by Ian Rankin
Shankley wrinkled his face. ‘Not since Stuart vanished. I mean, they phoned to say how sorry they were and all that.’
‘And their names …?’
‘Colin and Joe. I don’t remember their surnames.’
Clarke led him to her desk, hitting play on the DVD and fast-forwarding to the end credits.
‘Colin Speke and Joseph Madden,’ she said, reading from the screen.
‘Must be,’ he agreed.
‘They’d have been questioned during the original inquiry?’
‘I guess.’ She looked at him and he shrugged. ‘Nobody asked me about them specifically.’
‘Well I’m asking now: could Stuart have used their expertise on the job he was doing for Jackie Ness?’
Shankley furrowed his brow as if straining to remember. ‘The three of them put their heads together a few times,’ he conceded. ‘Do you think it’s important?’
‘Probably not,’ Clarke said with a reassuring smile, having realised she was talking to a civilian – and a witness at that – rather than a colleague. ‘We just need to make sure we’ve covered everything we can. You still got their phone numbers or any way of contacting them?’
‘Not really.’
‘You’re not Facebook friends with them or anything?’
Shankley shook his head, crestfallen that he was disappointing her.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. From behind his desk, Yeats was staring at them. ‘Break time’s over, I think, Derek. But remember what I said about those tip-offs.’
Leith police station had no car park, so Clarke had been forced to leave her Astra next to Leith Links. She got in behind the steering wheel and took out her phone. Gayfield Square was probably a five-minute drive at most, and she’d been considering it right up until the moment she made the call. DC Christine Esson picked up straight away.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Esson said by way of greeting.
‘Are you in the office, Christine?’
‘Somehow we’re coping without you.’
‘Sorry I’ve not been in touch. It’s all been slightly hectic. Everything okay?’
‘Sat in court four hours yesterday only for the trial to be postponed. Thank God for Candy Crush.’
‘Are you busy today?’
‘What do you need?’
‘The Ellis Meikle case.’
‘What about it?’
‘Do you remember the uncle’s name?’
‘The one with the tattoos?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was Darian or Damian or something, wasn’t it?’
‘Dallas,’ Clarke stated. ‘That’s what it was.’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘He had a record, right?’
‘He’d been in a few scraps.’
‘Would his details be on file?’
‘What’s going on, Siobhan?’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing. I just wanted a word with him.’
‘It’ll all have been archived. Want me to retrieve it?’
‘Only if you have time.’ A car had drawn up alongside Clarke’s. ‘I’ll talk to you later, Christine,’ she said, ending the call. She lowered her window; Rebus was doing the same.
‘Fancy bumping into you,’ he called out across the gap.
‘What are you doing here, John?’
‘I was just going to blag a mug of tea. How about you?’
‘I work here, remember?’
But Rebus gestured with his head towards the station. ‘In actual fact, you work over there. But for some reason you’ve had to squirrel yourself away in your car to make or take a phone call. All very mysterious.’
‘Maybe I was about to drive somewhere.’
Rebus gave a look that told her the lie was a disappointment to him.
‘Okay,’ she admitted. ‘It’s to do with the phone calls.’
‘The ones from the call box?’
‘It’s opposite a bar on Canongate called McKenzie’s. Ellis Meikle’s uncle works there.’
‘Ellis Meikle being …?’
‘A couple of months back he was found guilty of killing his girlfriend.’
Rebus nodded. ‘Teenager? Restalrig?’
‘Chaotic family life, et cetera, et cetera. Drink and drugs and hormones and jealousy.’
Rebus nodded again. ‘And now his family are hassling the lead detective? Want me to have a quiet word – or even a fairly noisy one?’
‘I’ll take care of it. Now why are you really here?’
‘Have you seen Malcolm?’
‘I had a word with him about his little chat with Brian Steele. For what it’s worth, I get the feeling Malcolm only wants to protect you.’
