by Ian Rankin
‘The PR guy?’
‘Yes!’
‘So it was all Adrian Brand’s doing?’
‘Hazard didn’t start working in PR till a few years ago. There’s nothing to show he knew Brand in any way back in 2006. He would have known Jackie Ness, though. He hung around the film set, selling wherever he could.’
‘Have you brought him in for questioning?’
‘Under caution.’
‘He’s there now?’ An idea was forming in Rebus’s mind.
‘There’s only the one interview room, so they’ve seconded my office. That’s where Carlton is. Someone’s fetching some more recording gear from St Leonard’s. Meantime, DCS Mollison has arrived and the press are back outside.’
‘Fun and games – I can see why you’re staying put.’ Rebus paused. ‘So what’ll be in your actual report, Malcolm? Do I get a sneak preview?’
‘I know what you did, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘And what did I do?’
‘On top of all the drinking on the job? And landing a reporter in a heap of trouble with Cafferty?’
‘There’s more?’
‘I also know you did your damnedest to cover up the fact that Mary Skelton’s affair was with your boss, Bill Rawlston. Same afternoons she was supposedly visiting her sick mother, he tended to be at non-existent meetings at Fettes. You were the one who told people why he wasn’t around. You even had him in your notes as being with you when you interviewed Jackie Ness. Problem is, Rawlston’s own diary has him at a meeting at Fettes. Different meeting; exact same time.’
‘Whoops.’
‘Whoops is right.’
‘Thing you need to appreciate, Malcolm, is that families always lie – and that’s what we were. In and around the Big House, we lied to each other and sometimes to ourselves. And now there’s just the one Big House – Gartcosh – and guess what?’
‘Nothing’s changed?’ Fox guessed.
‘Everyone still covers their own arse, stabs mates in the back, and tries to look busy when there’s nothing going on – ring any bells, DI Fox?’
‘You think that excuses what happened in the past?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. But thank goodness it all pales into insignificance in comparison with a murder, eh?’
‘Nothing is insignificant, John. Poretoun Glen Farm was visited, you know. By Steele and Edwards, as it happens. They talked to the present owner’s uncle. He was very frail, housebound really, and very thankful his nephew was taking over the reins. Whatever else you say about Steele, he gets the detail down. Left his card so either of them – farmer or nephew – could get back to him if they heard or remembered anything.’
‘Some habits never leave you,’ Rebus said with a thin smile.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Semper vigilo, Malc. I’ll catch up with you soon.’
Fox must have heard something in Rebus’s voice. ‘How soon?’ he asked.
‘Depends on the traffic,’ Rebus said, ending the call.
52
He parked at Leith Links – it was the closest he could get. Media vans, a couple with satellite dishes on their roofs pointed skywards, had taken all the spaces nearer the police station. Rebus watched from the corner. He’d caught the local news on his Saab’s radio, so knew reporters had also been dispatched to Poretoun Glen Farm.
Eventually, DCS Mark Mollison emerged and was immediately mobbed. He had a statement to make, but couldn’t start until everyone had calmed down. Rebus made his move, squeezing past the scrum around Mollison and entering the station. A uniform stood just inside the door, ready to eject unwanted visitors. Rebus held up both hands.
‘I’m not press,’ he said. He didn’t recognise the officer behind the desk so asked to see Detective Inspector Fox.
‘He’s busy – they all are, if you hadn’t noticed.’
‘I’m an ex-cop myself,’ Rebus explained. ‘I’ve been helping on a case and I need a word with Fox or DI Clarke.’
‘I stopped listening after “ex”,’ the officer said, turning away. Rebus was aware of the uniform at his shoulder, ready to usher him out with a firm touch. He got out his phone and sent a text upstairs.
‘One minute,’ he told the uniform. ‘If nobody comes down, I’ll go.’
‘I’ve already started counting,’ the uniform warned him.
Fifty seconds later, Fox arrived, pushing open the inner door. He didn’t look exactly welcoming.
‘Okay?’ the uniform asked.
