In a House of Lies

34

In the morning, Sutherland dispatched Gamble and Crowther to question Sir Adrian Brand. He had been discharged and was back home, his eyes swollen and black from the punch he’d taken. His brain was fine, however, and his nose wasn’t broken. The whole MIT room watched the TV screen as the security van carrying Jackie Ness arrived at the court building. Clarke caught sight of Laura Smith amongst the ranks of onlookers. Turning from the screen, she led Sutherland to one side.

‘DCS Mollison just dodged a bullet,’ she informed him. ‘Scotsman were going to run a story about how cosy he was with Sir Adrian. They pulled it after the fingerprint news and Ness’s attack on Brand, but they’ll find a use for it eventually.’

‘How cosy?’

‘Charity galas and golf outings — same as most of his predecessors.’

‘I remember Bill Rawlston was one such.’ Sutherland rubbed at his chin. ‘Does Mollison know about this?’

‘He was pretty busy yesterday as I remember.’

Sutherland nodded slowly. ‘I’ll warn him. Do I dare to ask how you know?’

‘Old-school policing,’ Clarke offered, keeping her face emotionless.

‘I thought your run-in with ACU might have taught you to use more caution in your dealings with our friends in the media.’

‘I’m a slow learner.’

Sutherland managed a thin smile. ‘Can’t say I’ve seen any evidence of that.’

Over at Phil Yeats’s desk, Clarke checked the list Derek Shankley had helped compile of Stuart Bloom’s friends and associates. No sign of Madden and Speke, of course, but Ralph Hanratty’s name was there, along with a phone number and a note: 2006/7?? Meaning, she reckoned, that Shankley hadn’t been in touch with Hanratty since that time. She called the number anyway and got a recorded message telling her it was no longer in service, so she crossed to her own desk and did a Google search, smiling to herself: old-school policing. Hanratty, she learned within five minutes, had gone into the porn business: online only, it seemed. A subscription channel catering to all tastes. Some of the stuff had been too strong, and he’d ended up in court. Clarke wondered if Jackie Ness knew him; she doubted this was the time to ask.

Well, not the time to ask Ness, at any rate. Hanratty’s home address, however, was on the database. She copied it into her phone and used the postcode to bring up a map. Eskbank, hard by Newbattle golf course. She realised Callum Reid was standing over her.

‘Who is he?’ Reid asked.

‘Owner of Rogues back in the day. Now he sells porn.’

‘Have we talked to him yet?’

‘Doesn’t look like.’

‘Any particular reason he’s suddenly of interest?’

‘I heard a rumour he might have had a cop or two on his payroll.’

‘I think we all know it was your friend Rebus who tipped off Bloom’s boyfriend.’

‘All the same...’

Reid picked up the list. ‘Well, they all have to be questioned eventually. What order we do them in doesn’t really matter. I hear that Doug Newsome is coming in later this morning and the ACU wankers this afternoon. We could slot this guy Hanratty in if you like.’

‘Great,’ Clarke said. ‘Thanks.’

Reid made show of checking his watch. ‘We do, of course, also have to make time for elevenses. Mine’s a jam doughnut.’

‘Thirty seconds you beat me by,’ Clarke complained.

‘First past the post, Siobhan — that’s all that matters.’

‘Does Larry Huston live here?’

The woman peered at Rebus from behind glasses that needed cleaning. She was in her forties and hadn’t exercised in a while. Her hair either needed a wash or was already damp, and as it wasn’t raining outside, Rebus suspected the former.

The house was on an estate of identical terraced properties, reminiscent of Restalrig. But this was Murrayburn, across the city, yet another side of Edinburgh the tourists would never see.

‘My name’s John Rebus,’ he said.

‘Too old to be a rozzer, so what are you?’

‘You’re sharp,’ Rebus told her. ‘I used to be police. If Larry’s in, you can tell him I’m here on behalf of Darryl Christie.’

The name meant something to her, though she tried not to let it show. She told Rebus to wait there and headed indoors. She was back half a minute later.

‘In you come then. I’m his daughter, Brie, like the cheese — God knows why; him and my mum never even visited France, and the only cheese in the house was Co-op Cheddar. You wanting a drink?’

‘I’m fine,’ Rebus assured her. The living room was cramped, stuff everywhere — mugs and dirty plates, a clothes horse draped with laundry. Brie lifted a dozing black cat by the scruff of its neck, offering the chair to Rebus. Larry Huston sat in the chair opposite. It looked as frayed as its occupant. The spectacles must have been a two-for-one deal: Huston’s were identical to his daughter’s, right down to the smudges and smears.

