Let It Bleed

by Ian Rankin

  Rebus wanted to go back a stage or two. ‘Is that how a lot of it works? Who you know?’

  ‘Oh, definitely.’

  ‘And bribes?’

  ‘Not for me to say.’

  Why not? thought Rebus. You’ve said every bloody thing but. It was two-thirty, the restaurant empty save for their table.

  ‘I mean,’ McAllister said, ‘one man’s bribe is another’s “financial incentive”. Look at Pergau Dam. There’s always room to bend the rules without necessarily breaking them. Regional Selective Assistance, for example, was and is discretionary. Who’s to say it doesn’t make a difference if the person applying for it went to school with the person who’ll make the final decision? It’s the way the world turns, Inspector.’ He tried to find some dregs of coffee in his cup, then unwrapped the amaretto biscuit.

  Rebus paid their bill, and the waiter locked the door after them. McAllister’s face was flushed, his cheeks a network of broken blood vessels. Now that he’d asked his questions, Rebus was keen to be elsewhere. There was something about McAllister he didn’t like. He knew how easy it was to cover something up by talking about it at length. One confession could be made to disguise another. He’d had cleverer men than McAllister in the interview room, but not very many …

  The two men shook hands.

  ‘I appreciate you taking the time and trouble, sir,’ Rebus said.

  ‘Not at all, Inspector. I appreciate you paying for lunch. Besides, who knows? Maybe one day I might need a favour from you.’ McAllister winked.

  ‘You might at that,’ Rebus said.

  After all, it was the way the world turned, the civil servant was right about that. Rebus turned and headed off in any direction that wasn’t McAllister’s.

  22

  ‘All I’ve got,’ Rebus admitted, ‘are questions and loose ends, and none of it is getting me any closer to why McAnally killed himself or why the councillor’s so scared. Added to that, the Lord Provost sees the word Dalgety scrawled on a sheet of paper and suddenly doesn’t want us looking for his daughter any more.’

  He was on the phone to St Leonard’s, speaking with Brian Holmes. The drip from the radiator was getting worse. His mouth was getting worse. Behind him in the living room were the binbags full of paper. All the answers, he felt, were there, just beyond his abilities.

  ‘So?’ said Holmes.

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  Rebus pushed at the skin around his nose, feeling the pressure increase on his poor tooth. ‘The reason I phoned,’ he said, ‘is to ask what the state of play is with friend Duggan.’

  Holmes rustled some papers. ‘Now there I can help you. Paul Duggan is Edinburgh’s answer to Rachman. He’s been cheating the council for years. Lives with his parents, doesn’t pay them a penny rent, but he’s applied for and been allotted four council properties … that’s how many we’ve traced so far, there could be others. He doesn’t mind hard-to-let flats, that’s his secret.’

  ‘How does he do it?’

  ‘A series of pseudonyms, plus girls he drags along to Housing Office interviews with a few bambinos in tow. The girls are friends of his, the kids aren’t his.’

  ‘But he becomes their father for the duration of the interview?’

  ‘And gets himself priority listed. Once he’s been allocated a place, all he does is let it out. I’m amazed he can find anyone for some of them. That place in Saughton was a palace compared to the others in his portfolio.’

  Rebus dug into his back pocket and brought out the card he’d taken from the Waverley drop-in. Paul. Cheap rooms.

  ‘Why do you think,’ Rebus asked, ‘Willie and Dixie had the pick of Duggan’s properties? House that size, he could have squeezed a few more bodies in.’

  ‘Right enough, the flat I checked in Granton had sleeping-bags in the living room, kitchen, and bathroom.’

  Rebus studied the telephone number on the card. ‘Maybe I’ll have a wee word with our friendly slum landlord. Is the Farmer keeping you busy?’

  ‘He keeps asking if I know what you’re up to.’

  ‘And what do you tell him?’

  ‘I can keep my mouth shut. I just hope you know what you’re doing, sir.’

  ‘Well, Brian, there’s a first time for everything.’

