In a House of Lies: The Brand New Rebus Thriller (Inspector Rebus 22)

by Ian Rankin

  ‘Wondering and maybe even worrying,’ Clarke agreed. The two detectives were chuckling as the gates opened automatically in front of them.

  11

  DCI Sutherland had gathered his team for a meeting. Fox stood by the door, waiting to be told to scram, but Sutherland seemed relaxed about his presence in the room.

  ‘We need fresh interviews with everyone who was part of the inquiry last time round,’ Sutherland said. ‘We know that they might not always be willing. Some of Stuart Bloom’s friends and associates felt they were treated with a lack of proper respect. So there may need to be an apology or two, a bit of mea culpa, but also some benign insistence.’ He scanned the faces around them. ‘We want to speak to every single one of them. It’s been twelve years, so contact details will almost certainly have changed. I’ve requested extra staff to ease the burden, but we need to make a start as of right now.’ He broke off. ‘Are you listening, Siobhan?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Fox noticed that half Clarke’s attention was on her computer. She had plugged in a pair of earbuds but left one dangling. He slid around the periphery towards her. A film seemed to be playing on her screen.

  ‘Tess,’ Sutherland continued. ‘News from the professor?’

  ‘She can’t be sure as yet how long the car was in the woods, but she doubts it was there all along.’

  ‘Pathology tells us Stuart Bloom probably died ten or more years back, so where does that leave us?’

  ‘It’s definitely his car?’ George Gamble asked.

  ‘Serial number on the engine block confirms it. Doubtful he was murdered in situ – not enough blood and brain matter on the floor of the boot, according to Forensics. It’s a miracle they can be so confident after all these years, but there you are. The two professors seem to agree – the way the body was positioned in the boot, the injured section of skull was towards the floor. Almost physically impossible to have hit someone while they were lying in that position and damage that particular section. Besides, putting someone in a boot and then hitting them? More probably it was done while he was standing up. Whacked from behind with an object as yet undecided.

  ‘And the handcuffs?’ Phil Yeats asked.

  ‘Standard issue for police officers in Scotland up until the millennium. Two metal links joining one cuff to its neighbour. By 2006 they’d been replaced by the Hiatt model – solid plastic moulding instead of the links. The Hiatts were stamped with serial numbers, meaning there’s a record of who owned them. Alas, that wasn’t true of the older model. Bear in mind, they could have been acquired from other sources. We’re not saying these were definitively police handcuffs.’

  ‘This place Rogues that Bloom used to go to.’ Callum Reid nodded towards Clarke, who had reported on the meetings with Ness and Brand. ‘Didn’t happen to have a dungeon or anything, did it?’

  ‘Doubtful, but worth checking,’ Sutherland said. ‘In fact, that’s a good point: were there any S and M clubs operating in Edinburgh at the time? Or prostitutes specialising in bondage? Something to add to the list. DCS Mollison is keen for a press conference sooner rather than later; it’d be nice to have a bit of progress to report.’ He noted that Gamble had his hand up. ‘Yes, George?’

  ‘We’re not making the handcuffs public yet?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘When it gets out – and it will get out – the family will start yelling police cover-up again.’

  ‘In which case, we’d best try to find evidence one way or the other.’ Sutherland scanned the room to ensure his words had sunk in. ‘Now get busy.’

  Clarke had noticed Fox standing behind her. She paused the film and turned to him.

  ‘One of Jackie Ness’s?’ Fox guessed.

  ‘Apparently Bloom and his boyfriend had walk-ons.’

  Fox nodded towards the screen. ‘Looks familiar.’

  ‘It’s Poretoun Woods. And filmed not long before Stuart’s death.’

  ‘Interesting. Good film?’

  ‘As wooden as its setting.’

  ‘Plot?’

  ‘Scots and English readying to do battle, but up pop the undead. The enemies either join forces or get wiped out.’

  ‘I quite like the sound of that.’

