by Ian Rankin
‘You reckon?’
‘A smoke gets you the opposite of raging. Chilled and stilled and on top of the world.’
‘Maybe I better buy some.’
‘Maybe you should.’ Rebus thought he could detect a smile beneath the black nylon scarf. ‘One thing everybody will tell you about Kristen, she gave as good as she got.’
‘Yes, I’ve been hearing that. The girls in her gang were a bit in awe of her.’
‘Queen bee – you said it yourself. She could have had her pick of the drones, and for some reason she chose Ellis. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was just a hurdle she had to jump to get what she really wanted.’
‘Ellis’s uncle Dallas?’
There was a snort from beneath the hood. ‘That fucking tattooed lady? No, I mean the one who was in front of him in the queue for looks.’
‘Ellis’s dad?’
‘Recently separated, therefore fair game for a fair maiden who liked to play dirty. Such a shame she’s not still around to play dirty with me.’ He had finished with cigarette and phone both. Now he raised his head and studied Rebus properly. His eyes were beady and brown, forehead dotted with acne. Head probably shaved. Rebus had met dozens like him down the years.
‘Gotta go,’ the youth explained, reaching out a hand towards his bike.
‘Bit of advice, son – get out while you can. Days won’t always be as good as this. You’ll end up doing time, maybe not enough to compensate for the lives you’ve ruined, but a fair bit nonetheless. Right now you don’t owe Cafferty anything, besides which he’ll hand you to us on a platter if he ever needs something to trade.’
‘He told me you weren’t police.’
‘I keep forgetting I’m not,’ Rebus said, tugging at the lead and turning to leave.
38
Steele was the first interview, Edwards outside in the corridor on a chair. When they swapped places, Steele gave his colleague a wink. Edwards then went on to provide almost identical answers.
‘Almost as if you’d rehearsed,’ Clarke commented.
His fixed smile was unnerving. ‘It was a long time ago, DI Clarke. You can’t blame us for lapses of memory.’
‘Precisely what your pal said.’
‘And don’t think we don’t know there’s an element of payback here where you’re concerned, just because we did our job as ACU officers.’
Turning towards Crowther, Clarke cupped a hand to her ear. ‘It’s like there’s an echo in here or something.’ Then, to Edwards: ‘How long did it take Steele to teach you to parrot all these lines? You’ve been in thrall to him for way too long, Edwards. He’s going to fall eventually – and believe me, it will be a proper spectacle. Of course, he’ll take you all the way down with him. In fact, if I know Steele, he’ll see to it that you’re the one who takes that plunge, with his hand on your back if need be.’ She paused in the hope that her words might at least start to sink in. ‘But meantime, let me ask you again. Did Adrian Brand get you to talk to Stuart Bloom at any point? Either to warn him off or to ask for the contents of his safe to be returned?’
‘No.’
‘And as far as you know, Brian Steele wasn’t taxed with that job without your assistance?’
‘No.’
‘Any theories about the handcuffs?’
‘No.’
Clarke made an exasperated sound and turned to Crowther again. ‘Anything you want to add, DC Crowther?’
‘I’m just wondering if Detective Constable Edwards was ever dropped on his head as a baby.’
Edwards’s eyes drilled into Crowther’s, but the smile stayed in place. ‘You should mind your manners,’ he warned her. Then, pointing a chubby finger in Clarke’s direction: ‘You also don’t want to be hanging around with her. She’s got her hand so deep in a certain reporter’s pocket, she could probably fondle her arse.’
‘Tell Steele to get a better script-writer for next time,’ Clarke said. ‘One who can do jokes at the very least.’
Afterwards, Steele put his arm around Edwards’s shoulders as they walked back down the stairs, heads close together as they conferred. Clarke and Crowther stood at the top, watching. Neither man cast a backward glance.
‘Wasn’t that bad a line, actually,’ Clarke admitted. ‘If only more of our clothing had pockets …’
In the MIT room, Graham Sutherland was just finishing a phone call.