  Rebus broke the connection and called the number on the card.

  ‘Hello?’ It was a woman’s voice, polite, not young.

  ‘Eh, is Paul there?’

  ‘I’ll just get him for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She put the receiver next to the phone, and he could hear her calling for her son, who was probably in his bedroom counting shillings into a sock. Finally, the receiver was picked up.

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Paul?’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘My name’s John, I saw your notice at the drop-in centre.’

  ‘Which one? I’ve got half a dozen notices up.’

  ‘The one behind Waverley.’

  ‘Oh aye, right.’

  ‘I need a room.’

  ‘Are you claiming social security?’

  Rebus winged it. ‘I’d be paying cash, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘No, it’s just that you’ve caught me at a bad time, John. Bit of pressure on me at the moment, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I know all about pressure.’

  ‘So I’m not really opening any new transactions right this minute.’ There was a pause. ‘Did you say cash? Would you need a rentbook?’

  ‘Cash, no rentbook.’

  ‘Tell you what, John, can we maybe meet?’

  Rebus’s smile didn’t translate to his voice. ‘What’s the address?’

  ‘No address. Do you know Leith cop shop?’

  Rebus stopped smiling. He’d been rumbled. But Duggan misinterpreted his silence.

  ‘Not keen, eh? Been in trouble, have you?’

  ‘A little bit.’

  ‘We’re only meeting outside. I can take you to a flat near there, down by the Shore. And that area’s coming up in the world, by the way.’

  Rebus almost admired the cheek. ‘What time?’

  ‘Five on the dot.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Rebus.

  He phoned Brian Holmes back. ‘Rachman’s portfolio, anything down near the Shore?’

  ‘Leith? No,’ said Holmes, ‘nearest one to Leith’s the place in Granton. Why?’

  ‘Just that you haven’t tracked them all down yet, that’s all.’

  At five minutes to five, he was across the road from the police station. He stood two steps up from the pavement in the doorway of a disused building. Leith was taking a few faltering steps towards respectability. Trendy cafés and restaurants had opened in hastily refurbished premises, usually carved out of larger blocks of unrented space. There was a temporary feel to these new businesses; they always seemed to be ‘under new management’. Leith’s revival had begun down on the Shore and had all but stopped there, with warehouse conversions and a couple of upmarket bars. Now the revival had been given fresh momentum: the new Scottish Office HQ was under construction at Victoria Dock, and a sailors’ home had been turned into a luxury hotel on Queen’s Quay.

  But Leith still retained its old, unique charm: it was still just about the only part of the city where you’d see prostitutes in daytime, freezing in short skirts and skimpy jackets. Rebus had passed some on his way down Bernard Street, readying themselves for the going-home trade: one quick leap for the homeward bound.

  He stood in the doorway for quarter of an hour before Paul Duggan turned up. The young man was wearing an ankle-length black woollen coat, its collar turned up. On his feet were white trainers, so new they were almost luminous when caught in the headlamps of the passing traffic.

  Duggan didn’t pay any attention to Rebus as Rebus crossed the road; he was on the look-out for someone entirely different.

  ‘Wait
ing for me?’ Rebus asked.

  It took Duggan a moment to place him. ‘Christ, what do you want?’

  ‘It was me that phoned. We didn’t know you had another place on the Shore.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Come on, Paul, let’s have a chat.’

  ‘In there?’

  Rebus looked towards the police station. ‘No,’ he said, ‘not in there. This is just between us, understood?’

  Rebus started walking, a hand on the sleeve of Duggan’s coat.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Duggan asked.

  ‘We’re just walking, that’s all. I’ve got a question for you. We know about four or five of your properties, and we know the Saughton let was the best of them by a fair old margin. So how come you only picked up two rents from it?’

  Duggan stopped dead. ‘Is this a trap? Are you miked up?’

  Rebus laughed. ‘For a tadpole like you? Behave, son, you’re the council’s problem, not mine.’

  Rebus started walking again. Duggan caught him up. ‘So what’s the game?’