  ‘It probably looked good on paper,’ Clarke agreed. She noticed that both Crowther and Leighton were taking an interest in the conversation, so sent a quick scowl towards them. ‘Any great revelations from the woods? You and Tess getting along okay?’

  Fox gave her a quizzical look before replying. ‘Professor Hamilton thinks car and body might have been elsewhere for the first few years. If we can pin down where and why.’

  ‘Why it was moved, you mean?’ Clarke nodded her agreement. ‘But meantime, the focus is on a retread of the original inquiry.’

  ‘Meaning officers as well as witnesses.’

  ‘So we’ll be questioning John?’

  ‘Needs to be thorough, Siobhan.’

  She nodded again. One of the admin staff was standing in the doorway.

  ‘DI Fox?’ she enquired. Fox turned to her.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘You’ve a visitor downstairs.’

  Fox thanked her and headed for the reception area. He didn’t see anyone, but the desk officer pointed towards the door. ‘They’re out there,’ he said. Fox stepped outside and looked to left and right. The TV cameras and reporters had gone. Standing at the corner, smoking a cigarette, was a figure he recognised. He drew in a sharp breath before heading towards the man.

  ‘Hiya, Malc,’ DS Brian Steele said. ‘How’s tricks?’

  ‘We’ve not been properly introduced,’ Fox responded.

  ‘Maybe not, but you’ve seen me around Gartcosh and I’ve seen you. Major Crimes’ gain is ACU’s loss, if you ask me. Man of your experience, we could have made better use of you.’ Steele was blowing smoke from his nose while studying the tip of the cigarette.

  ‘What brings you here?’ Fox demanded to know.

  ‘Ach, I was just in the neighbourhood. I heard you’d been attached to the Bloom case, so I thought I’d say hello.’

  ‘Without actually coming in?’

  ‘That’ll be happening soon, though, eh? A wee invitation to tell my side of the story. Me and Grant and everybody else who worked the case.’

  ‘We can start right now if you like. Team’s upstairs, and I’m sure I could lay my hands on some recording equipment.’

  Steele exhaled more smoke, making sure it avoided Fox. The man was tall and broad with an unexceptional face and short black hair spiked with gel. ‘Plenty of time for that, Malc. It was you I wanted to see.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we’re on the same side. You were Complaints, I’m ACU. Neither of us likes dirty cops. I know you’ll have heard some of the stories about me – bending the rules, pulling a few stunts. I’ll bet similar things were said about you when you were Complaints. Nobody likes us, nobody trusts us, so they need their lies and rumours.’

  ‘I’m not much clearer on why you’re here.’

  Steele took a step closer. ‘Reopening the old case is an opportunity for more lies, more mud-slinging. I’d just appreciate the odd update, confidentially. In return, I’ll owe you one. Ask around, I’m a good friend to have.’ He finished the cigarette and flicked it halfway across the road. ‘And if you do need sacrificial lambs, I can give you those too. Skelton, Newsome, Rebus – take your pick.’

  ‘None of them worked for Adrian Brand back then, though, did they?’

  ‘Plenty cops had side jobs, Malc. It still happens, you know that. But when it came to policing, I gave one hundred per cent, same then as now. Many didn’t do half as much.’

  ‘Rebus?’

  ‘More likely to be found in a pub than anywhere else. Half drunk or else hung-over. We covered for him, same as
for Mary Skelton.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Her mum was sick; she kept nipping off to visit her. Except everybody knew it was a bloke she was seeing, afternoon delight and all that. I’ve never seen a woman more in heat.’

  ‘And Newsome?’

  ‘Doug Newsome was a waste of space. Half the interviews he said he’d done never happened, and the ones he did deign to do, he made stuff up when he transcribed them.’

  Fox studied Steele. ‘You were in the ranks at the time. Unusual for a uniform to know so much about the CID side of things.’

