by Ian Rankin
‘I loved him,’ she said, as much to herself as to her father.
‘I know that,’ he replied quietly, easing his foot down on the accelerator.
‘And I didn’t do it.’
Rebus nodded but said nothing. Did he believe her? He wanted to. He needed to. He’d switched off the CD, so the only noise was the car engine. Samantha lowered her window and let the breeze have its way with her hair. Eventually Rebus found some words.
‘I know I wasn’t a great dad. Not much of a husband either. Sometimes I tell myself I did my best, but I know that’s not true.’
‘You were okay,’ Samantha muttered. ‘Remember the mirror in my room, when I was wee?’
‘The one on the dresser – how can I forget? I had to come in every night and drape a towel over it.’
‘Because I was convinced it led somewhere dark and scary.’
Rebus smiled at the memory. ‘I wonder why I didn’t just take it away.’
Samantha’s eyes met his. ‘Because I needed it to look into when it was light outside.’
He nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the road ahead.
‘You were okay,’ he heard her say. Then she reached forward to turn the CD back on.
Average White Band: ‘Pick Up the Pieces’.
He hoped that was what they were doing.
25
Siobhan Clarke’s call was eventually answered.
‘I’ve got just about enough signal for a bollocking,’ she heard Rebus say by way of introduction.
‘Good, because I’m primed to give you one.’
‘It’s online already?’
‘Which is why I’ve had Laura Smith on the phone, screaming about how come she’s not the one we gave it to.’
‘You put two and two together … ’
‘All investigations leak at some point, but I know what you’re like.’
‘What am I like?’
‘You stir shit up for the sake of it.’
‘Not strictly true – I usually only do it when I’m getting nowhere. How’s Brillo?’
Clarke looked down at the floor of her living room. ‘Curled up next to me.’
‘You’re walking him, though?’
‘We’re just back. So talk me through it – maybe then I’ll have something I can tell Laura while I’m buying her the first of several large gins.’
‘She’s the press – you don’t need to go kowtowing.’
‘You forgetting she’s helped us plenty in the past?’ Clarke sat down on the chair so heavily, Brillo’s head shot up. She gave him a pat of reassurance.
‘A young reporter up here, he did me a couple of favours so I decided I owed him.’
‘You couldn’t just take him to the pub?’
‘I’m not convinced he’s old enough to get served. Besides, what harm does it do?’
‘Ramsay Meiklejohn is a member of the House of Lords. That makes his disappearance – if that’s what it is – national news, maybe even international. The London tabloids are scenting blood.’
‘I’m still not seeing a downside.’
‘You might when they descend on Naver. You’ve only had the Scottish media to deal with so far – they’re pussycats by comparison. “Anyone seen Lord Strathy?”; “No, but while you’re here, we’ve a murder you might be interested in – victim’s partner lives just up the road.”’
‘Yes?’
‘Christ, John, you’re throwing your own daughter to the … ’ Clarke broke off, rising to her feet again and beginning to pace. ‘You think she did it?’ The question was met with silence.
‘No shortage of suspects,’ Rebus eventually answered.
‘You’re not seriously adding Lord Strathy to the list?’
‘Keith went to Strathy Castle, kicked up a stink.’
‘Why?’
‘He wanted Strathy to sell him the camp. Strathy wasn’t inclined to agree.’
‘I’m not seeing grounds for murder.’
‘Wouldn’t mind asking his lordship a few questions, though – and his gardener, come to that.’
‘Haven’t got round yet to checking him for you – sorry.’
‘Never mind. I already know he has a record, along with a history of violence. He hustled Keith off the castle grounds.’ There was silence on the line for a moment. Then: ‘You’ve spoken to the daughter?’
‘She seems very relaxed about things.’
‘Why would that be?’
‘Might be an act.’ Clarke sighed and glanced down in Brillo’s direction. ‘John, if you’re going to be much longer, it’s going to have to be a kennel job.’
‘Nonsense – you spend too much time in the office as it is.’
‘Not as much as Malcolm.’
‘You’re not able to keep tabs on him as much as you’d like?’
‘He’s become friendly with your old sparring partner.’
Another moment’s silence.
‘Has he now?’ Rebus eventually drawled. ‘And why’s that?’
‘Something to do with Stewart Scoular.’
‘The SNP guy? You mentioned him before.’
‘Drummed out of the party and now reinvented as a land developer. He seems to feature in Strathy’s plans for your POW camp.’
‘Is there a connection, do you think?’
‘Only if Keith was killed because of his opposition, and frankly I still think that’s a stretch.’ Clarke paused. ‘Is it possible you’re seeing things that aren’t there, John? You used to say to me that the simple explanation usually turns out to be the right one.’
‘The simple explanation would bring Samantha back into the picture.’
‘Exactly.’ Clarke paused by her window, peering down onto the night-time street below. It all looked so peaceful, so orderly. ‘You never answered my question earlier.’
‘Which one?’
‘You know damn well.’
She listened to Rebus exhale at length and noisily. ‘She’s my daughter, Shiv, and she has a daughter of her own. She can’t do time, guilty or not.’