  ‘I’m interested in Willie and Dixie, that’s all. You told me you were their friend, so now I’m a wee bit interested in you, too.’

  ‘That’s why I gave them the house,’ Duggan blurted out, thinking on his feet. ‘They were my pals.’

  ‘You gave them it? They didn’t pay rent?’

  ‘Oh … oh aye, they paid rent. What I meant was –’

  ‘Don’t bother, son, don’t compound one lie with another, you’ll never keep track. My guess is they worked for you. What did they do?’

  Duggan bit his lip. ‘They collected the rents,’ he said at last.

  ‘And got free rent in return? That makes more sense. When I look at you, I see a skinny young kid, a sap. The kind of tenants you must deal with, you’d need back-up, isn’t that right? Just in case someone decided not to pay.’ Duggan nodded.

  ‘They’d’ve been perfect for that,’ Rebus continued. ‘Willie had brains, he could reason with the non-payers, and if that didn’t work, crazy Dixie could go to work. Is that about the score?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  Rebus sniffed, and seemed to be thinking. ‘Whose idea was the kidnap ruse?’ he said casually.

  ‘I’ve told you, I didn’t know anything about that! They just asked for my car!’

  ‘Must have been Willie’s idea,’ Rebus went on, as if Duggan hadn’t spoken. ‘Dixie didn’t have the brains.’ He turned to Duggan. ‘Unless it was your idea, of course.’

  Duggan made to protest, but thought better of it. They walked on in silence. ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘OK, between you and me, right?’

  Rebus shrugged. ‘Like I said, I’m not after you particularly, Paul, unless you lie to me. Lying to me is not advisable.’

  ‘I knew what they were up to.’

  ‘Of course you did. A tight-fisted wee bastard like you wouldn’t lend someone the steam from his breath without there being a pay-off.’ Rebus produced the photo of Kirstie Kennedy. ‘You saw her with Willie and Dixie, didn’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about Dalgety?’

  ‘Eh?’ The name clearly meant nothing to Duggan.

  ‘Come on,’ Rebus said, ‘I know you’ve seen her. You spend a lot of time in drop-in centres –’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘You told me yourself your cards are up on half a dozen noticeboards. How do they get there: by magic?’ Rebus pushed the photo towards Duggan. ‘You’ve seen her.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re lying. What are you afraid of, Paul?’

  They were down on the Shore, and Duggan was just realising it. They walked close to the water’s edge, across the street from the bars. Soon they’d be up to the dock entrance. Rebus stopped and tugged on Duggan’s arm. ‘Look at her!’ he spat. Duggan averted his face. ‘Look at her!’

  Duggan glanced at the photo, then away again. His eyes were glinting in the streetlight.

  ‘She knew Willie well enough to leave something in his bedroom. She knew him … and I know damned well you knew her!’

  Duggan blinked. ‘What did she leave in his bedroom?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Just tell me where she is.’

  Duggan started to shake his head, and Rebus hauled him by the coat-sleeve to the water’s edge. The street was empty save for a line of cars whose owners were all in the howffs.

  ‘Fancy a dip, Paul? It can be invigorating at this time of year, if the sewage and the rats don’t get you.’

  ‘This coat cost a fortune!’ Duggan squealed.

  ‘You won’t need it in jail, son. You’ll be tucked up in bed with some big bad bastard keeping you warm.’

  ‘All right, all right!’

  Rebus released his grip. Duggan looked up and down the street.

  ‘Run if you like, Paul. I’ll find you.’

  ‘Jesus, calm down, will you? OK, I’ve seen her. She hung around for a while with Willie and Dixie.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A week, maybe a bit longer.’

  ‘Is she still around?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her. I only saw her a couple of times.’

  ‘At the house in Saughton?’

  ‘No, no, at a couple of drop-in centres.’

  ‘But you don’t know where she is, or what she’s doing?’ Duggan shook his head. ‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to find her for me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Somebody like you, lots of contacts … should be easy.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re asking.’