Eventually, Fox nodded stiffly. Before he could change his mind, Rebus crossed the threshold with a muttered ‘Thanks.’
As they climbed the stairs, Fox asked if anyone had spotted him.
‘Feeding frenzy around Mollison – I’m not daft.’ Rebus stopped, turning to face Fox. ‘Look, there’s something you need to know. Rawlston’s not a well man. A few more months and he won’t be here.’
‘You’re asking me to censor my report? Turn it into fake news?’
‘I’m asking you to take your time finalising it. Tell your boss you need to track down a few more people for interview. You’re being thorough, that’s all.’ Fox started climbing again, Rebus breathing heavily at his heels. ‘Fuck’s sake, Malcolm, nobody’s building a pyre around you. It would be a kindness, that’s all. I’m not even asking you to lie.’ Rebus caught Fox glaring at him. ‘Okay, a white lie to your boss maybe. Will you at least think about it?’
They had reached the first-floor landing, where a grim-faced Siobhan Clarke was waiting. ‘Just had a text from Laura,’ she said, holding up her phone, ‘asking what John Rebus is doing here.’
Fox turned towards Rebus, who was busying himself with his inhaler. ‘Not daft, I believe you were saying.’
‘So what the hell are you doing here, John?’
‘Being nosy,’ Rebus eventually replied. ‘Promise I won’t get in the way.’
Clarke turned to Fox. ‘And I thought I heard that you’d been recalled to Gartcosh?’
‘Just packing up my things,’ Fox told her.
‘What things?’
‘Whatever they are, it’s taking me a little bit longer than anticipated.’
Clarke rolled her eyes and turned away, disappearing into the MIT room before re-emerging.
‘Malcolm,’ she said, ‘I’m putting you in charge of John. Try not to let him slip his collar.’
Fox nodded and led Rebus to the cramped room that had been his office for the past week.
‘I thought the farmer was in here,’ Rebus said.
‘He’s been released,’ Fox said. ‘With conditions.’
‘Meaning not enough evidence to charge him?’
‘Oh, he’ll definitely face charges – we’re just not sure yet what they’ll be, and meantime we want him to keep cooperating.’
‘So what’s he spilled so far?’ Rebus accepted the chair Fox offered him. He picked up a sheaf of paper – all relating to the 2006 inquiry.
‘Please don’t do that,’ Fox said. ‘Anyone walks in and sees you here …’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word about you inviting me up here to help you massage your report.’
‘You ever thought about stand-up?’
Rebus put the sheets back. ‘You were about to tell me about the farmer,’ he prompted.
‘He was friends with Graeme Hatch, had been since school. Then Hatch went off to college. Flunked first year and came home to Poretoun, but he’d picked up a new skill while away.’
‘Selling dope?’
‘Not massively, according to Carlton, but enough to make a living. Pubs and clubs around Edinburgh, plus the village and others like it. When a film was being made, that was always a good market.’
‘And all of this under Cafferty’s nose?’
‘We did ask
Carlton if Hatch was working for anyone, but he reckons he was all on his own.’
‘Must have got the stuff somewhere.’
‘The internet apparently.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Ordered from China and elsewhere via the Dark Web.’
‘Was Carlton a client as well as a user?’ Rebus asked.
‘Just a few uppers to keep the party going.’
Rebus grew thoughtful. ‘Interesting phrase, Malcolm.’
Fox’s brow furrowed. ‘Is it? Why?’
‘That spate of overdoses – the connection with Rogues. Cafferty says it was all down to a seller called Graeme.’ Rebus paused. ‘So what does Carlton say about the car?’
‘Just that Hatch turned up with it one night and said he needed to leave it there.’
‘Did he ask why?’
‘Says he joked about it being stolen. Hatch was adamant – no questions. They took it to the corner of the field, made sure it was surrounded by junk, and draped a tarpaulin over it. He says the interior looked empty. Hatch had a bag with him; Bloom’s laptop and phone could have been inside.’