‘Jesus, John … ’
‘I’ve put away innocent people before.’
Clarke pressed her forehead to the glass. ‘I don’t want to hear any of this.’
‘Then don’t ask. You’ve got enough on your plate, notably Malcolm Fox. You can’t let Cafferty get his claws into him – that bastard never, ever lets go.’
‘What do you think’s going on?’
‘Cafferty would do anything to have someone on the inside at Gartcosh, the higher up the better.’
‘Malcolm’s hardly—’
‘But he’s on his way, and it seems he has the ear of the ACC. If and when she lands the top job … ’
‘A promotion for Malcolm?’
‘Even without the promotion, he’s still going to look like a prize to Cafferty. I know that sounds ridiculous and I can barely believe I’m saying it, but our slow-moving, slow-thinking DI Fox gets to inhabit spaces closed to the likes of you and me.’
‘The heart of any and all Major Crime investigations?’
‘Anti-terrorism, money laundering, all manner of classified stuff we have no inkling of. And yes, I know it should have been you they came for – staggers me that Fox got the nod.’
‘We both know why, though … ’
‘Is this where you point the finger at me? My proximity somehow contaminated you in the minds of the wankers at the Big House?’
‘The thought seems to have crossed your mind,’ Clarke said.
‘But just think how mundane those formative years would have been without me charging into the occasional china shop.’
She was smiling, almost despite herself.
‘So what now?’ Rebus asked into the silence.
&
nbsp; ‘How many more days do you think you’ll be?’
‘You know as well as I do, it’s sometimes a long game.’
‘Want me to post you some clothes?’
‘I should have thought to buy some when I was in Inverness.’
‘So how are you managing?’
‘Pub landlady, I’ve got her late husband’s cast-offs on standby.’
‘A landlady, eh? You’ve landed on your feet.’
‘Maybe and maybe not.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’ve got her on my list of suspects.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Her and her dad … ’
‘Her dad?’
‘He’s in his nineties, so he’s low in the charts.’ Clarke couldn’t help laughing. ‘But he kept an old revolver in the bar and it’s gone walkabout, which maybe puts the barman, Cameron, in the picture. Added to which we have Samantha’s flame from the commune … maybe his partner, Angharad Oates, too – Lord Strathy’s ex, lest we forget – if we’re factoring in her jealousy of Samantha’s fling with Hawkins.’
‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘Is that what I am? How come I feel so tired, then? I could use some of Malcolm’s stamina.’ Clarke didn’t say anything. ‘You’re going to go check, aren’t you, see if he’s still in the office?’
‘Feet up with a good book,’ Clarke corrected him, knowing she was lying. ‘I’ve got the new Karin Slaughter to keep me company.’
‘Not forgetting a faithful pooch.’
‘Kennels, John. I’m not joking.’
‘Try telling him that to his face.’
When Clarke turned from the window, it was as if Brillo had heard every word. His head was cocked, eyes moist.
‘I can hear your resolve crumbling from here,’ Rebus said, ending the call.
‘Thought I’d find you here,’ Clarke said, entering the MIT office.
‘Some of us don’t have Brillo to feed and walk,’ Fox replied.
‘Speaking of which, when did you last eat?’ Clarke reached into the carrier bag she was holding and handed a fish supper to Fox. He began to unwrap it, while she went to the kettle and switched it on.
‘Salt and sauce?’ he asked.
‘Just salt – I wasn’t sure which you were. Got you these, though.’ She dug sachets of ketchup and HP out of her pocket and tossed them towards him.
‘You think of everything,’ Fox said. His desk was strewn with paperwork, so he transported the food to Esson’s obsessively tidy desk and seated himself there. While the kettle got to work, Clarke took a look at his computer.
‘CCTV,’ she commented. Fox nodded, tearing at the fat piece of battered haddock.
‘Christ, this is good,’ he said.
‘Found any interesting bicycles?’
He shook his head. ‘Might be something, though. I’ll tell you after.’
Clarke poured two teas, sniffing the milk before adding a dollop to each stained mug. She carried both to Esson’s desk. Having freed up one hand, she lifted a chip from the pile beneath the fillet.
‘Any news from John?’ Fox asked.
‘He sends his love.’
‘I’ll bet he does. I saw about his daughter on the news – formally questioned but not yet charged. That must be shredding him.’
‘You know John.’
Fox glanced up at her. ‘Was it him who tipped off the reporter about Lord Strathy?’
‘Who else?’
‘Bloody typical.’
Clarke stared down at the carton of food. ‘You’re leaving most of the batter.’
‘The healthy option.’
She picked up a sliver and popped it into her mouth. ‘The lack of footage doesn’t mean Issy and her bike weren’t there. I’m guessing Craigentinny has its share of cycle paths; not much call for CCTV on those.’ Fox was nodding to let her know he’d already considered this. ‘Thing is, though, where’s her motive?’
‘Motive is for later, Siobhan. Right now, an actual suspect would be received with thanks. Want the rest of these chips?’
‘You had enough?’ She watched Fox pat his not-insubstantial stomach. ‘In that case, I’ll eat while you show me what you’ve got.’ She lifted the cardboard carton and followed him to his desk. They sat side by side while Fox scrolled through the CCTV.
