The Dark Remains

by Ian Rankin

  ‘You don’t even have a phone in your house, Spanner. A neighbour takes messages for you and her laddie passes them on. You slip her a few quid a week for services rendered. That tells me you’re not only cautious but you’ve got your wits about you, too.’

  Thomson checked in his rear-view mirror. The Jaguar was right behind him.

  ‘Is there a message you want me to give to Mr Colvin?’

  ‘He’ll be hearing from me, but not through you. I’m here because Milligan pulled you in.’

  ‘A fishing expedition, that’s all.’

  ‘Conducted by a man who couldn’t catch crabs in a knocking shop. You think the knife was planted near your house on purpose?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘To put you in the frame.’

  ‘No idea.’ Another signal, another manoeuvre. ‘What if it was?’

  ‘Well, I’d maybe be curious as to who did it. It would have to be somebody who knows you live locally, somebody who either wants you out of the way or wants your boss relegating you to the subs’ bench.’

  ‘You seem to have done a lot of thinking on the subject.’

  ‘The body was dumped on my patch, Spanner. I’m taking that as a very personal insult. And while I loathe your boss with every fibre of my being, I don’t see how a war helps either of us. If someone’s cornering us, I want to know who and why. Then again, it could be a falling-out amongst thieves, couldn’t it? That’s almost the simplest explanation. How far do you trust the likes of Panda Paterson, Mickey Ballater and Dod Menzies? With Carter gone, there are only four runners and riders in the race. One of you is going to end up in the winners’ enclosure, and you’ve known Colvin longer than anyone. Maybe that makes you the favourite, and every betting man knows the favourite’s the one most likely to get nobbled.’

  ‘I see what you’re saying.’

  ‘I know you do, but you’re also thinking it’s what you’d expect me to say if I wanted to start taking Colvin and his organisation apart brick by brick.’

  ‘You’d want to sow dissent.’

  ‘Education wasn’t lost on you, was it, Spanner? But the dissent’s already there. Lobbing petrol at the Gay Laddie is amateur hour, which makes me think it wasn’t Colvin’s idea, meaning one of your colleagues was acting on his own initiative. That might be the very person you’ve got to watch out for.’ Thomson could feel John Rhodes’s eyes drilling into him. ‘Time may come when you need a friend.’

  ‘And you’re offering to be that friend?’

  ‘Unless you want me as an enemy?’ The look Rhodes was giving him had hardened still further. ‘Do you need telling that mercy’s not high on my list of personal qualities? I learned long ago that there’s no point being reasonable in an unreasonable world. This is the only time you and me will talk like this. And when I come for your boss – and I will come for him one of these days – if you’re standing in my way I won’t think twice, understood?’

  ‘Understood.’

  Rhodes turned his attention from driver to windscreen, leaving a few moments of distilled silence before speaking again. He sniffed and gave a twitch of the mouth. ‘One last thing you need to know – Carter was planning to set up a rival outfit.’ He saw the look Thomson was giving him. ‘I know this counts as something else I’d say to stir up trouble. Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.’ He paused again. ‘Maybe your boss knew and maybe he didn’t. If he did know, maybe he did something about it. I definitely would.’ The car had stopped at traffic lights. Thomson was readying to say something, but Rhodes was already reaching for the door handle.

  ‘Take care of yourself, Spanner,’ he said as he got out.

  Thomson watched as he strode towards the Jaguar and climbed in. The lights had changed to green, but a man was taking his time crossing the road, his movements resembling those of a marionette. Sheepskin coat, cap angled downwards over his forehead, newspaper tucked under one arm. Thomson leaned on the horn, but all the man did was flick the Vs. The performance, however, had given the Jaguar time to execute a three-point turn. Spanner Thomson rubbed a hand across his brow, put the car into first and carried on driving, his brain dizzy with permutations, as if Rhodes’s horse race came with its own unique betting system, beyond the grasp of all but the most seasoned professional punter.