‘I’ll take a cup, Brie,’ he said.

‘There’s a surprise,’ she snapped back, but she turned and left the room anyway. The brown wallpaper was starting to part company with the walls, and the floor-to-ceiling shelf unit would need a dust before any self-respecting skip would accept it.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Huston rasped from behind a cough. ‘Proceeds of crime and all that...’

He’d be in his early seventies, hair scraped across the dome of his head, buttoned cardigan sagging, slippers split at the join between sole and upper. The room smelled faintly of urine — Rebus hoped it was the cat’s. Huston’s face was blotchy and his teeth stained by nicotine. He lit up while Rebus watched. Rebus was surprised to find he wasn’t even remotely tempted, not that Huston was offering. He slid a hand into his pocket, just managing to stop himself bringing out a handkerchief to hold over his face. No way of knowing what germs were floating around; maybe the smoke would kill them.

‘Christie still at the Bar-L?’ Huston was asking.

‘Transferred to Saughton.’

‘Never met the lad, but I know who he is.’

‘And what he is, I dare say,’ Rebus offered. ‘Sort you might have worked for once upon a time.’

‘That was then, back when safe-cracking was a noble pursuit. Never any violence, you see, not on my part. Get me into an office or jeweller’s and I could get you what it was you wanted.’

‘How many times did you get caught?’

‘Too many. Not always my own fault. Snitches played a part. Deals done when stuff was recovered. Suddenly everybody wants to talk and my name was always going to be mentioned, because I was never the sort to threaten retribution.’ He paused, lost to memory, Rebus content to bide his time. Then: ‘Ever heard of Johnny Ramensky?’

‘No.’

‘Look him up in the history books. Most famous safe-breaker we ever produced. Gentle Johnny they called him, because he never used violence either. Turned war hero and got himself immortalised at the Commando Memorial. Like I say, a noble pursuit.’

‘Is he rambling again?’ Brie had shuffled into the room, bringing a mug of muddy-looking tea. She placed it on the arm of her father’s chair. She seemed about to loiter, so Rebus asked if he could have just five minutes with Larry. Sniffing, she left again, closing the door with a bang.

‘She’s a good girl,’ Huston said. ‘Took me in when there was nowhere else. The boys at Saughton always teased me, said they knew I’d stashed some loot somewhere that would see me through to the end of my days. Fat chance. Wife got through every last bit of it while I was inside, then went and snuffed it before I could wring her neck.’ He placed his smouldering cigarette on the edge of an ashtray and blew across the surface of the tea before taking a slurp.

‘I wanted to ask you about Morris Gerald Cafferty,’ Rebus said.

‘Big Ger?’

‘You did a few jobs for him.’

‘Did I?’

‘Darryl Christie says so.’

Huston digested this, weighing up his options. ‘Well, what if I did?’ he eventually asked.

‘You knew Cafferty around 2006?’

‘My memory’s not what it was.’

‘Darryl will be disappointed to hear that.’

‘Not half as disappointed as Big Ger would be if I started shooting my mouth off. And last time I looked, Darryl was behind bars while Cafferty’s walking around, meaning he could knock on my door any time he liked.’

Huston had grown so agitated, tea was sloshing on to one of his trouser legs. Rebus rose from his chair and stood over him. ‘What is it you’re scared of, Larry?’

And that was when he saw it — on the floor to one side of Huston’s chair: an unkempt pile of recent newspapers, each open at the latest stories about the Stuart Bloom case. Rebus reached down and held one up in front of Huston’s face.

‘Why the interest, Larry? What is it you know?’ He let the paper fall on to Huston’s lap and placed both clenched fists against the arms of the chair, so that he towered over the man, blocking his view of the rest of the room. Huston’s world now consisted of nothing but John Rebus.

‘I’m not a cop these days,’ Rebus intoned. ‘I’m a civilian — old, washed up. But I know plenty who are still on the force and if I say the word, they’ll come down on you hard. So you either tell me or you tell them. It doesn’t go any further, you’ve my word on that. But if I have to bring in CID, you might end up back inside. Clean your glasses and look in a mirror, you’ll see that would almost certainly be the death of you. So just for my own satisfaction — what do you know about Stuart Bloom?’

Huston’s voice when he eventually spoke was tremulous. ‘This stays between us?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘Because I’m giving you my word.’

Huston gave a long sigh and cleared his throat. ‘The film guy had come to Big Ger, wanting a favour.’