‘Plus the papers from Brand’s safe?’ Rebus guessed. Fox just shrugged.
‘We know Stuart Bloom’s body was kept in the boot. It’s feasible the farmer never took a peek.’
‘Hatch isn’t saying?’
‘He’s still being questioned, not twenty feet from here.’
‘Lawyered up?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘The car was moved two or three years back?’
Fox nodded. ‘Around the time Carlton told his old pal he was considering selling the farm. They towed it out of the field, jump-started the battery and put a bit of air in the tyres.’
‘It was still working after all those years?’
‘German engineering,’ Fox agreed. Hazard drove off in it and that was the last Carlton heard of it.’
‘He knew, though, right? Knew who it belonged to?’
‘I’d say so, or else why panic when he saw Siobhan?’
‘But what does he say?’
‘He denies it. Never watched the news, so was only vaguely aware someone had gone missing.’
‘He must be lying.’
‘Of course he’s lying.’
‘So his old pal turns up again a few years later having added a bit of weight and with a new haircut, new attitude. And they never talk about the car? Carlton never goes near it?’
‘Allegedly.’
‘And when it turns up again in Poretoun Woods with Stuart Bloom’s remains inside …?’
‘He still doesn’t watch the news.’
‘Aye, right.’ Rebus gave a snort.
‘That’s his story.’
‘Well, it stinks worse than a freshly laid cowpat. And cooperation or no cooperation, if he knew what he was doing, he’s headed jailwards.’
‘Which is why he’ll keep denying it.’
Rebus nodded in agreement. ‘So now you just have to play him off against Hazard.’
‘Exactly. Though there is just the one problem …’
Rebus nodded again. ‘Why did Hazard do it?’
‘Any thoughts on that?’
‘Put me in a room with him for five minutes and I might be able to help.’ Rebus watched as Fox gave a wry smile. ‘I’m serious, Malcolm,’ he said. ‘Deadly serious.’
53
They could hold Hazard for twenty-four hours without charging him. They were using that time to search his home and office, his computers and phone records. They were interviewing people from his past as well as his present. His lawyer meantime was making a bit of noise. What was it with MIT and unproven allegations? First the break-in and now a long-unsolved murder.
Sutherland had stared hard at the solicitor. His name was Francis Dean. He didn’t work at the same firm as Kelvin Brodie, but word had obviously got around.
Hazard’s fingerprints had been taken and he’d been swabbed for a DNA sample. They’d be re-examining the handcuffs, the Polo’s steering wheel and door handles, the tarpaulin and the various vehicles and bits of equipment surrounding the space where the Polo had lain. They’d asked Carlton, but his memory was that Hazard had worn gloves when they were getting the Polo going again. And Carlton himself? No gloves that he could remember. His prints and a cheek swab had been taken, too. The lab at Howdenhall had been told to pull an all-nighter if necessary. Sutherland had already arranged for a delivery of pizzas and soft drinks.
Eventually tiredness got the better of them. Glenn Hazard was taken to a cell at St Leonard’s, and Sutherland’s team were told to try and get a bit of rest. Not too much, though – the clock was ticking and they had plenty to do to convince the fiscal’s office that a murder charge was in order. Rooms had been found in a B&B on the links. Clarke had turned down the offer, insisting that her own flat was only a five-minute drive. Fox asked if he could take the sofa, and she agreed.
‘So that’s a chair for me,’ Rebus said, ‘unless you’re offering this exhausted old man your bed?’
Clarke stared at him. ‘What’s wrong with your own place?’
‘You might forget to call me if there’s a break in the case.’
‘And Brillo?’
‘Good point …’
Rebus drove to Marchmont to fetch Brillo. Meanwhile, Fox had been dropped off at a chip shop near the top of Broughton Street. By the time Rebus reached Clarke’s flat, his fish supper was tepid at best. But the kettle had been boiled and tea brewed, and Fox had brought a battered sausage for the dog.
‘He’d better not sick that back up,’ Clarke cautioned.