  ‘I was conscientious. And I made friends. That’s how you get ahead, Malc. It got me here, didn’t it?’ He smiled. ‘So what do you say, a quick pint and a quiet chat now and again?’ Steele broke off. ‘What am I saying? You’re a recovering alcoholic – apple juice is your thing, isn’t it? When you’re being sociable, I mean. Mostly you just like quiet nights at home in Oxgangs, when you’re not keeping an eye on your sister, making sure her gambling habit’s under control.’ He was still smiling, but his eyes were as hard as marbles.

  ‘You’ve done your research,’ Fox conceded.

  ‘It’s how the world turns.’

  ‘So tell me, what did you think when you heard Stuart Bloom had been found?’

  ‘I thought it was an interesting location, especially if someone was trying to make sure we focused on Jackie Ness or Adrian Brand.’

  ‘Were you one of the original search team?’

  ‘In the woods?’ Steele nodded. ‘Only took us half a day, mind. The woods, the house and its grounds. More likely he’d met a bit of rough and been done in.’

  ‘Did you visit Rogues at all?’

  ‘Not then, no.’

  ‘But other times?’

  ‘We went in once or twice, acting on tip-offs. Drugs; underage kids.’

  ‘Find anything?’

  ‘Doesn’t mean nothing was happening.’

  ‘I’m guessing the tip-offs were anonymous?’

  ‘Not every concerned citizen wants to stick their head above the parapet.’ Steele was growing impatient. ‘Sounds like I’ve already done my interview, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I doubt we’ve even scratched the surface.’

  ‘My ears aren’t picking up the warm sounds of a burgeoning friendship.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with your hearing then.’

  Steele looked down at the pavement between them. ‘You’ve been known to hang around with John Rebus, Malc – is he a friend? Because he’s probably got more to lose than most, you know.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The boozing was the least of it. Bear that in mind when you bring him in for questioning. See, old cases can be like stripping wallpaper – you don’t know what problems you’re going to find beneath, kept hidden by the thinnest of coverings.’ Steele held up his thumb and forefinger, so that a millimetre gap remained between them. ‘I’m a hell of a friend to have, Malc, but I can be the exact opposite, too. Remember that.’ He turned to leave, but then paused. ‘Oh, and don’t think of going running to your boss at Major Crime – Jen Lyon’s got enough to deal with if the stories I hear are true.’

  ‘What stories?’

  ‘Bit of gardening leave coming her way. At this rate, you or me might be running the show before too long.’

  He started to cross the road, and for the first time Fox noticed the large black Audi parked there. The driver’s window slid down, giving him a clear view of Grant Edwards. Edwards was known for the perpetual smile he wore. His face was that of an oversized infant, almost cherubic. Fox got the feeling the man would have the same demeanour whether he was helping an old lady with her shopping or thumping someone in a bar fight. Interesting that he had stayed in the car, though. Steele had wanted to befriend Fox rather than intimidate him; that had been the plan. Besides which, Edwards wasn’t known for either intellect or subtlety. Waiting in the car would have been Steele’s decision. Fox sent a little wave of farewell in the Audi’s direction as he headed back indoors.

  Clarke had found two scenes where Stuart Bloom and Derek Shankley appeared as extras. Their job was to look fierce as they prepared for an imminent attack by the English, then scream and flee as the zombies appeared. The scenes seemed to have been shot in twilight, so it wasn’t easy to pick them out from the other actors, but it helped that they always stood next to one another. When she watched for a third time, she thought she noted amusement in their eyes where fear should have been, as if they’d been sharing a joke between takes.

  Always supposing the director bothered with more than one take.

  Neither Bloom nor Shankley was listed in the closing credits. The director (and also co-writer) was Alexander Dupree. From an internet search Clarke knew that this was a pseudonym used by Jackie Ness to disguise how few people were involved behind the camera in his productions. Cheaply made, his films had still earned him substantial sums, at least until recently. If a thriller made it big at the international box office, a quick knock-off version courtesy of Locke Ness Productions would be in circulation within a matter of weeks. In interviews, Ness was particularly proud of this guerrilla approach. Get it out quick, and make sure both violence and at least partial nudity appear within the first ten minutes. ‘Fear and desire,’ he’d been quoted as saying, ‘are what drive us. I just hold up a mirror so we can watch ourselves.’