‘The film guy being...?’

‘Jackie Ness. He wanted to know if Big Ger knew anyone who could crack a safe. My name came up, so I met with the lad.’

‘The lad being Stuart Bloom?’

Huston managed a weak nod. ‘He wanted us to do an office belonging to Adrian Brand.’

‘And did you?’ Rebus had removed the mug from Huston’s shaking hand, placing it on the carpet next to the newspapers. There was another nod. ‘Just so I’m clear,’ Rebus said quietly, ‘with Stuart Bloom’s assistance, you broke in and emptied the safe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where was this exactly?’

‘West End, just off Palmerston Place. Brand’s company office at the time.’

‘No alarm system?’

‘The lad dealt with it and got me in, good as gold.’

‘Cameras?’

‘Aye, but we wore balaclavas and kept our traps shut.’

‘And what did you take?’

Huston was shaking his head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You can do better than that, Larry.’

‘I really can’t. Once the safe was open, the lad stepped in, stuffed everything into a bag he’d brought with him.’

‘What sort of bag?’

‘Just from a supermarket. White polythene.’

‘You must have got a look, even for a few seconds?’

‘Folders. I don’t think there was anything except folders. No drugs, jewellery, cash. All I saw was cardboard files.’

‘So what happened after?’

‘I got paid.’ The answer came with an accompanying shrug.

‘You never saw Stuart Bloom again?’

‘No.’

‘What did Cafferty say?’

‘I never saw him. I was picked up by your lot a week later for a factory I’d done a few months before. Got three years nine months. Big Ger sent a few quid to the house, but he never came to see me.’

‘And when you got out?’

‘I think he’d decided I was a liability. World was changing anyway — more sophisticated alarms and too much CCTV. Jewellers’ shops were like Fort Knox.’ He reached down to retrieve his mug. ‘Got what you came for?’

‘To be honest, I didn’t know what I was going to get.’ Rebus had wandered over to the window and was staring out at the row of houses opposite.

‘It was bad enough when the lad went AWOL,’ Huston mused, swapping teacup for cigarette, ‘but then when they found him in his car...’

‘You think it’s why he was killed? The office break-in?’

‘It happened two nights before he disappeared — what do you think?’ He inhaled, exhaled, coughed again, eyes watering. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. Seemed to me it was all too easy. The safe was bog-standard, so much so I almost felt insulted — an old Sargent and Greenleaf, tumbler combination. Plus an alarm system that was a cinch to breach.’

‘Meaning what?’

Huston gave another shrug. ‘I thought at first it must be a trap. The lad wasn’t exactly an expert — he said everything he knew about disarming an alarm he got from the internet — but he got us in there almost as if the place had been left unlocked and ready to plunder.’

Rebus thought for a moment. ‘It was never reported, was it?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘And this was just two nights before Stuart Bloom disappeared?’

Huston nodded slowly. ‘Had to be Brand who got to him. I reckoned if the lad talked, I’d be in for a doing, too. That jail cell almost came as a relief.’

35

Seated kerbside in his Saab, Rebus called Siobhan Clarke.

‘Not now, John,’ were her first words.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Ness ambushed Brand last night, didn’t quite manage to break his nose.’

‘Ambushed him why?’

‘Brand was sending him photos of our SOCOs ripping up Poretoun House.’

‘Fair play to him then.’

‘I’m not sure the judge will agree. He’s in court right now.’

‘And Brand?’

‘Home and recuperating.’

‘You might need to question them both. I’ve just been talking to a peter who worked a job with Stuart Bloom.’

‘A what?’

‘Safe-blower — peter is what we used to call them.’

‘Back in Dickensian times, you mean?’

‘If that’s your attitude...’

He heard her exhale. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Already been a long day. So this safe-blower...?’

‘Ness asked Cafferty if he knew anyone. Cafferty put him in touch with Larry Huston — that’s the peter. Met with Stuart Bloom and helped him open the safe in Brand’s office. According to Huston, they emptied the contents into a carrier bag and that’s the last he saw of it. Nothing like that was in the car, right?’

‘Right.’

‘So we can add it to the missing laptop and mobile. And Siobhan, all this happened two nights before Bloom went AWOL.’

‘Brand didn’t report the break-in,’ Clarke stated. ‘It would have been in the file, wouldn’t it?’

‘I’ve certainly no memory of it.’

‘So the night Bloom met with Jackie Ness, they’d have been discussing the break-in, maybe looking at whatever was in the safe?’

