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

by Ian Rankin

  ‘You can’t always get what you want.’

  He stared at her, then at Fox. ‘B-side of “Honky Tonk Women”,’ he intoned. ‘Still want to take that bet?’

  54

  Just before midnight, having made up his mind, Rebus asked to be excused for an hour. Brillo’s ears pricked up, but Rebus shook his head. He left the flat on his own and headed for his car. It was a quick drive, the city quiet, lit by sodium and illuminated shop windows. A few drinkers were huddled outside their favoured bars, sharing cigarettes and stories. Rebus wished for a moment that he were among them. Instead of which, he switched one piece of gum for another and kept driving.

  The tenement door was locked, so he pushed the buzzer. This time of night, he’d probably be taken for a passing prankster, so he pressed it again. At the third time of trying, the intercom crackled into life.

  ‘Wrong fucking flat,’ Charles Meikle said.

  ‘It’s John Rebus. I need a quick word.’

  ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘Thought it best to wait till Billie was asleep.’

  There was silence for a moment, then a buzzing as Meikle unlocked the door. Rebus took his time climbing the stairs. Even so, he was breathing heavily as he reached Meikle’s floor.

  ‘You about to peg out on me?’ the man asked from the open doorway.

  Rebus shook his head. ‘I could do with a glass of water, though.’

  ‘So long as you promise to keep your voice down.’

  Rebus nodded and followed Meikle into the kitchen. He didn’t think he’d woken the man. Meikle was still fully dressed and fully alert. He turned from the sink with a half-filled glass. Rebus took it from him, but instead of taking a sip, he placed it on the worktop.

  ‘Last time I was here,’ he said, ‘this is where you rested your fists. I remember thinking it was a bit odd. You had your palms raised when you did it, like you were trying to hide something.’ He gestured towards the worktop. ‘I see you got rid of it.’

  ‘Rid of what?’

  ‘The knife block with the one blade missing.’

  ‘Says who?’

  Rebus ignored this. He finally lifted the glass and sipped from it. ‘Know what that told me? It told me you knew. Well of course you did – where else was Ellis going to take Billie afterwards? She was spattered with blood. He needed to get her back and into clean clothes.’ He paused. ‘All of which makes you an accessory.’

  ‘None of which you can prove.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s say I were to talk to Billie herself …’

  The look the man gave him, Rebus suspected that if the knife block had still been there, he’d have snatched another blade from it.

  Rebus held up a hand. ‘Thing is, I’m not sure I need to. She’s smart and she’s sensitive. No way she’s going to be able to put it behind her. It’s like a shadow she’ll always carry, meaning you’re always going to be on edge, wondering if and when she’ll crack. Same goes for her brother. Whole family’s under a life sentence, not just Ellis.’ He raised his voice a notch. ‘Isn’t that right, Billie?’

  She emerged from the darkened hall into the doorway, looking pale and fragile in her full-length nightgown.

  ‘It’s all right, petal,’ her father told her. ‘That was a promise then and it’s a promise now.’ Then, to Rebus, his voice taking on a threatening tone. ‘You should bugger off now. Come round here again, I swear I’ll wring your neck.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Rebus turned towards Billie. ‘Some dad you’ve got there. But it’s one thing to talk about it – or even think about it. Carrying it through, though …’ He eased past her on his way to the front door. ‘That’s cold, Billie – something your dad and Ellis might start to appreciate some day.’

  He let himself out and stood on the landing. If words were being spoken inside, he couldn’t hear them. As he descended the stairs, he began to hum a tune. It was only when he got to the bottom that he realised what it was.

  R. Dean Taylor, ‘There’s a Ghost in My House’. He hadn’t heard that one in a while …

  Saturday

  55

  6.30 a.m., still dark outside, weekend workers just beginning to trek into town, quarter-filled buses, windows misted with condensation, and a few pedestrians seeking out early-opening shops or those that stayed open round the clock. Clarke had made them coffee, Rebus asking if the newsagent’s would be open. Fox had argued that there’d be nothing in the papers that hadn’t already been reported online.

