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

by Ian Rankin

  ‘Thank Uncle Dallas,’ Meikle muttered.

  ‘You know why I’m here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your uncle sort of asked me to take a look at the case. He says you shouldn’t be in here.’

  Meikle’s eyes met Rebus’s. ‘They’ve got me in with the sex cases,’ he stated. ‘Say it’s for my own protection.’

  ‘They may be right. Won’t have escaped your attention that this place is a jungle. Survival of the fittest and all that. Sex cases tend to be quieter, better-mannered.’

  ‘I can look after myself.’

  ‘Helps that you’re a killer,’ Rebus agreed. ‘Killers always get a bit more respect.’

  ‘I’m not a sex case, though. I shouldn’t be in with them – it’s embarrassing.’

  ‘I can try to have a word …’ Rebus had been studying the young man. He was not yet quite an adult, his face a combination of the kid he had been and the man he was becoming. He still probably only needed a shave twice a week or so. He had defined cheekbones and thin shoulders, his prison-issue sweatshirt a size or two too large. He clasped his hands, pressing them across the top of his head, elbows jutting.

  ‘Tell Uncle Dallas I did it. He knows I did.’

  ‘If that’s your story, there’s not much anyone can do.’ Rebus shrugged as if it meant very little to him one way or the other. ‘But you know yourself that there are still questions and loose ends. The one thing that mystifies me is why you did it in the first place. Wasn’t Kristen the love of your life?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’ve seen the trial reports. She comes over like Princess Diana.’ Rebus paused. ‘Sorry, that’s way before your time.’

  ‘I know who you’re talking about. Kristen wasn’t exactly a princess, though.’

  ‘No?’

  Meikle shook his head slowly. Rebus waited, but no more words came.

  ‘You finding your feet okay?’ he enquired.

  ‘Workshops and stuff, they keep us as busy as they can.’

  ‘Not enough warders though; hours spent in your cell?’

  The young man nodded again, slowly lowering his arms and folding them.

  ‘Do you see your mum and sister?’

  ‘Once a week.’

  ‘They doing okay?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Rebus folded his own arms. An old trick. Copy the actions of the person opposite and they might begin to sense similarities rather than differences.

  ‘You got kids?’ Meikle asked into the silence.

  ‘Grown-up daughter. I’m a grandad these days. Do you see your dad?’

  ‘Not got a lot to say to him.’

  ‘I hear you two used to like a bit of a dust-up.’

  ‘Now and again,’ the young man conceded.

  ‘I’d have thought taking you to watch Hearts would have been punishment enough.’

  This elicited a thin smile. ‘You a Hibbie?’

  ‘I’m agnostic.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I try not to take sides.’

  ‘So are you a cop or what?’

  ‘Used to be. Retired now.’

  ‘How do you know Uncle Dallas?’

  ‘I’m not sure I really do. We’re both ex-army, so there’s that in common if nothing else. I’ve not met your dad yet, or your sister.’

  ‘They’ve got fuck all to do with this!’ Meikle’s voice had risen a notch, his throat tightening.

  ‘Easy, son,’ Rebus cautioned. One of the warders was moving in their direction. Rebus waved him away. Ellis Meikle angled his body forward, elbows on the table. Rebus did the same.

  ‘What’s done is done,’ Meikle said hoarsely.

  ‘That why you were okay with me visiting?’

  ‘Nobody can change what happened. I’m in here and that’s all there is to it. Best you go tell Dallas that.’

  ‘You wouldn’t rather be outside, though? There might be something that could help you, something you’ve not told anyone. Mitigating factors, we call them.’

  ‘Lawyer said the same thing – didn’t do any good.’

  ‘Keeping your mouth shut didn’t exactly help your case, Ellis. Did something happen that day at home? Something that got your dander up, kept you seething all the way to the golf course? Did Kristen tell you something? Or your mum or Uncle Dallas? Had to be to your face – your phone was checked and there was nothing there. But this Jekyll and Hyde thing sometimes happens; a person’s fine until they’re not. Something changes them, and they go and do something, and then they’re back to normal again.’