‘Meaning the Chuggabugs have something on me?’
‘John, every officer who ever worked with you has something on you.’
‘Fair point.’ Rebus tried for a look of contrition but failed. ‘You got any means of contacting them?’
‘You’d be wiser to steer clear.’
‘I’ve always valued your advice, Siobhan.’ He paused. ‘Do you, though?’
‘No.’
‘But Malcolm would, right?’
‘Take a telling, John, just this once.’ When he didn’t respond, she gave a deep sigh, rubbing at her temples. ‘I could really do without all this right now.’
‘Because you’ve got other fish to fry?’
‘Stuart Bloom might have had a professional arrangement with a cameraman and sound recordist who worked for Ness.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘They helped him when it came to stuff like taping conversations and filming meetings.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s what Derek Shankley says.’
‘And this was just before Stuart disappeared?’
‘I’m not sure yet. Sounds like it’s coming as a surprise to you.’
‘It is.’
‘Derek says no one on the original inquiry thought to ask.’
‘He could have volunteered the information anyway.’
‘Yes, he could. But he didn’t. I think his feelings were hurt. You had him down as one of the main suspects. Plus you were managing to intimidate any friends of his you questioned.’
‘My heart bleeds.’
‘Do you remember questioning them at all – Colin Speke and Joe Madden?’
‘Not personally. If anyone did, it’ll be in the case notes.’
‘Unless Mary Skelton or Doug Newsome got sloppy …’
‘There is that,’ Rebus conceded. ‘Speke and Madden, you’re going to talk to them?’
‘If I can find them, yes.’
‘Well, in the meantime, maybe I can cheer you up.’
She looked at him. ‘How?’
‘By telling you something you don’t know.’
‘Try me.’
‘Big Ger Cafferty put some money into that zombies film.’
‘Old news.’
‘But he also spent a day watching it being made – at Poretoun Woods. What’s more, Ness tried selling those woods to him later on.’
‘You’ve been speaking to Cafferty.’ It was statement rather than question.
‘He passes along his regards.’
‘You’d love to tie him into this, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘You don’t think it’ll happen, though?’
‘A man can dream, can’t he? At the very least you could pull him in for a few questions, steal an hour or two from his day. It’s new information, Siobhan.’
‘I’ll add it to the list.’
‘You sound tired. You should take a break – nice wee drive to Gayfield Square for a look at the Meikle file.’ She saw that he was smiling a
teasing smile. ‘I’m good, aren’t I?’ he said. ‘And with you gone, I can have that parking space.’
17
Fox came out into the reception area.
‘What can I do for you, John?’ he asked.
‘Maybe we could go upstairs and discuss it.’ Rebus’s eyes darted to where the officer behind the desk was pretending not to be interested.
‘Best if we don’t – conflict of interest and all that.’
Rebus pretended to consider this. ‘You’re keeping busy, then? No time for any of those old episodes of Wacky Races?’
Fox glared at him and gave a theatrical sigh. ‘On you come, then.’
He led the way up the staircase. ‘The pair of you need to be very careful,’ he said. ‘Only way Siobhan could have known about my meeting with Steele is if one of the media hanging around outside decided to tell her. My guess is, there’s only one candidate who would have been able to put names to faces.’
‘Laura Smith,’ Rebus stated. Then, when Fox nodded: ‘I just need a way to get in touch with Steele and Edwards.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t worry, Malcolm, collusion hadn’t crossed my mind. Just been a while since I spoke to them.’
‘Aye, right.’ Fox had stopped outside the MIT office. He turned to face Rebus, arms folded. Rebus made a show of peering towards the room.
‘I’m parched, if you’re offering.’
‘There’s a café round the corner.’
Rebus studied him. ‘Found anything in those files, Malcolm, anything I should be worried about?’
‘See, that’s precisely why you can’t be here.’
The door to the interview room opened, three bodies emerging: Sutherland and Reid ushering Bill Rawlston out ahead of them.