  ‘Ever tried reading the racing pages on a phone?’ Rebus had countered.

  They’d then split up – Clarke and Fox heading to Leith, while Rebus took Brillo for a Meadows pit stop before the Arden Street flat.

  ‘Normal service will be resumed,’ he promised the dog, turning to leave.

  Just the one journalist outside Leith police station. He looked junior and cold. He asked Rebus what time they’d be bringing Hazard back.

  ‘Soon,’ Rebus answered, taking pity on him. The young man took his phone out, ready to alert his colleagues. Rebus realised the same question would have been asked of Clarke and Fox, but they’d stonewalled.

  Some short straw, that, he argued to himself as he headed indoors; like stakeouts in the old days, bum going numb and nowhere to pee … The desk officer recognised him this time, waved him through.

  Sutherland was waiting at the top of the stairs, flanked by Clarke and Fox. The DCI was as well dressed as ever but pallid and tense. He pointed at Rebus.

  ‘Out you go,’ he commanded.

  ‘Listen, I think I might be able …’

  But Sutherland was already striding into the MIT room. He half turned, eyes on Clarke. ‘He’s still here in thirty seconds, you’re off the team.’

  The arm Clarke stretched to her side could either have been apologetic or a gesture of dismissal.

  ‘Tell him I can help,’ Rebus said.

  ‘If all else fails,’ Clarke agreed with a nod.

  ‘I’ll sit in my car.’ He fixed her with a stare. ‘Keep me posted unless you want me causing a scene in front of the press.’

  She gave a slow nod, which he only half believed.

  In MIT, Sutherland was being briefed by Reid and Crowther. The others had yet to arrive. Not much of use from the lab, but the soil sample had proved a ninety per cent match, which, Professor Hamilton had indicated, was good enough for a courtroom.

  ‘No prints on the tarp?’ Fox asked.

  ‘Just the farmer’s,’ Reid said. ‘And a bit of paint from a car the same colour and age as the Polo. They couldn’t give us a definitive match.’

  ‘Hazard’s prints aren’t on the cuffs?’

  ‘He was savvy enough to wear gloves when they moved the car. Maybe he’s always been clever that way.’

  ‘He wore gloves when he attacked Bloom?’

  ‘If he attacked Bloom,’ Sutherland felt it necessary to qualify.

  ‘You’re having doubts, sir?’ Clarke asked.

  ‘Right now it’s Carlton’s word against his. Even if those handcuffs had at some point in the past been in Hazard’s possession, all he has to tell a court is that he lost them. Maybe his farming friend picked them up or stole them from him.’ He met Clarke’s eyes. ‘Who was it ran from you? Who was it had the car on his land until selling that land meant he needed to move it?’

  ‘Everything points towards Carlton rather than Hazard,’ Reid agreed.

  ‘Except,’ Clarke argued, ‘Carlton didn’t do a runner after the crime and change his identity, change his whole life. And he didn’t know the victim.’

  ‘We don’t know that Hazard knew him either.’

  ‘Hazard hung around whenever a film was being made, which puts him next to Jackie Ness, and Bloom was working for Nes
s as well as appearing as an extra in his films.’

  ‘We’re going round in circles,’ Sutherland said, not bothering to conceal his frustration. ‘And pretty soon we’re going to have to release Hazard from custody.’

  ‘Or charge him,’ Clarke commented.

  ‘With no evidence? His lawyer will boot that out of the park.’

  ‘The farmer’s statement is fairly compelling,’ Crowther interrupted.

  ‘I doubt Francis Dean will see it that way,’ Sutherland told her.

  ‘And we’ve dug up nothing from Hazard’s past? None of his old friends, contacts, clients?’

  Reid handed the paperwork to Clarke. ‘Look for yourself. Seems he stopped dealing, started applying himself, found his métier in public relations …’

  ‘All of which happened straight after Bloom’s disappearance,’ Clarke muttered.