  Rebus pointed to the water. ‘There’s your alternative.’ He held out the photo. ‘Take this, it might help.’

  ‘It won’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That’s not what she looks like. We had a laugh when we saw that picture in all the papers. I mean, I can believe she might have looked like that before she started using.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘And plenty of them by the look of her.’

  Rebus frowned. ‘You think she’s been on them long?’

  ‘Long enough. Maybe a year or so.’

  ‘A year?’

  Duggan shrugged. ‘Only a guess; I’m not into that scene.’

  ‘I’ll bet you don’t mind them as tenants though, eh?’

  Duggan straightened his shoulders. ‘How about looking at it this way – I’m doing the council’s work for it, putting roofs over the heads of people who’d be on the street otherwise.’

  ‘Mr Social Conscience. They’ll be giving you the keys to the city next. Get out of my sight, and take the photo, it’s got my phone number on the back. If I don’t hear from you in a day or two, we’ll have another chat. Maybe at your place this time, with your mum and dad listening. How would you like that?’

  Duggan didn’t answer. He rearranged his coat, which had fallen down over one shoulder, then pocketed the photograph. Rebus watched him shuffle away, back towards the traffic.

  So, now he knew for certain why the Lord Provost hadn’t had a more recent photo of his daughter. He wondered why Duggan had been so curious about whatever Kirstie had left in Willie Coyle’s bedroom. But Rebus was beginning to get an idea about that, too.

  23

  He drove to the Ox, where Doc and Salty stood in their allotted places. Room was made for Rebus, and Doc ordered him a pint.

  ‘Oh what blessed company,’ Rebus said, lifting the glass. He turned to Salty Dougary. ‘I was out at Gyle Park West the other day.’

  ‘In your professional capacity?’

  ‘Sort of. What can you tell me about the place?’

  ‘It’s an industrial estate. I work there. What else is there to know?’

  ‘The businesses there, would they have dealings with Scottish Enterprise?’

  Salty nodded. ‘LEEL,’ he said. ‘Our boss at Deltona is mad keen on “worker participation”, which means once a week we have to sit
in the canteen for twenty minutes listening to him rattle on about client satisfaction, inward investment, productivity and the like. He’s always on about LEEL.’

  ‘So Deltona has had money from LEEL?’

  ‘John, everyone on that estate has had help of some kind: relocation incentives, start-up incentives, retraining incentives, you name it.’ He raised his glass. ‘God bless Scottish Enterprise.’

  ‘Why the interest?’ Dr Klasser asked. This was not their usual level of conversation.

  ‘It could be peripheral to a case I’m working on.’ Except that there was no case and he wasn’t supposed to be working.

  ‘Well, keep your paws off Deltona,’ Salty Dougary warned.

  Rebus smiled. ‘Ever heard of Mensung?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t they measure your intelligence?’

  There was a snort from down the bar. ‘They’d only need a six-inch ruler to measure yours, Salty.’

  Salty laughed, so the speaker would know he wasn’t amused. Rebus was still looking at him. ‘To be honest,’ Salty told him, ‘it does ring a bell, way at the back of the old brainpan. I think it was a company.’

  ‘On the estate?’

  Dougary shrugged. The barman was taking a phone call. His eyes met Rebus’s.

  ‘For you, John.’ He brought the telephone over. Rebus had another question for Salty.

  ‘What about LABarum, ever heard of that?’

  ‘What is this, “Mastermind”?’

  Rebus took the receiver from the barman. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is that you, John?’

  Rebus recognised the voice – but it couldn’t be, not calling him by his first name.

  ‘Is that you, Flower?’

  ‘Yes.’

  DI Alister Flower – the Little Weed – calling Rebus ‘John’. Something was wrong.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Just wondered if you could drop into the station for a chat.’

  ‘A chat? Will you have the tea and biscuits ready?’

  Flower laughed like he hadn’t heard a better one all day. Rebus was more than curious.

  ‘When?’ he asked.