‘All right, Bill?’ Rebus asked casually. ‘Did they torture a confession out of you?’
Rawlston shook Rebus’s hand. ‘I believe the phrase is: every courtesy was extended. Have they got you up next, John?’
‘Always happy to help the police with their enquiries.’
‘Maybe once we’re done with Mr Rawlston,’ Sutherland said. ‘This is by way of a tea break. He’s not feeling quite one hundred per cent.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘Just a bit of a cold.’ The look Rawlston gave Rebus indicated that he didn’t want anything said about his cancer.
‘We were headed the same way,’ Rebus commented, opening the door and gesturing for Rawlston to enter the MIT office ahead of him. ‘Might not be enough mugs, mind …’
Sutherland gave Fox a questioning look, to which Fox had no ready answer. Rebus was playing host, adding a tea bag to a mug, switching on the kettle, asking Rawlston how he took it. Derek Shankley watched for a moment before rising to his feet and heading towards the throng of suits.
‘I know you,’ he said to Rebus.
‘I questioned you,’ Rebus agreed. ‘Just the one time, I think. Obviously I made an impression.’
‘Not a great one,’ Shankley commented. ‘But at least you didn’t call me a poof to my face; you just looked like you might.’
‘Different days now, Mr Shankley. I hope you’re finding that out.’
Shankley scanned the room. ‘Maybe,’ he eventually conceded. His eyes went back to Bill Rawlston. ‘You were in charge, weren’t you? I saw you on TV.’
Rawlston nodded. Shankley moved his attention to Rebus and then back to Rawlston again.
‘So two cops from the original inquiry are right here in the middle of the new one?’
‘It’s not how it looks,’ Sutherland felt compelled to say. ‘Mr Rawlston has been helping us with background—’
‘And him?’ Shankley pointed at Rebus.
‘Well, yes …’ Sutherland turned towards Fox. ‘Why is Mr Rebus here?’
‘Don’t go blaming DI Fox,’ Rebus broke in. ‘Front desk let me past. It was actually DI Clarke I was looking to speak to – nothing to do with this inquiry. DI Fox was trying to escort me off the premises when Mr Rawlston stopped to say hello.’
‘Yet somehow,’ Sutherland said, his irritation evident, ‘here you are in MIT, making cups of tea like you own the place.’
‘Guilty as charged.’ Rebus sought out Bill Rawlston. ‘I think they want you making your own brew.’
‘Malcolm,’ Sutherland said, ‘see that Mr Rebus leaves the building, quick as his legs will carry him.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Fox said, placing a hand lightly on Rebus’s forearm.
‘I’m not being grilled today then?’ Rebus made a show of confirming. ‘Well, you know where to find me when you want me.’
He walked slowly back towards the doorway, taking in what he could. He responded to George Gamble’s sneer with a wink, and heard a snatch of the phone call Phil Yeats was having with what sounded like the forensic lab at Howdenhall.
‘No further forward with the handcuffs?’ he asked Fox in a stage whisper.
‘Don’t suppose you lost a pair back then?’
‘You know fine well, Malcolm, plenty cops hang on to at least one set.’
‘Which neatly sidesteps my question.’
They were at the top of the stairs, the door closing behind them. Rebus stopped and turned to face Fox. ‘You can thank me later,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘Lying about the front desk.’
‘You know Sutherland will give them a roasting? And when they deny letting you in, he’ll want me to explain myself.’
‘You’ve got a bit of breathing space, though – use it wisely.’
‘By concocting a story?’
‘Or just tell him the truth – I wanted to speak to you about ACU and why they were waiting for you outside this very police station.’ Rebus paused. ‘Not sure that would go down too well with your boss, but if that’s the way you want to play it …’ He began to descend the staircase.
After a moment’s pause, Fox followed. ‘Why not just call Gartcosh, ask to be put through to the ACU office?’ he asked.