  The man crossing the road in front of Spanner Thomson’s car went by the name of Benny Mason, ‘Macey’ to his many acquaintances. He was a small-time thief who had managed somehow not to take sides in a city that was all about which team you played for. Macey was on speaking terms with both John Rhodes and Cam Colvin – Matt Mason, too, if it came to it. He had checked but found no evidence of a blood tie between himself and Matt. Still, he could be useful for passing messages across the trenches, which was why he’d been approached a while back by DI Ernie Milligan, who’d shown him some files relating to unsolved house-breakings and the like before stating that he could have Macey dragged into court and found guilty on all charges.

  ‘Even though I suspect you only did half of them.’

  He’d then bought Macey a drink and they’d come to an agreement, which was why Macey now sought a working phone box. After all, it wasn’t every day you saw John Rhodes stepping from a car belonging to one of Cam Colvin’s inner circle. No, that was a rare sighting indeed, which made it exactly the sort of thing Ernie Milligan would want to be made aware of, paying handsomely for the privilege . . .

  21

  It was Detective Inspector Ernest Milligan’s belief that, Bobby Carter having been killed elsewhere before his body had been dumped, all business premises associated with Cam Colvin needed to be searched for bloodstains and Colvin himself brought in for questioning. Besides, a warning needed to be issued: no more attacks on John Rhodes’s properties and employees. Commander Frederick had been insistent on that point.

  So Milligan was not best pleased when his train of thought and his preparations were interrupted by word of a phone call. The caller refused to give a name and just said that he had something Milligan would want to hear. Finally Milligan relented and picked up the handset.

  ‘DI Milligan here.’

  ‘About bloody time. I’m on my last bit of change.’

  Milligan recognised Macey’s voice. ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘I’ve got John Rhodes getting out of Spanner Thomson’s car on Castle Street.’

  Milligan was pulled up short. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Well, I suppose I could have mistaken Jimmy Clitheroe for John Rhodes . . .’

  ‘All right, smartarse. Any idea what was going on?’

  ‘Rhodes had a Jag with a driver waiting. He got in and they left in the opposite direction from Thomson, leaving Spanner with a worried look on his face. It’s got to be interesting, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, maybe.’

  ‘By “interesting”, I mean worth something.’

  ‘I’ll see you right, Macey, fear not.’ Milligan slammed the phone down and scratched at his jaw. He stopped a passing DC. ‘Has Cam Colvin been brought in yet?’

  ‘Should be here any minute.’

  ‘Let me know the second he’s installed, and make sure he’s in whichever interview room has the sewage problem.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Milligan caught sight of Laidlaw across the room. He made like a torpedo towards him. Laidlaw was sifting through the paperwork on his desk.

  ‘Typing pool must have steam coming out of it,’ he said.

  ‘Why aren’t you in Balornock knocking on doors?’

  ‘Because it’s a waste of time.’

  ‘A waste of time that happens to be a direct order from your superior officer.’

  Laidlaw glowered at him. ‘If I ever start thinking of you as my superior in any way, shape or form, it’ll be a sign I need to check into Gartnavel. By the way, have you done anything about Jenni Love?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The youngster Carter was cheating on his wife with.’

  ‘All in goo
d time.’

  ‘She dances at a club called Whiskies. I’ve already checked it out and visited her home – proper policing rather than doorstepping.’

  ‘Did you meet her dad? I used to watch him when he played for the Gers.’

  ‘The Masonic lodge and Rangers FC – it’s a wonder to me that you’ve scaled the giddy heights of CID. Anyway, Bob Lilley knows a bit more that might interest you, so if you pull him from the wild goose chase out at Springburn Park, you might not regret it.’ Laidlaw had finished browsing the sheets of paper. ‘Are you bringing in Colvin and his mob?’

  ‘Just the main man to start with. But we’re looking at his various businesses, especially workshops and scrapyards.’

  ‘Team’s stretched as it is.’

  ‘Nevertheless.’ Milligan squared his shoulders.

  Laidlaw leaned in towards him. ‘Every decision you make is being scrutinised upstairs. Any mistake, it’s your name in red. You might try kicking the blame a rung or two down the ladder, but that won’t wash with the people who count. My guess is, right now the newspapers, the council and all the local MPs are lining up to give the Commander a barracking, asking why the investigation’s going nowhere while the city burns.’