  From what she could glean from the nerds on the internet, the film had been made only a month prior to Bloom’s disappearance. She supposed it was to Ness’s credit that he hadn’t tried to capitalise on the PI’s newsworthiness at the time the film was released. Whenever he was asked by interviewers about Bloom’s disappearance, he gave versions of the same answer: ‘It would have been a great studio – great for film, great for Scotland. But that dream died.’ She had mulled those words over. He was tying Stuart Bloom’s disappearance to his own struggle with Adrian Brand. Without naming him, he was effectively blaming his rival.

  Her phone buzzed: incoming call. She checked the name on the screen and slipped out of the office, pressing the phone to her ear as she closed the door.

  ‘I’ve got nothing for you, Laura.’

  ‘Okay,’ Laura Smith said. ‘But maybe I’ve got something for you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘One of my colleagues doorstepped Alex Shankley this morning.’

  ‘That was insensitive.’

  ‘They’d actually gone looking for his son, but it was the dad who answered the knock.’

  ‘Hang on, this was whose home?’

  ‘Derek’s. A tenement flat in Partick.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Thing is, the father said they couldn’t talk to the press until they’d spoken to you lot.’

  ‘Very wise.’

  ‘Siobhan, he was meaning today. That’s why I’m back at my post.’

  Clarke returned to the MIT office and crossed to the window, peering through a grubby pane down to Queen Charlotte Street. ‘I don’t see you,’ she whispered, Graham Sutherland being within earshot.

  ‘I’m round the corner. Probably explains why Malcolm Fox didn’t clock me.’

  ‘Hang on a sec …’ Clarke left the office again and headed to the small room set aside for Fox and the box files. He was seated beside Tess Leighton, the pair of them deep in discussion, heads close. Clarke retreated along the corridor.

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Not five minutes ago. He was meeting someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘When you got in that spot of bother, you weren’t the only one. It was the same guy who grilled me.’

  ‘Brian Steele?’

  ‘With his shadow parked up nearby.’

  ‘Steele and Edwards were here?’

  ‘For a friendly chinwag with Fox. He hasn’t mentioned it?’


  ‘He’s not seen me to speak to.’

  ‘What’s ACU’s involvement with all of this, Siobhan?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Something’s being hushed up, something about the crime scene.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Come on, Siobhan. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t know.’

  ‘And what is it you think you know, Laura?’

  ‘Well, the handcuffs, for one thing.’

  Clarke pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘So now you know why ACU are involved – someone’s leaking. If I had to guess, I’d say someone in the lab or on the scene-of-crime team.’

  ‘Could be anybody really, couldn’t it?’

  ‘If you go public, ACU will think it’s me again.’

  ‘I know. That’s one reason I’m waiting.’

  ‘The other being?’

  ‘You obviously don’t want it known about. Makes me think you’re scared it’ll either frighten someone off or else people will jump to the wrong conclusion.’ Clarke stayed silent. ‘Steele and Edwards were in uniform when the Bloom case happened. Did they happen to work on it, Siobhan?’

  ‘I can’t discuss that. What will you do about the handcuffs?’

  ‘It’ll break sooner or later.’

  ‘Can you give us a day or two?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You’re right, Laura. If you’re the one with the exclusive, ACU will come for me.’

  ‘Which is why I’ll probably give it to someone else, let them grab the glory.’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘Saves us both a bit of grief, don’t you think?’

  ‘Thanks, Laura.’

  ‘That last mess with ACU, I do feel just a little bit responsible, you know.’

  ‘Consider the slate wiped.’ Clarke ended the call and watched as two men were led up the stairs and told to wait at the door to the MIT room. The elder of the two looked resolute, the younger hesitant.

  Derek Shankley and his father.

  12

  The interview room at Leith police station. Clarke and Sutherland one side of the table, father and son the other. Four mugs of tea. Two sugars for Alex Shankley and the exact same for Derek.