  ‘Normal? You don’t know us at all, do you?’

  ‘Your family, you mean?’ Rebus shook his head. ‘I’ve talked to some of your mates, though, and they all gave me pretty much the same answer.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She made you do it.’

  ‘Kristen?’

  Rebus nodded, maintaining eye contact. ‘The not-quite-princess we didn’t hear about at the trial.’

  ‘I heard they made a shrine for her. Have you seen it?’

  ‘At the bunker?’ Rebus nodded again.

  ‘It’s still there after all these months …’ The young man nodded to himself. ‘That’s who she is then. It’s all over the net so it must be true.’

  ‘Plenty of shite on the internet, Ellis. I hardly ever use it and even I know that.’ Rebus paused. ‘Just do one thing for me – look me in the eye and tell me you did it.’

  Meikle focused on him, unblinking. ‘I did it,’ he said.

  Rebus found himself nodding once more, and puckering his lips as he did so.

  ‘I think you’re lying,’ he commented.

  ‘I stabbed her in the neck. She bled out on to the sand, her knees going from under her.’

  ‘Then tell me why.’

  Meikle blinked twice. ‘What else was I going to do?’ he said, rising to his feet as the warder appeared behind him.

  ‘Time’s up,’ the warder announced.

  Rebus got up from the table, watching as Ellis Meikle was led away. What else was I going to do? What the hell did that mean? The other visitors were saying their goodbyes to loved ones. As the prisoners headed one way, the visitors were escorted back down the corridor. A warder was waiting halfway, resting against a door. He stopped Rebus with a gesture.

  ‘Got a minute?’ he asked. Rebus watched as the corridor emptied.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Someone wants a word.’ The warder pulled open the door and Rebus stepped inside the prison library, a small room with half-filled shelves of well-used books. The door closed behind him, the warder staying outside. Rebus didn’t see anyone at first. There was no one behind the desk. But then he heard a noise and half turned as a familiar face appeared from behind a stack. Darryl Christie had changed since his trial, his face puffy, skin sallow and with an unhealthy sheen to it. Warders as well as prisoners took on the same complexion eventually. A prison tan, it was called.

  ‘Mr Rebus,’ Christie said, holding out a hand for Rebus to shake.

  ‘Thought you were in Barlinnie, Darryl.’

  ‘They moved me. Closer to my family here. I can still pull a string or two when I want.’

  ‘That how you knew I was here?’

  Christie just smiled. ‘Keeping out of mischief yourself?’

  ‘Just barely.’

  ‘I’ve been reading about the Bloom case. Going to be a few spankings there, eh?’

  ‘You’re well informed.’

  Christie stretched his arms wide. ‘The university of life.’

  Rebus glanced towards the door. It remained closed. ‘You seem to have made friends.’

  ‘A few quid here and there keeps people sweet. So what brings you to this neck of t
he swamp?’

  ‘Just visiting someone.’

  ‘Ellis Meikle.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why, though?’

  ‘I’m a friend of the family.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘His uncle Dallas and me were in the army together.’

  ‘Dallas Meikle? You’re old enough to be his dad. Want to try spinning me another?’

  Rebus thought for a moment. ‘They’ve got him in with the sex offenders – would you be able to pull a string or two there?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘Or keep an eye on the lad at least, make sure trouble doesn’t find him?’

  Christie took his time answering, pulling a book from a shelf and studying its jacket before returning it.

  ‘Answer me this first – is Cafferty your bestie or your enemy?’

  The scene played out suddenly in Rebus’s memory: Cafferty’s flat; Christie with a gun pointed at Rebus’s face; knocked cold by the hammer Cafferty swung at him.

  ‘He tried visiting you,’ Rebus answered.

  ‘To rub it in my face. He goes to my club every night, sits in my chair, orders my people around.’ Christie’s anger was growing, his whole body tensing. Rebus had shuffled back a few steps so he was close to the door. Christie had noticed.

  ‘I’m not going to do anything to you! It’s him I want.’ He gestured towards a computer behind the reception desk. ‘They let me use it for research. I know as much about Morris Gerald Cafferty as anyone – except maybe you, John. So tell me what I need to know – are you two bosom buddies or what?’