‘I’d think so.’

‘Understandable Ness never felt able to tell us that.’ Clarke paused for a moment. ‘John, dare I ask how you found this guy Huston?’

‘I have my sources.’

‘You want Cafferty, don’t you? You want to be able to tie him to Bloom?’

Rebus gripped the steering wheel with his free hand. ‘He is tied to Bloom! For one thing, he knew Jackie Ness, and for another, he knew the safe was going to be opened. Don’t you think he’d be curious about its contents? Maybe stuff linking Brand to the Irish gangster?’

‘Conor Maloney?’

‘Information is power, Siobhan. Cafferty didn’t just bludgeon his way to the top.’ Rebus’s eyes were on the house he’d just left. Brie Huston had pushed aside the net curtain in the living room and was watching him.

‘So we need to bring in Huston as well as everybody else?’ Clarke asked without too much enthusiasm.

‘Planes stacking overhead, are they?’

‘One interview room may not be nearly enough. But give me Huston’s address.’

Rebus reeled it off. Yes, he’d promised to keep the safe-blower out of it, but that had been just another little white lie.

‘So who else is in the firing line today?’ he asked Clarke as he started the ignition.

‘Your old colleague Doug Newsome this morning; Steele and Edwards this afternoon. Plus we need to ask Ness about the attack on Brand — and Brand, too, come to think of it. Lady Brand tells us Ness said something like “A man can take only so much — you should know that by now.”’

‘Interesting phrasing.’

‘Then we’ve got Ralph Hanratty — he used to own Rogues. And that’s just for starters.’

‘Sounds like a perfect storm. Thing to remember is, every storm has a still centre. Find your way there and you’ll crack the case.’

‘Now he’s giving me weather reports.’

Rebus could sense her tired smile. ‘When you’ve spoken to Huston, will you bring Cafferty in?’

‘We might.’

‘Any chance of me tagging along?’

‘No.’

‘I still need to be questioned, you know — formally, I mean. Only chat I’ve had with you lot was back at the start, when you didn’t even know who Stuart Bloom was.’

‘So you’re invited to make your statement and that just happens to coincide with Cafferty being in the building?’

‘Bingo.’

‘No promises, John.’

‘I’m here when you need me, Shiv. And trust me, you will find that still centre.’

He ended the call and considered his options. By the time he reached Restalrig, it would be almost lunchtime, the local high school disgorging kids, friends of Ellis and Kristen among them. Local chip shop, bakery and corner store — that was where they’d congregate, and maybe the play park, too. Rebus got going, thinking of Darryl Christie. Cafferty being questioned — it wasn’t much but it was a start. Would Christie keep his side of the bargain and make sure Ellis Meikle was kept safe?

And why was Rebus so anxious that he should?

Gamble and Yeats took the Doug Newsome interview, armed with information gleaned from Fox’s trawl of the original case files. Fox didn’t look particularly happy, despite the promise of a listen to the recording. Tess Leighton offered him half her Twix, but he shook his head. Jackie Ness meantime had been fined £250 and warned not to go within a hundred metres of Brand, his family, his home or place of work. He had left court into a maelstrom of media, only to be plucked out by Sutherland and Reid and taken back to St Leonard’s, solicitor in tow, to be asked about the words Lady Brand had heard him utter.

Afterwards, in the MIT room, Reid filled them all in. Basically, Ness had no recall of what he’d said. He had been pressed but could only shrug. It had been a moment of madness, the red mist descending — something the judge had taken into account when passing sentence.

‘We might need to question him again,’ Clarke interrupted, explaining about Larry Huston. ‘And Sir Adrian, come to that.’

‘So Bloom handed the contents of the safe to Jackie Ness?’ Crowther asked.

‘Or hung on to it,’ Tess Leighton argued.

‘Unless Cafferty got hold of it, of course,’ Clarke added.

‘It’s a bloody good motive for murder,’ Callum Reid agreed, brushing doughnut sugar from one trouser leg.

They all turned as Gamble and Yeats entered the room, Gamble handing a copy of the Newsome interview to Fox with the words ‘Knock yourself out.’

‘You will be shocked to hear,’ Yeats told the room, ‘that Mr Newsome reckons he did everything by the book. No faked records, no skipped interviews with suspects, no sleeping on the job. He did, however, have a few harsh words for Mary Skelton and John Rebus.’

‘Did you ask him about Steele and Edwards?’