‘Me or Brillo?’ Rebus enquired, stuffing vinegary chips into his mouth.
They were seated in the living room. Fox had added cans of cola and Irn-Bru to his purchases, Rebus opening one of the latter.
‘Caffeine’s probably the last thing I need,’ Clarke said, sticking to the peppermint tea she’d made. Having eaten from the wrappings, she dropped them to the floor, leaned her head against the back of her armchair and closed her eyes.
‘You won’t sleep,’ Rebus told her. ‘This is the cops’ equivalent of Christmas Eve.’
‘What if the lab comes up short? Right now it’s just Carlton’s word against Hazard’s. If the farmer’s prints and DNA are all we find on the car …’
‘Jesus, you’re cheery. I thought I was supposed to be the cynical one.’
‘Shiv’s right, though,’ Fox said. ‘The car was on Carlton’s land; Carlton and Bloom were both extras in one of Jackie Ness’s films so maybe knew each other better than Carlton says.’
‘You saying the farmer’s a closet gay and that’s why he killed Bloom?’
‘Bloom spots him at Rogues. Maybe they even have a snog. Bumps into him again during filming. Carlton’s—’
‘So embarrassed he kills him?’ Rebus said, not bothering to hide his disbelief. ‘I don’t see that at all.’ Brillo had climbed on to his lap and was dozing, Rebus rubbing him behind his ears.
‘So why did Hazard do it then? A drug deal gone wrong? Money owed?’
Rebus held up one hand, fingers splayed, his meaning clear to Fox: five minutes with him …
‘Doesn’t matter why it happened,’ Clarke said sleepily, eyelids still closed. ‘We just have to show that one or the other of them did do it.’ She seemed to remember something, rousing herself a little, eyes suddenly on Rebus.
‘You had news for me, John.’
He nodded. ‘Ellis Meikle is covering for his sister.’
‘Billie?’
‘I probably couldn’t prove it in a court of law, but I know that’s what happened.’
‘What will you tell the uncle?’
‘We’ve already spoken.’
‘He’ll give us Steele and Edwards?
’
‘Well, to be precise, he’ll make a complaint to PIRC, leaving you out of it as far as possible.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning he never acted on the Chuggabugs’ suggestion that he use your mobile number – a number they handed him – to harass you.’
‘His word against theirs?’
‘Not quite.’
‘You reckon they might not worm their way out of this one?’
‘Steele’s going down for something, Shiv, trust me.’
She stared at him. ‘What do you know that I don’t?’
‘Well for one thing, I can name every Rolling Stones B-side from the 1960s.’
‘Would you put money on it, though?’ Fox asked.
Rebus started counting on his fingers. ‘“I Want to Be Loved”, “Stoned”, “Little by Little” …’
‘Don’t encourage him,’ Clarke said to Fox. ‘It’s just his way of ducking the question.’
‘She knows me too well,’ Rebus agreed with a shrug in Fox’s direction. Then, to Clarke: ‘Has Hazard said anything at all that gets us closer to knowing what happened?’
‘He didn’t know Stuart Bloom, never met Stuart Bloom, never sold drugs, didn’t move away and change his identity because he was fleeing any sort of crime, has no idea why Andrew Carlton would concoct such a story – except that farmers everywhere are feeling the economic strain and maybe the balance of his mind has become disturbed.’
‘That last sounds like a lawyer talking.’
‘Most of what I’ve just said came from the lawyer. Hazard just sits there like he’s made of granite.’
‘He’s not, though, which means we can get to him.’
‘How?’
‘John here,’ Fox interrupted, ‘wants a bit of time alone with the suspect.’
‘Well that’s not going to happen,’ Clarke stated, closing her eyes again.
‘Not necessarily alone,’ Rebus reasoned. ‘One of you could come along for the ride.’
‘Hazard’s legal team would have a field day. This isn’t Miss Marple, John. You don’t get to walk all over the inquiry.’
‘I got a lot wrong last time, Siobhan. I’d just like the chance to make up for that.’