‘Bloody soil results won’t be in until tomorrow,’ he said, not managing to hide his frustration. ‘Lab has been all over the VW without finding anything new. Some of the vegetation that’s grown through the chassis doesn’t match what’s growing in the gully, but it’s just the usual bindweed and stuff that you’d find more or less anywhere in the lowlands. Means the car was sitting somewhere for a considerable period of time, long enough for the plant life to penetrate it from ground level.’ He had walked to the whiteboard and was looking at the photos of the boot’s interior. ‘Mould, spores, moss and plenty of dead bugs.’ He glanced towards Clarke. ‘An episode of CSI would have wrapped this up by now.’
‘Slightly bigger budget than us, I dare say.’
Sutherland just about managed a smile. ‘Anything from the ACU interviews?’
‘Just that they weren’t thrilled I was the one asking the questions – so thanks for that, Graham.’
‘Has that DVD arrived from Glasgow yet?’
‘On its way here in a car.’
‘If it does feature a similar set of handcuffs …’
She nodded. ‘More questions for Jackie Ness. We need to ask him about the break-in anyway.’
‘The break-in Sir Adrian says didn’t happen?’
‘Huston’s sticking to his version.’
‘Ness’s lawyer is going to be far from thrilled if we bring his man back in again.’
‘For about two minutes,’ Clarke conceded. ‘After which he’ll be booking a nice skiing holiday paid for by his client’s fees. Anyway, I really need to peruse the film first.’ She watched Sutherland nod his agreement. ‘There are also still a few interviews we’ve not done – I’m thinking of Cafferty, plus John Rebus.’
‘What exactly is it you think Cafferty will tell us?’
‘Sounds like he was closer to Jackie Ness than we thought. All we originally knew was that he’d put some money into Ness’s business. Then it turned out he’d actually watched a day’s filming. Now, he finds Larry Huston for Ness.’
‘Fine,’ Sutherland decided after a bit of thought. ‘Bring him in.’
‘And Rebus?’
‘What’s the one thing we’ve learned from putting questions to Steele and Edwards, Rawlston and Newsome?’ Clarke couldn’t think of an answer. ‘Precisely,’ Sutherland told her. ‘I doubt John Rebus will be any different.’
‘Been a while, Siobhan,’ Cafferty said, settling into his chair in the interview room. Then, turning towards Emily Crowther: ‘DI Clarke used to be one of our best customers at my club.’ He dug some cards from his pocket and slid them towards Crowther. ‘A few comps for you. The Devil’s Dram, it’s on Cowgate. Bring your friends – that’s what Siobhan here used to do.’
‘Back in the days before you owned it,’ Clarke snapped back.
‘Aye, you were happier when Darryl Christie was in charge.’ Cafferty folded his arms. He wore a shiny blue suit and a lemon-coloured shirt, open at the neck to display a profusion of silvered chest hair.
‘We have a few questions about Larry Huston,’ Clarke ploughed on.
‘Am I supposed to know him?’
‘He broke into a few safes for you back in the day.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘Including Adrian Brand’s.’
‘Is that right?’
‘We have a statement from him.’ Clarke pretended to study it for a moment. ‘You’d been asked by Jackie Ness to fi
nd someone and you put him in touch with Huston.’
‘And this is all a matter of record, is it? What does Jackie Ness say? Come to think of it, what does Sir Adrian say?’ A smile was slowly spreading across Cafferty’s face.
‘I don’t suppose you could put us in touch with Conor Maloney?’
‘Name sounds Irish.’
Clarke gave a theatrical sigh. ‘You can play as many games as you like, but you know we’ll never stop digging.’
‘Last I heard, Gartcosh had given up, fed up with their shovels hitting solid rock.’
‘Whatever was in that safe might have been of interest to Conor Maloney. A couple of days later, Stuart Bloom had disappeared off the face of the earth. You’re telling me there’s no connection?’