‘Thing is,’ he began, ‘previously we’d focused on Seafield Road, and the route Salman took from the New Town. But if his destination was the golf course car park, makes sense to look at the streets in and around Craigentinny too. Sadly, the CCTV coverage there is patchy, but I noticed this car.’ He clicked on a frame, freezing it. Headlights; terraced houses; an unremarkable saloon car; the driver nothing more than a smudged outline. ‘No visible passenger. And travelling towards the golf course from the direction of town.’
‘Okay.’ Clarke knew there was more coming. She finished the final few chips while Fox found the relevant clip.
‘This is Seafield Road again, just before eleven p.m. See that parked car?’ He pressed a fingertip to the screen. The car was shown from behind, rear lights glowing.
‘You’re saying it’s the same one?’
‘Same shape, similar colour.’
‘Where on Seafield Road is this?’
‘About fifty yards from the car park where Salman died, towards the city side. Next footage we have, no car.’
‘Driver stopped to take a call, then headed off again?’ She watched as Fox offered a shrug. ‘It’s not much, Malcolm.’
‘I know that. What I’m wondering is, is it worth asking the tech people to play with it and maybe get us a number plate?’
‘What’s your theory?’
‘There’s a meeting arranged at the golf club, but this driver gets there early and finds the car park locked. Drives out onto Seafield Road and parks. He or she knows an Aston when they see one, so when Salman hoves into view, they signal, maybe with a flash of the headlights. Salman pulls into the nearest secluded spot – which happens to be fifty yards behind the parked car. The other car joins him there.’ He noticed that Clarke was staring at him. ‘What?’
‘That’s properly impressive. You’re wasted at Gartcosh.’
‘We do detective work there too, you know.’
‘But not very much of it.’
‘So I hand this over to tech support in the morning?’
Clarke nodded. ‘Meantime, what make of car do you reckon? Looks pretty generic.’
‘Could be any one of half a dozen,’ Fox agreed. His phone was vibrating. He lifted it from the desk, checking the caller’s name and then answering.
‘Yes?’ was all he said. Then, after listening to whatever the caller was saying: ‘Okay, two minutes.’
‘Cafferty?’ Clarke guessed as the call ended. ‘Downstairs waiting?’
‘I need to do this alone,’ Fox said, putting his jacket on.
‘No you don’t.’
He gave her a look that was almost imploring. ‘Siobhan, please … ’ As he made for the door, he turned his head, checking she was staying put.
Clarke walked over to the window. Large black car as before; driver on the pavement, his phone illuminating his face. She held up her own phone, selecting camera and zooming in as far as possible. She snapped a picture of the driver, peering at it. Too grainy to be of any use in putting a name to him.
‘Pity,’ she said to herself.
It always helped to know your enemies.
Fox got into the back seat next to Cafferty, the armrest lowered between them.
‘I’m trying to be patient, Malcolm,’ Cafferty drawled. ‘But it goes against my nature.’
Fox opened his mouth to speak, but then noticed that Cafferty’s focus had shifted. He was looking at something through the wind
ow. Turning, Fox spotted Clarke crossing the road.
‘She doesn’t know about the tapes or the ACC,’ he managed to tell Cafferty. ‘Let me deal with her … ’
The front passenger door opened and Clarke threw herself onto the seat. The driver was moving towards the car, but Cafferty slid his window down.
‘It’s okay, Benny,’ he said.
‘Does Benny have a surname?’ Clarke asked.
‘I assume so. Nice of you to join us, Siobhan.’
‘Shouldn’t you be holding court at your club?’
‘I’m after a progress report, that’s all. You know Malcolm’s been doing a bit of work for me?’
‘I know he’s been looking at Stewart Scoular, yes.’
‘I feel I’ve not been getting my money’s worth – not that money has changed hands.’
‘I’m here to tell you he’s not been slacking.’
‘Might help,’ Fox added, eyes on Cafferty, ‘if I knew what exactly it is you think I’m going to find.’
Rather than answer, Cafferty kept his focus on Clarke. He even leaned his head forward a little into the gap between the back seats and the front.
‘So Malcolm’s been holding out on you, Siobhan? Hasn’t told you about the recordings of Jenni Lyon’s partner playing away from home – I hope he’s cooled down, by the way. He was going to fall on his sword, but that doesn’t seem to have happened. My guess is, Malky had a word with Jenni and Jenni had a word with the love rat.’
‘Recordings made at your club?’
‘And elsewhere.’ Cafferty glanced in Fox’s direction and grinned. ‘Didn’t know that, did you, Malky boy? I’m laying all my cards on the table right here. And I want Siobhan in the loop, because it seems to me you’ve been unwilling to trust her.’
‘You want me in the loop,’ Clarke corrected him, ‘because you’re trying to cause a rift between me and Malcolm – and that’s not going to happen.’
The grin this time was aimed at the front seat. ‘She’s sharp, isn’t she, Malky?’
‘His name is Fox – Detective Inspector Fox to the likes of you.’