going on? Am I-being kidnapped?'

  Rebus recognised the voice before he remembered the face. It was the judge from the Watkiss case. Jesus Christ, he'd run off with a judge!

  'Only, if you are kidnapping me,' the judge went on, 'perhaps you'd allow me to call my wife. She'll burn the chops otherwise.'

  Call! Rebus looked down again. Below the dashboard, between the driver's and front passenger seats, there was a neat black car-phone.

  'Do you mind if I use your phone?' he asked, grinning with a face full of adrenalin.

  'Be my guest.'

  Rebus grabbed at the contraption and fiddled as he drove, his steering becoming more 'erratic than ever.

  'Press the button marked TRS,' the judge suggested.

  'Thank you, your honour.'

  'You know who I am? I thought I recognised the face. Have I had you before me recently?'

  But Rebus had dialled and was now waiting for the call to be answered. It seemed to take forever. And meantime, the BMW had nipped across an amber traffic light;

  'Hold tight,' Rebus said, baring his teeth. The horn was a banshee-'wail as they pushed past' the waiting traffic and flew across the intersection, traffic from left and right braking hard. One car dented the back of another. A, motorcycle slewed on the greasy road. But they, were across. The BMW was. still in sight, less than half a dozen cars ahead now, yet still apparently unaware of ' the pursuing demon.

  Finally, the call was answered.

  'It's Rebus here.' Then, for his passenger's sake: 'Detective Inspector Rebus. I need to speak to Flight. Is he there?' There was a long pause. The connection crackled wildly, as though about to short out altogether. Rebus gripped the handset between hunched shoulder and angled cheek, driving with both hands' to take first one bend and then another.

  'John? Where are you?' Flight's voice sounded metallic and distant.

  'I'm in a car,' said Rebus, 'a car I commandeered. I'm following Chambers. He's got Lisa Frazer with him. I don't think she knows he's the Wolfman.'

  'But for Christ's sake, John, is he the Wolfman?'

  'I'll ask him when I catch him. Did you send any cars to the Old Bailey?'

  'I sent one, yes.'

  'That was generous.' Rebus saw what was ahead. 'Oh shit!' He braked hard, but not hard enough. The old lady was shuffling slowly across the zebra crossing, her shopping trolley a step behind her like a pet poodle. Rebus swerved but couldn't avoid winging the trolley. It flew into the air as though fired from a cannon, dispensing groceries as it went: eggs, butter, flour, cornflakes raining down on the road. Rebus heard the woman screaming. At worst she'd have a broken arm. No, at worst the shock would kill her.

  'Oh shit,' he said again.

  The judge was staring out of the rear window. 'I think she's all right,' he said.

  'John?' It was Flight's tin-can voice on the line. 'Who was that speaking?'

  'Oh,' said Rebus. 'That was the judge. It's his Jaguar I've commandeered.' He had found the windscreen wiper switch and was letting them deal with the pancake mixture on the windscreen.

  'You what?' So that was what a roar sounded like. The BMW was still in sight. But it had slowed a little, perhaps aware of the incident behind it.

  'Never mind,' said Rebus. 'Look, just get some patrol cars up here. We're on …' He glanced out of windscreen and side window, but could see no street signs.

  'High Holborn,' said the judge.

  'Thanks,' said Rebus. 'We're on High Holborn, George.'

  'Wait a second,' said Flight.- There was a muffled exchange at his end of the line. Then he came back on again. He sounded tired. 'Please, John, tell me it isn't you behind these reports we're getting. The switchboards are lighting up like Christmas trees.'

  .’That's probably us, George. We took a bollard out a little way back, caused a couple of accidents and now we've just sent an old woman's messages flying everywhere. Yes, that's us.'

  If Flight groaned, he did so quietly. Then: 'What if it's not him, John? What if you're wrong?'

  'Then it's all a bit of a balls-up, George, and I'll probably get to see what the inside of a dole office looks like, if not a prison cell.. Meanwhile, get those coppers down here!' Rebus looked at the handset. 'Judge, help me. How do I '

  'Just press Power.' Rebus did, and the illuminated digits faded.

  'Thanks,' he said.

  The traffic was slowing, a jam of lights up ahead. 'And,' the judge was saying, 'if you intend using the apparatus again, I should probably inform you that it can be used in hands-free mode. Just dial and leave: it in its little compartment there. You'll be able to hear the caller and they'll be able to hear you.' Rebus nodded- his thanks. The judge's 'head was close to Rebus's ear, peering, over his shoulder at the road ahead.

  'So,' he said excitedly, 'you think Malcolm Chambers is behind, all these killings?'-'

  'That's right.'

  'And what evidence do you have,Inspector?'

  Rebus laughed, and tapped his head. 'Just this, your lordship, just this.'

  'Remarkable,' said the judge. He seemed to be considering something. 'I' always thought Malcolm was rather an odd young man. Fine in court, of.course, very much the star prosecutor, playing to the gallery and what- have you. But outside the courtroom, he seemed very different. Oh, very different indeed. Almost sullen, as though his mind were wandering.'

  His mind had wandered all right, thought Rebus, wandered all the way over the edge.

  'Would you like to speak to him?'

  'You think. I'm chasing him for a bet?'

  The judge chuckled, pointing to the car-phone. 'I meant talk to him right now.'

  Rebus went rigid. 'You mean you've got his number?' 'Oh yes.'

  Rebus thought it over, but shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'He's got someone with him. An inn
ocent woman. I don't want to panic him.'

  'I see,' said the judge, settling back again. 'Yes, I suppose you're right. I hadn't thought of that.'

  And then there was an electric purring inside the car, was the phone, its display illuminated now and flashing. Rebus handed the set to the judge.

  'Probably for you,' he said drily.

  'No,' said the judge, 'just put it back and press Receive.'

  Rebus did so. Only then did the judge speak. 'Hello?' The voice was clear, the reception signal strong.

  'Edward? Is that you following me?'

  It was Chambers' voice, sounding amused about some thing. The judge' stared at Rebus, who could offer no suggestion, for an answer.

  'Malcolm?' said the judge, his composure intact. 'Is that you?'

  'You should know. You're only about twenty yards behind me.'

  'Am I? Which road are you on?'

  The voice altered, taking on an edge' of sudden viciousness. 'Don't fuck with me, Ted! Who's- driving' the fucking car? — Can't be you, you haven't even got a licence. Who is it?'

  The judge looked to Rebus- again, seeking guidance. They listened together in silence and heard Lisa's faint voice.

  'What's going on?' she was saying. 'What's happening?'

  Then Chambers's voice. 'Shut up, bitch! You'll get yours.' The voice rose a chilling octave, sounding like a bad female impersonator,' making the hairs on Rebus's neck bristle. 'You'll get yours.' Then it dropped again, speaking into the handset. 'Hello? Who's that? Who's there? I can hear you breathing, you little shit.' Rebus bit his lip. Was it better to let Chambers know, or to stay silent? He stayed silent.

  ,’Oh well,' said Chambers with a sigh, as though resigned to this stalemate. 'Out she goes.'

  Ahead, Rebus saw the BMW's passenger door swing open as the car veered onto the pavement.

  'What are you doing!' screamed Lisa. 'No! No! Let me go!'

  'Chambers!' Rebus yelled towards the handset. 'Leave, her!' The. BMW swerved back into the road, the door drifting shut. There was a pause.

  'Hello,', said Chambers's voice. 'To whom am I speaking?'