Cafferty turned his attention back to Crowther. ‘Siobhan learned her shtick from John Rebus, but she’ll never be quite his equal. Mind you, back when Rebus was on the force, interviews could end up a lot messier – blood to be wiped from the floor and the walls. Suspects tended to trip over their own feet and got suddenly clumsy around stairs. Nowadays you’re all scared you’ll end up on report.’ His eyes were on Clarke again. ‘Or being investigated by ACU.’
‘Who found nothing,’ Clarke felt obliged to reply.
‘Nothing they could make stick,’ Cafferty agreed. ‘Just like you and this Larry Huston story – you’re going to get nowhere with it. What are you going to do – charge me with being an accessory to a crime that never happened? Was it ever reported to the police? Did Brand ever put in an insurance claim?’
‘Which is interesting in itself, don’t you think? Maybe he was scared Maloney would find out about the theft. You knew, though, and maybe you passed the news along.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Just to be friendly with someone you thought could be useful to you.’
Cafferty shook his head. ‘I don’t blame you for trying, Siobhan, really I don’t, but bringing me here was never going to get you anywhere. What’s more, I think you always knew that, so why am I here? Rebus been whispering in your ear?’
‘Has he been whispering in yours? Seems to me you knew we’d be coming for you and you knew why.’
‘I’ve known the man longer than you have, Siobhan. We know he likes nothing better than playing both sides. It’s as true now as it was back then.’
‘What does that mean?’
Cafferty just shook his head again and began buttoning his suit jacket. ‘We done here? You’ve wasted enough of my time to make me irritated, so you can report back to Rebus that there’s that satisfaction at least.’
‘Do you think Conor Maloney had anything to do with Stuart Bloom’s death?’ Clarke had risen from her chair at the same time as him, her eyes locked on to his.
‘Maybe once upon a time I did,’ Cafferty admitted after a moment.
‘And now?’
‘He’d have made it more public, to make sure everyone got the message. A bomb under the chassis, that sort of thing. Whatever else Maloney is, he’s never been one for subtlety.’
‘So who was it then? Was it Ness?’
‘You tell me – you’re supposed to be the detective here.’ He turned the door handle and was gone.
Crowther rose slowly from her chair. ‘Pretty good,’ she commented.
Clarke looked at her. ‘In what way?’
‘He started out saying he didn’t know anyone called Maloney, and by the end you had him stating that he didn’t think Maloney was involved. And all without a drop of blood being shed.’
‘Unless I make a dash for the stairs and give him a shove.’
They were smiling, albeit tiredly, as they left the airless room.
‘Seen the vigil?’ Malcolm Fox said. He was standing by the window of the MIT office, a mug cupped in both hands. Clarke and Crowther joined him. On the pavement opposite the police station stood Catherine Bloom and Dougal Kelly. They held JUSTICE FOR STUART BLOOM signs in front of them at chest height. There were no journalists, though a couple of pedestrians had stopped for selfies, and a white van tooted its horn in support as it passed.
‘How long have they been there?’
‘No idea.’
They watched as Cafferty crossed the street and started a conversation with them. He was nodding as he listened. Then he gestured towards the MIT room and all three raised their heads, Cafferty waving with one gloved hand. More talk, more nodding. He took money from his wallet and tried to press it into Catherine Bloom’s hand, but she refused it. She accepted a hug, though, and Kelly a handshake, and then Cafferty was gone, walking in the direction of Constitution Street.
‘I’ve seen everything now,’ Fox muttered, turning towards Clarke, but she was already stalking towards the door. She took the stairs two at a time, yanking open the main door and striding across the two-lane road without looking right or left. Bloom and Kelly were stony-faced as she arrived in front of them.
‘Know who that was?’ Clarke said.
‘A well-wisher,’ Bloom said.
‘Not even close. His name’s Cafferty. Morris Gerald Cafferty. He’s a gangster and a murderer. Drugs, people-trafficking, extortion – there’s not much he’s not tried his hand at. He was friends with Jackie Ness.’ She fixed her gaze on Dougal Kelly. ‘Name Larry Huston mean anything to you?’ She waited until he’d shaken his head. ‘He broke into Adrian Brand’s office, taking Stuart with him. They robbed Brand’s safe. This was just two days before Stuart vanished. And all down to Cafferty giving Huston’s name to Jackie Ness.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Now, you can take that to the media – I’ve no way of stopping you. I just wanted you to know we’re doing everything we can, while you are enjoying a chinwag with the worst of the worst. But do feel free to keep your eyes on us while your feet freeze. It won’t distract us or slow us down a bit.’