  ‘I’d stick him in here if I could.’

  Christie stabbed a finger in Rebus’s direction, eyes glowing. ‘You promise that? On your daughter’s life?’

  ‘You taking anything, Darryl?’

  Christie snorted. ‘Everyone in here’s taking something. It’s almost as rife as Barlinnie. The only thing you’ll see more of than drugs is wagging tongues. Not much else to do but gossip. Plenty old-timers who’ve had dealings with Cafferty down the years. I maybe know things you don’t.’ He paused to lick his lips. ‘Your lot have stopped targeting him, haven’t they? No investigations, surveillance, phone taps? Nobody’s paying a blind bit of attention, because Police Scotland has become one giant fucking psychiatric case.’

  ‘DI Fox works at Gartcosh. I can ask him if Cafferty’s being—’

  ‘I’m telling you, Cafferty’s been let off the hook. He’s running the drugs, the brothels, the fences, the illegal immigrants. He’s taking a cut from everyone and everywhere and nobody’s doing anything to stop him.’

  Rebus saw it in Christie’s sunken eyes: Cafferty had become an obsession, an infatuation, almost to the point of madness.

  ‘I’m out of the game, Darryl,’ he reasoned. ‘If you want Police Scotland to target Cafferty, give them what you’ve got.’

  Christie shook his head. There was sweat beading on his forehead and he wiped it away. ‘There’s not enough – not in the here and now. But then along comes Stuart Bloom …’

  Rebus stared at him. ‘You can tie Cafferty to Bloom?’

  ‘There was a guy in here, one-time safe-breaker. Past it now, of course. He’s back outside. Used to do jobs for Cafferty from the eighties on, was still with him in 2006. He knows a lot of what Cafferty was up to back then.’ Christie was nodding to himself, eyes never leaving Rebus. ‘You knew Cafferty then too, John – Larry mentioned you once or twice to people. Larry Huston. Name mean anything?’

  ‘I think I remember it.’

  ‘Get Larry to tell you what he knows.’

  ‘Why don’t I just hear it from you?’

  Christie seemed to admit the reasonableness of this. ‘Huston was out of here before I arrived, so it’s all second- and third-hand – that’s why it’s better for him to tell you.’ He took a step forward, then another, leaning in so his mouth was close to Rebus’s ear. Rebus caught a blast of halitosis when he spoke.

  ‘They’re looking at pinning Bloom on you and yours. Wouldn’t it be better all round if Cafferty took the fall?’

  His fist passed Rebus’s head and thumped once on the door. It opened immediately, the same warder standing there.

  ‘Thanks, Bobby,’ Christie said.

  ‘No problem, Darryl.’ Then, to Rebus: ‘Let’s go get you your phone.’

  30

  The team watched the press conference on the monitor in the MIT office. Mollison looked and sounded the part, parrying questions with professional aplomb while Graham Sutherland sat next to him, wriggling and twitching as if he would never get comfortable. When the cameras cut to the press pack, Clarke saw that Dougal Kelly had been allowed in and was seated next to Laura Smith, both of them recording the audio on their phones. More than one journalist wanted to know if the handcuffs were standard police issue and whether there were identifiers on them. Others asked about the questioning of Jackie Ness and the forensic team at Poretoun House. Mollison managed not to give much away while sounding as if he were being frank and open.

  ‘It’s a definite skill,’ George Gamble commented.

  ‘That’s why he earns the big bucks,’ Callum Reid added. Reid was watching like an avid student in a lecture theatre, Mollison the professor he wanted one day to become. Clarke shuffled further back to where Malcolm Fox was standing, at his favoured spot just by the door.

  ‘I hear you took my advice,’ she said in an undertone.

  ‘Dinner with Tess, you mean?’ He watched her nod. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Word got around. So how did it go?’

  ‘It was fine.’

  ‘Did you happen to mention she was on the bench till I turned you down?’ She saw his look and shook her head. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. But tell me, was it just dinner, or did things …?’