  ‘We’ve gone through his flat, his email accounts. We’ve dug up old girlfriends, people he shared digs with during his years in Glasgow. No police record, not so much as a speeding fine or parking ticket.’

  ‘A man who couldn’t risk getting into trouble,’ Crowther stated.

  Sutherland was checking a message on his phone. ‘And on his way here as we speak. His solicitor’s probably downstairs waiting.’ He turned to Reid. ‘Can you try to rouse our sleeping beauties?’

  Just as he finished speaking, Leighton and Yeats appeared in the doorway, Gamble toiling behind them. All three looked breathless as they offered their apologies.

  ‘Don’t bother getting comfortable,’ Sutherland said. ‘George and Phil, I want you at the forensic lab, make sure they did all the tests known to man, woman and the beasts of the field. The car, the tarpaulin, the handcuffs. The lab have got DNA for Glenn Hazard. If he left a drop of sweat, a strand of hair, or spittle from a cough, I want it. Understood? The rest of you are going to comb through everything we’ve compiled on Hazard thus far. Plenty gaps in his life story; we might have missed something crucial. Malcolm and Tess, one last dig through the original case files – is he lurking somewhere in there?’ He nodded towards Reid. ‘Callum, you’re with me in the interview room.’ Then, to the room at large: ‘I want us lining the corridor when Hazard gets here. A combination of hundred-yard stares and a gleam in the eye that tells him we know we’ve got him.’ He clapped his hands. ‘We need a result, folks, and that means getting busy. Think you’ve put in some tough shifts? Today’s going to be a brand-new definition of hard work. Let’s get started …’

  56

  Rebus saw the van arrive and emerged from his Saab to watch the circus. The press had been alerted and were ready to pounce. There was no rear entrance to the police station, no alleyway where the van could deposit its cargo. Reporters and cameras surrounded Glenn Hazard as he was led across the pavement to the police station’s door. He looked bemused, the very picture of innocence. His lawyer was waiting at the steps, ready for battle, his freshly shaved face roseate and gleaming. Rebus didn’t know him, but he knew the type – tailored like a shop-window mannequin and spritzed all over by an aerosol called privilege. The escorts eventually got Hazard indoors and the scrum began to thin out, as cameras and phones were checked, updates sent to news desks and social media outlets. Laura Smith approached Rebus with a smile that was trying not to seem overly professional.

  ‘No comment, Laura,’ Rebus told her.

  ‘Strictly off the record, John, with you being a civilian and all …’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Is there enough in the tank?’

  ‘To charge him?’ Rebus waited for her to nod. ‘Like you say, I’m a civilian.’

  ‘Yet you’re sticking to this case like glue. I hear you turned up here earlier not long after Fox and Siobhan.’

  ‘I’m impressed.’ Rebus was seeking out the young reporter who’d been acting as nightwatchman.

  ‘He’s on a well-earned break,’ Smith said. ‘He might be young, but he prides himself on knowing faces and the names that come with them.’ She paused. ‘If someone were to mention in print your involvement, that might jeopardise any eventual prosecution, no?’

  ‘What is it you want, Laura?’

  ‘A heads-up.’

  ‘Siobhan’s the one you should be asking.’

  ‘But I don’t seem to have any leverage over Siobhan.’

  ‘If you interfere and the case goes tits up, you might as well delete her from your contacts.’

  ‘I just need to be an hour ahead of the competition, John.’

  ‘Right now, I can’t help you.’ He gestured towards the paving slabs they were standing on. ‘I’m out in the cold, same as you.’

  ‘But …?’

  ‘Time’s almost up. If MIT don’t want to have to spring Hazard, they’re going to need a bit of help.’

  ‘Help from you, you mean?’

  ‘So maybe stick around another hour or two and see what happens.’

  ‘I’ve not got my car, though.’ She peered over his shoulder towards the Saab. ‘Any chance I can sit in the warm with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you afraid my superbly honed skills would get the better of you and you’d end up letting something slip?’

  ‘Aye, right.’ Rebus’s mouth twitched.

  ‘Then why not put that confidence to the test? How else are you going to pass the time?’