‘Why haven’t you charged Ness with my son’s murder?’ Catherine Bloom exploded. ‘Why are you so hell-bent on protecting him?’
‘We’re preparing a case.’
‘He is the case! His fingerprint was on the handcuffs!’
‘Obviously,’ Kelly said, his voice conciliatory, ‘the procurator fiscal doesn’t think there’s enough to take to trial.’ His eyes were on Bloom, head angled slightly.
‘It was Steele, wasn’t it?’ Clarke asked him. ‘He told you the print belonged to Jackie Ness.’
Kelly turned his attention towards her. ‘You really think I’d tell you?’
‘That’s why I’m asking.’ Clarke gestured towards the police station. ‘We can always chat in there if you’d prefer.’
‘That sounds like a threat,’ Catherine Bloom said, eyes reduced to slits. ‘And all because Dougal exploded your cosy conspiracy of silence.’
‘Mr Kelly’s outburst helped push Jackie Ness over the edge.’
‘Aye, and after attacking a man, he gets off with a fine – what’s that if not evidence of you lot going easy on him?’
Clarke shook her head. ‘Think what you like, Mrs Bloom.’
‘I will, don’t worry.’
Clarke was still shaking her head as she turned and crossed the road again. As she reached the far pavement, a horn sounded. She couldn’t tell if it was a complaint aimed at her or a thumbs-up for the silent protest.
Ten minutes later, when she checked from the window, Bloom and Kelly were gone. Her phone rang, not a number she recognised. She answered anyway.
‘It’s me,’ Dougal Kelly said. ‘I put Catherine in a cab back to the hotel, told her I felt like walking.’
Clarke squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, feeling bone tired. ‘None of what you’re doing is helping. If your book is all that matters to you, fair enough, but if you care about the family, you’ll make Catherine see sense. She needs to get her life back.’
‘Stuart won’t get his back.’
&nb
sp; ‘Is it justice she wants or revenge?’
‘She wants closure, I think. You know they can’t even fix a date for the funeral until the fiscal releases the body, and that might not happen till after any trial. Twelve years they’ve been waiting.’
‘Will a few more weeks or months really make such a difference?’
‘Every day weighs on them.’ Kelly sighed. ‘Martin’s started drinking again. Catherine’s stopped speaking to him.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Would it help if I said I really think we’re getting close?’
‘I’m not entirely sure Catherine would believe it.’
‘I don’t know if I believe it myself – but I keep saying it so I don’t give up.’
‘That story you told us about the safe in Brand’s office … Would it be best kept out of the spotlight?’
‘As of right this second, yes, probably.’
‘Yet you blurted it out.’
‘A moment of madness.’
There was silence on the line for a few moments. She could hear him walking past other pedestrians, buses rumbling close by. ‘I’m sorry I spoiled your lunch with Laura,’ he eventually said.
‘You did a lot more than that, Dougal.’
‘If you’d been in my shoes, you’d have asked about the fingerprint too.’
‘Would I?’
‘The way Ness reacted, doesn’t that make him look like a guilty man?’
‘Guilty of being pushed too far, maybe.’
‘You really think he’s innocent?’
‘I’m trying to keep an open mind. It was Steele, wasn’t it? He’s been feeding you stories about the original inquiry, and now he’s served up Jackie Ness for dessert.’
‘I’ll deny it in public.’
‘Of course you will, but this is just between us.’ She listened to his silence. ‘For my own satisfaction.’
‘Let me buy you another lunch.’
‘Not a good idea.’ She saw that someone from the front desk had arrived in the doorway, holding what looked like a glossy black DVD case.
‘By way of apology,’ Kelly was saying.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Clarke told him, ending the call.