Free Hide And Seek by Ian Rankin

competition. Put obstacles in his way whenever and wherever they could.’
    ‘You mean other photographers?’
    ‘That’s right. Well, when Ronnie was going through his really keen spell, before disillusionment set in, he didn’t know quite how to get the breaks. So he went to a couple of studios, showed some of his work to the guys who worked there. He had some really inspired shots. You know, everyday things seen from weird angles. The Castle, Waverley Monument, Calton Hill.’
    ‘Calton Hill?’
    ‘Yes, the whatsit.’
    ‘The folly?’
    ‘That’s it.’ The towel was slipping a little from around her shoulders, and as Tracy sat with her legs tucked beneath her, sipping tea, it also fell away to reveal more than enough thigh. Rebus tried to concentrate his eyes on her face. It wasn’t easy. ‘Well,’ she was saying, ‘a couple of his ideas got ripped off. He’d see a photo in one of the local rags, and it’d be exactly the angle he’d used, the same time of day, same filters. Those bastards had copied his ideas. He’d see their names beneath the pictures, the same guys he’d shown his portfolio to.’
    ‘What were their names?’
    ‘I don’t remember now.’ She readjusted the towel. There seemed something defensive in the action. Was it so hard to remember a name? She giggled. ‘He tried to get me to pose for him.’
    ‘I saw the results.’
    ‘No, not those ones. You know, nude shots. He said he could sell them for a fortune to some of the magazines. But I wasn’t having it. I mean, the money would’ve been all well and good, but these mags get passed around, don’t they? I mean, they never get thrown away. I’d always be wondering if anybody could recognise me on the street.’ She waited for Rebus’s reaction, and when it was one of thoughtful bemusement, laughed throatily. ‘So, it’s not true what they say. You can embarrass a copper.’
    ‘Sometimes.’ Rebus’s cheeks were tingling. He put a hand self-consciously to one of them. He had to do something about this. ‘So,’ he said, ‘was Ronnie’s camera worth much then?’
    She seemed nonplussed by this turn in the conversation, and pulled the towel even tighter around her. ‘Depends. I mean, worth and value, they’re not the same thing, are they?’
    ‘Aren’t they?’
    ‘Well, he might have paid only a tenner for the camera, but that doesn’t mean it was only worth a tenner to him. Do you see?’
    ‘So he paid a tenner for the camera?’
    ‘No, no, no.’ She shook her head, dislodging the towel.
    ‘I thought you had to be brainy to get in the CID? What I mean is ...’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling, and the towel slipped from her head, so that bedraggled rat‘s-tails of hair strung themselves out across her forehead. ’No, never mind. The camera cost about a hundred and fifty quid. Okay?’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Interested in photography are you?’
    ‘Only since recently. More tea?’
    He poured from the teapot, then added a sachet of sugar. She liked lots of sugar.
    ‘Thanks,’ she said, cradling the mug. ‘Listen.’ She was bathing her face in the steam from the surface of the tea. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’
    Here it comes, thought Rebus: money. He had already made a mental note to check whether anything in the flat was missing before letting her leave. ‘What?’
    Her eyes were on his now. ‘Can I stay the night?’ Her words came out in a torrent. ‘I’ll sleep on the couch, on the floor. I don’t mind. I just don’t want to go back to the squat, not tonight. It’s been getting pretty crazy lately, and those men following me....’ She shivered, and Rebus had to admit that if this were all an act, she was a top-of-the-form drama student. He shrugged, was about to speak, but rose and went to the window instead, deferring a decision.
    The orange street lamps were on, casting a Hollywood film-set glow over the pavement. There was a car outside, directly opposite the flat. Being two floors up, Rebus