  ‘I thought I might take up a foreign language.’

  She nodded. ‘Conversation’s always the best way to learn. I can offer you French, German, a smattering of Italian …’

  Rebus felt his resistance melt a little. ‘All right then, but tell me something first – and no lying.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Are you really here without a car?’

  ‘Really, yes.’

  ‘And how many streets over did you leave it?’

  She drew in her lips for a moment. ‘Two,’ she eventually confessed.

  Rebus nodded and turned back to the Saab, knowing she was following. ‘Then be prepared for a numb posterior and no facilities.’

  57

  Graham Sutherland emerged from his toilet break to find Clarke in the corridor. She gestured towards the stairs, pausing halfway down and waiting for him.

  ‘Your face,’ she began, ‘tells me there’s been no breakthrough. Nothing from the lab or anywhere else. It’s still all hearsay, with no corroboration. We both know what the fiscal will say to that.’

  ‘This isn’t exactly balm to the soul, Siobhan – what’s your point?’

  ‘I think John knows something, something that could help.’

  ‘And what exactly does he know?’

  ‘He’ll only say it to Glenn Hazard’s face.’

  ‘Not possible.’

  ‘Why not? You’ll be there and so will Hazard’s lawyer. It’ll all be recorded. I don’t see that it necessarily blunts our case.’

  ‘You’ve no inkling what Rebus would say in there?’ He watched as she shook her head. ‘Then it’s too risky.’

  ‘I don’t think so, not when there are other bodies in the room who can call a halt if necessary.’ Clarke was holding out her phone. ‘Talk to him. What harm can it do to just listen? If we have to let Hazard go, who’s to say he won’t do another vanishing act?’

  Sutherland hesitated, then snatched the phone from her, only to have to hand it back so she could find Rebus’s number and ring it. He took it from her again, more gently this time.

  ‘Rebus,’ the voice said.

  ‘It’s DCI Sutherland, John. Siobhan tells me you might have information that could help us with Glenn Hazard.’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Could you tell me what it is?’

  ‘I need to tell him myself.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. His lawyer—’

 
‘I’m not fussed about his lawyer. But there might be things you don’t want to hear.’

  ‘A police officer needs to be present.’

  ‘So be it.’ Silence on the line. ‘Do you want me or not?’

  ‘I’ll need to clear it with Francis Dean first.’

  ‘He’s the lawyer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be there in two minutes. Make sure they let me past the front desk.’

  Rebus ended the call. Sutherland handed the phone back to its owner.

  ‘I take it that’s a yes then?’ Clarke said.

  ‘It’s a maybe,’ Sutherland replied, starting back up the stairs.

  When Rebus walked into the interview room, Callum Reid left with a glower he’d spent some time preparing. Hazard sat with arms folded, alongside his solicitor. The room was stuffy and Dean had removed his jacket but kept his waistcoat on. It boasted a fob watch on a gold chain, just when Rebus thought he couldn’t dislike lawyers more than he already did.

  Sutherland was making sure he could work the recording equipment. Rebus took the chair next to him, still warm from Reid’s posterior. Hazard had demolished one mug of tea and been brought another.

  ‘Do you two know one another?’ the lawyer asked. Rebus looked to Hazard and shook his head.

  ‘Never met,’ he said.

  ‘We can put it on record that you’ve never met or spoken with my client until this day?’

  ‘We can,’ Rebus confirmed.

  ‘And can we also agree that this is highly unusual practice and that any conversation may be inadmissible in future proceedings?’

  But Rebus’s focus was on Hazard now. ‘You should tell your lawyer to leave,’ he said.

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Dean stated. Rebus ignored him, locking eyes with Hazard.

  ‘We’re going to be talking about Rogues nightclub, almost exactly two months before Stuart Bloom died. But I want to do it without a stuffed shirt in the room.’

  Hazard just stared, but Rebus had been in plenty of these contests before. He tried to look bored, folded his arms even, and arched his head as if the ceiling had suddenly become extraordinarily interesting to him.