  ‘That’s why I’ll be ordering Cam Colvin to cease hostilities.’ Milligan paused. ‘What if I told you John Rhodes and Spanner Thomson were seen sharing a car this morning?’ When Laidlaw seemed stymied for an answer, Milligan couldn’t help but look pleased. ‘So while you’re stuck in some sordid little investigation into the deceased’s love life, the rest of us are focusing on the main event.’ He paused. ‘Might bring Archie Love in afterwards, though, just to get the measure of him.’

  ‘I don’t think he knew about his daughter and Carter,’ Laidlaw warned.

  ‘Well, telling him now’s not going to make much difference, is it? It’s not like he can go round the guy’s house and give him a battering.’

  ‘Won’t make the daughter’s life any easier, though.’

  ‘I’ve always said you were too soft. Your head might be hard but your heart isn’t.’ Milligan was being signalled to from across the room. ‘Looks like Cam Colvin’s shown up.’

  ‘Want me in there with you when you question him?’ Milligan gave a snort and turned away.

  ‘Thanks for considering it anyway,’ Laidlaw muttered. There was a throbbing behind his temples. It had been there for the best part of an hour, growing steadily more insistent. ‘Not now, migraine,’ he told it. ‘I’ll give you my full attention after work, I promise, but right now, I need to visit the Fourth Estate.’

  ‘Nice to see you’ve come tooled up, Cam,’ Milligan said as he entered the interview room.

  The lawyer seated next to Cam Colvin wore a double-breasted pinstripe suit and a burgundy-coloured silk tie. Slender red veins suffused his nose and cheeks. His name was Bryce Mundell, and Milligan had had plenty of dealings with him in the past. Bobby Carter’s branch of the law was commercial, Mundell’s criminal. If you were bent and could afford his fees, he was the man you went to. Yesterday he had been representing Spanner Thomson. It was no surprise to Milligan to be facing him again across the interview room table.

  ‘The stink in here constitutes a health hazard,’ the lawyer complained, making show of unfurling a voluminous white cotton handkerchief and holding it to his nose and mouth.

  ‘I wasn’t aware of any smell until your client walked in,’ Milligan countered, getting comfortable.

  ‘You’re a regular Merry Mac fun page,’ Colvin told the detective.

  ‘I like to brighten the gloom,’ Milligan agreed. ‘That’s why I’ve got officers shining torches over each and every inch of real estate connected to you.’

  ‘I’ve been in touch with Commander Frederick about that,’ Mundell broke in, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘I’m far from convinced that proper procedures were followed before these searches commenced.’

  Milligan ignored this. His attention was on Colvin. ‘Setting light to the Gay Laddie is one sure way of bringing John Rhodes running. That what you want, Cam? Smacking two of his boys to the extent that both needed a hospital visit – still a wise move in hindsight?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Colvin had folded his arms, head cocked to one side. He was peering at Milligan as though examining him on a slab. Milligan felt it was time for a bit of provocation. He opened the folder he’d brought with him. It was mostly for show, but he studied the topmost handwritten sheet while he counted off fifteen seconds. The solicitor was clicking his pen, indicating impatience. Not that he would be impatient, not when he billed by the quarter-hour.

  ‘Was the meeting between Spanner and John Rhodes your idea?’ Milligan asked, keeping his tone casual.

  ‘What meeting?’

  ‘Just over an hour ago.’

  Colvin shifted slightly in his chair. If his arms hadn’t already been folded, Milligan reckoned the man would be crossing them now, unsettled and playing for time while the cogs turned.

  ‘Spanner driving,’ Milligan continued into the silence, ‘Rhodes in the passenger seat, a nice chinwag going on. Not exactly subtle either – driving down Castle Street in the morning rush hour. Spotted by several witnesses, so you can take it from me that it happened. I’m just interested to know if it was done with your blessing. You spend half the night attacking Rhodes, then send Spanner – Spanner Thomson of all people – along for a parley.’ He broke off while he reconsidered. ‘Except that doesn’t make sense, does it? They were driving into town from Balornock, meaning it was Rhodes who paid a call rather than the other way round. Even took the Jag and a driver with him so he could bail out before Spanner pushed too far into your neck of the woods.’