  ‘Just dinner,’ Fox stated, giving her another look.

  ‘You’ll miss her when you’re sent back to Gartcosh – any news on that front?’

  ‘No.’

  They watched as the press conference began to wind down. The media liaison office got busy handing out briefing notes, but there was sudden movement, Dougal Kelly confronting Sutherland and Mollison, phone held out in front of him like a microphone.

  ‘You wouldn’t take my question but I’m asking it anyway,’ Kelly was shouting. ‘Is it true that a fingerprint on the handcuffs has been identified as belonging to Jackie Ness? Why has this information been withheld from the family?’

  ‘We’re not at liberty to discuss—’

  Mollison’s words were drowned out by a barrage of questions from the room. Was that why Ness had been brought in for questioning and why his former home was being examined by a forensic team? Mollison’s face had turned crimson, a mix of rage and embarrassment. He was waving away the questions with one hand and guiding Sutherland towards the exit with the other. The journalists were asking Kelly for more details, their recording devices thrust in his direction. Was he sure? How did he know? Tess Leighton had turned away from the monitor and was making for Fox and Clarke.

  ‘It was all going so well,’ she commented.

  ‘Mollison’s going to be raging,’ Fox added.

  ‘With Graham bearing the brunt of it.’

  ‘I dare say he’ll share it around when he gets back.’

  ‘Or before,’ Callum Reid said, answering his phone. ‘Yes, we saw,’ he told Sutherland. ‘All of us, yes.’ He listened for a moment. ‘We’re wondering that ourselves. Should we pull Kelly in and ask him?’ He listened again, shaking his head for the benefit of the room. ‘You’re right, probably wouldn’t play well. But does that mean we shouldn’t do it?’ Another shake of the head. ‘So when the phones start ringing, what do we say? “Not a bloody thing”,’ he quoted, eyes on Clarke. ‘Understood.’ Clarke’s own phone vibrated. An incomi
ng text from Laura Smith: I had no idea. Well, of course. Kelly hadn’t got the info from Laura. It had to be Steele and Edwards again. But could she say as much without it sounding as if she just wanted them stitched up?

  Reid’s call with Sutherland had finished. ‘Ten minutes he’ll be here,’ he said.

  ‘What should we do about Ness?’ Fox enquired.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Press are going to be all over him again.’

  ‘Not forgetting the Bloom family,’ Leighton added. ‘He’s got a lot of grief coming his way.’

  ‘Might be easier all round for him just to confess,’ George Gamble said from behind his desk while cracking his knuckles.

  ‘Is protective custody an option?’ Leighton asked. Callum Reid offered a shrug.

  ‘Boss’s decision rather than ours. I’d say he’s going to have something else at the forefront of his mind, though.’

  ‘Who leaked,’ Fox said with a slow nod.

  ‘Who leaked,’ Callum Reid agreed.

  There was still colour in Graham Sutherland’s cheeks when he entered the office. His team waited in silence for him to speak. He eased himself on to the corner of his desk and folded his arms.

  ‘Mollison is rightly furious. That was a hijacking, pure and simple. But like the best stunts, it got a result. That doesn’t mean anything’s changed. We still have plenty of work to do and that’s what we need to focus on. Siobhan, you’ve got Glasgow this evening, yes?’ He watched as she nodded. ‘And you’re taking Emily?’

  ‘Once she’s finished at Poretoun House, yes.’

  ‘I dare say she’ll have to barge her way through a few TV crews. Meantime, the line we’re putting out is that enquiries are ongoing. No need to explain to the media that the fiscal doesn’t reckon the fingerprint evidence will fly in court. Mrs Bloom wants a meeting with the chief constable. Mollison is what she’ll get and he’ll tell her as little as he can. The reporters will be champing at the bit, but again, that’s not going to bother us unduly.’ He paused for effect. ‘What does bother me is that this was leaked in the first place. I know leaks can come from anywhere and plenty of people can be bought cheaply. I just hope to hell nobody points the finger our way.’ His eyes met those of each of his team in turn, Fox included. ‘And if they do, I trust I can say with hand on heart that I have every confidence in my officers.’