‘Would my call be logged?’
‘Probably.’
‘There’s your answer then.’
‘John, you have to realise that if you hold any kind of meeting with them, or even just speak on the phone, someone somewhere is going to wonder why.’
‘And they’ll see a conspiracy where none exists.’ Rebus shoved at the door, exiting on to the pavement, Fox following close behind. Seagulls were raucous on the chimneypots opposite.
‘The misper inquiry is riddled with holes,’ Fox was saying. ‘I’ve only had a couple of days with it and even I can see that. Tess Leighton knows, too. Notes were amended, dates and times are erroneous, officers not following up where they should, then covering their arses with more lies and half-truths. Plus, the investigation was far too cosy with the media – and not very sympathetic to Bloom’s family or his circle of friends.’
‘Human failings, Malcolm.’ The two men were facing one another on the pavement, their feet only eighteen inches apart.
‘Added to which,’ Fox ploughed on, ‘knowing their connection to Adrian Brand, your friends Steele and Edwards should never have been within fifty miles of that inquiry.’
‘Ah, but we didn’t know, not at the start.’ Rebus slid a lozenge of gum from its packet and popped it into his mouth.
‘It was up to them to come forward.’
‘They did that, didn’t they?’
‘Not nearly soon enough. Jesus, John, this isn’t rocket science.’ Fox shook his head at Rebus’s offer of gum. ‘If I can see it, so can others. They won’t all be on your side.’
‘Do what you have to do, Malcolm. We’re all grown-ups, we can deal with the consequences.’
‘You’re retired, though, John. You’ve not got as much to lose as some.’
Rebus nodded. ‘Which is why the Chuggabugs are desperate to know where you’re going with it. They’ve spent year after dirty year climbing to the giddy heights of ACU.’ He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled menthol. ‘I’d help if I could, you know that. If I had anything from back then, anything I could prove …’
‘Is that the whole truth, John?’
Rebus gave a thin smile. ‘Just keep digging, Malcolm. Maybe what you need is somewhere in those boxes, buried deep.’ He paused. ‘Now, I did say you owed me a favour.’
‘Did you?’
‘For covering your arse with Sutherland. Just Steele’s number will do. I get the feeling Edwards has yet to progress to joined-up sentences, never mind joined-up thinking.’
Fox sighed, dug out his phone and got busy on the screen. Rebus’s own phone let him know the information had been received. ‘Buy you that mug of tea?’ he asked, gesturing towards the café on the opposite corner.
‘I’d better get back in.’ Fox seemed to hesitate. ‘Is there any point in my warning you to tread carefully?’
‘I always do, Malcolm. Plenty dog shit on the pavements around here.’ Rebus gave a wave of the hand as he started walking towards his Saab.
18
Cafferty had several mobile phones on the go at any one time. He ditched numbers regularly, added and deleted accounts and providers. Same went for his email. The broadband in his duplex was extra-secure and checked fortnightly for attempted breaches. Even so, he preferred the old ways – face-to-face meetings in public places with plenty of background noise. The new technologies were fine – in many ways they had aided his various businesses – but you didn’t learn about people from them, not the way you did when your eyes drilled into theirs, your senses alive to their gestures and tics. A bead of sweat; a quickening of the breathing; a nervous sniffle; the crossing and uncrossing of legs. He had never played poker but he knew he’d be good at it. His chief fear was there would always be someone better. He would end up annoyed, and needing some sort of payback.
When one of his phones rang, he checked to see which, and knew straight away who the caller was. He had only met Conor Maloney once, a summit of sorts held at a hotel near Glasgow airport. Maloney had booked the meeting room for a whole day. The receptionist had checked on her list to confirm that Cafferty – aka Mr Coleman – was there at the correct hour. Other appointments were listed, though Cafferty had no way of knowing whether they were merely a smokescreen. All he knew was, Maloney was booked on a flight back to Dublin that same afternoon.