  He closed the folder again and tapped a finger against it. ‘Any comment, Cam?’

  Mundell cleared his throat. ‘You’re offering us nothing but hearsay, DI Milligan. My client has nothing to add.’

  Milligan opened the folder again and lifted out the front page of the previous day’s evening paper. ‘This isn’t exactly helpful.’

  Colvin studied the picture taken outside the Parlour. It was hard to tell if his attention was more on the widow or himself.

  ‘In the absence of a press conference organised by the police,’ Mundell drawled in his expensively educated tones, ‘the victim’s family decided to take matters into their own hands. Has any information been forthcoming as a result?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘Yesterday my client Mr Thomson was shown a photofit relating to a person of possible interest seen near where the knife was discovered. Has there been any progress in identifying that individual?’

  ‘We’re not here about Spanner Thomson.’

  ‘Which begs the question, why are we here?’ Mundell was glaring at Milligan.

  ‘We’re here because your client – today’s client, I mean – could be in grave danger of starting a fairly messy war on the streets of my city. I need him to be aware of the consequences.’

  ‘It’s John Rhodes you should be slapping down,’ Cam Colvin said.

  ‘How about a meeting brokered between the two of you?’

  ‘With a cop in the room, we’d have nothing to say.’ Colvin’s eyes drilled into Milligan’s. ‘And you’d want to be in that room, wouldn’t you? No bragging rights otherwise. If Rhodes wants to talk, he knows where to find me. So far there’s not been as much as a phone call or a card of condolence.’ He leaned back a little in his chair. ‘I hear tell Rhodes often stands a round or two of drinks at the Top Spot, including when Ben Finlay retired. Maybe that’s your problem right there.’

  ‘Might my client have a point, DI Milligan?’ Bryce Mundell chipped in. ‘Mr Colvin here has lost a good friend and business associate. It’s odd that you’re spending so much time harassing him and his colleagues while John Rhodes is allowed free rein. It almost smacks of favouritism. I’m quite sure you wouldn’t want that allegation bandied about i
n the wider public sphere. Mud has a way of sticking, does it not?’

  Milligan was aware of the colour creeping up his face. He closed the folder again and sprang to his feet.

  ‘Can I take it we’re finished here?’ Mundell was trying not to smirk.

  ‘Not by a long chalk,’ Milligan retorted, making his exit.

  There was just the faintest bonfire aroma in the snug of the Gay Laddie. John Rhodes had summoned his two wounded soldiers there for a post-mortem. Not that either of them could offer much that he didn’t already know. Their assailants had worn balaclavas, leaving only the eyes visible. Even then they’d picked their spot – a poorly lit street; a doorstep behind a tall hedge – leaving few if any possible witnesses. No words had been spoken at any point. The injuries sustained amounted to little more than bruising, a cracked rib and possible concussion. Rhodes hadn’t bothered offering them an alcoholic beverage.

  ‘Soft drinks are best for you boys,’ he had explained. A bottle of Lucozade had been unwrapped, uncapped and poured into half-pint glasses.

  ‘Sorry if we let you down,’ one of the men had felt it necessary to say.

  ‘You let your guard down, that’s all. But that should be a lesson to you. Game we’re in, it’s never only nine to five. Your defence mechanism should never, ever be switched off, understood?’

  There were nods from both men. They didn’t even touch their drinks until a gesture from Rhodes told them they should. Their first sip was wary, as if they suspected poison of some sort.

  ‘I said we’re in a game,’ Rhodes went on, ‘and that means we’re a team. Someone hits us, we hit back. Don’t think that’s not coming. Don’t think you won’t be getting your revenge. But nothing rash, understood? It has to happen on my terms rather than yours, at a time of my choosing. I need you to know that I’ve not forgotten and I’m not ignoring you. It’s just that something bigger might be brewing and there are things that need to be cleared up first.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Mr Rhodes.’

  ‘We’re just—’

  Rhodes’s right palm landed heavily on the table, causing both men to flinch.