‘Said he barely knew them. They were uniforms, well below his pay grade — his words, not mine. For what it’s worth, his thinking at the time mirrored that of his boss — gay love triangle ends in tragedy. He took part in one of the raids on Rogues and didn’t like what he saw. Proper little homophobe is our friend Newsome.’

Clarke’s phone was vibrating in her pocket. She checked the screen and headed for the peace and quiet of the corridor.

‘Mr Speke,’ she said, answering. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘It’s probably nothing, Inspector, but I was turning things over half the night and I remembered something. We shot a thriller for Jackie Ness a few weeks before Zombies v Bravehearts. It was supposed to be erotic; maybe it was to watch, but not to make. Female cop who jumps into bed with suspects and witnesses. That’s how she gets them to talk. But one of them’s a demon or some such nonsense and she ends up half demon and half angel.’

‘Sounds riveting. What’s your point?’

‘For one scene, Jackie needed handcuffs. He asked if anyone could get hold of some. Ralph Hanratty had been talking about adding some manacles to one of the walls in Rogues — just for a laugh, you know? Manacles and chains and whatnot — not my scene, but Ralph wanted to try it for size.’

‘He loaned you some handcuffs?’

‘I’m positive they can’t be the ones you found on Stuart. When I took them to Jackie, he thought they looked cheap. They were cheap; I’m not even sure they were proper metal.’

‘So you handed them back to Hanratty?’

‘I’m pretty sure I did. That’s why I don’t think they can be the ones in the car.’

‘What was the film called?’

‘Cops v Demons, I think.’

‘I should have guessed. Would you have a copy, Mr Speke?’

‘Might have a DVD kicking about.’

‘Could I send someone to pick it up?’

‘If I can find it.’

‘Might be helpful to have your fingerprints, too. Just for the process of elimination.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘We have unidentified partial prints on the handcuffs used to restrain Stuart Bloom. If they did turn out to be the ones Hanratty gave you...’

‘I’ve got nothing to hide, Inspector.’

‘Which is why I’m grateful for your cooperation. Was Mr Madden the cameraman on the shoot?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any notable extras among the cast? Stuart, maybe, or his friend Derek?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Well, thanks for getting in touch.’ Clarke ended the call. She was standing by the open doorway of the room commandeered by Fox and Leighton. Fox was seated in front of his computer, headphones on as he listened to the Newsome interview.

‘Must be nice to have everything given to you on a plate,’ she said, knowing he couldn’t hear her. He was jotting in his notebook, a look of absolute concentration on his face. A dapper-looking man of around sixty was being led up the staircase by a constable. Ralph Hanratty, she presumed.

‘Your timing is impeccable,’ she told him, holding out her hand.

36

Hanratty was seated in the interview room, Tess Leighton across the table from him, when Clarke returned with his requested mug of black sugarless tea.

‘Shabby chic,’ was his summary of his surroundings. Hanratty himself was a peacock by comparison — tailored suit with crimson lining, white shirt and emerald-green tie, gleaming black brogues. His dark hair had had the grey taken out of it. There had maybe even been some cosmetic work done to his face. The skin looked tight, the eyes a little narrower than seemed completely natural. He had brushed a large folded handkerchief across the seat of his chair, and was now rubbing at the rim of the mug, prior to his lips touching it.

‘You used to own Rogues, Mr Hanratty,’ Clarke began. Leighton had opened a new notebook — identical to Fox’s, Clarke noticed — and was ready with a ballpoint pen.

‘That’s correct.’

‘You knew Stuart Bloom and Derek Shankley?’

‘Socially? Not really.’

‘They were regulars at your club, though?’

‘Along with a few hundred other beautiful people.’

‘What were your thoughts when Stuart went missing?’

Hanratty flicked a speck of dust from one trouser leg. ‘I’m not sure I had any particular thoughts.’

‘I’ve seen some photos of Rogues in its heyday — it was quite something.’

Hanratty smiled. ‘It certainly was.’

‘Must have been vexing that the authorities showed so much interest.’

‘It went with the territory, my dear. The council were always trying to find us breaking noise limits; and as for the officers of the law...’ He rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Despite some of your own rank-and-file of the time being among my best customers.’

‘Care to name any names, sir?’

‘I’m not that type, dearie.’

‘These raids, though — you were always warned in advance, no?’

‘Omertà,’ he said, miming running a zip across his mouth.

‘That’s not really acceptable in a murder inquiry, Mr Hanratty.’

‘Well then, let’s just say that the names have been erased from my memory. I met hundreds and hundreds of people; I can’t be expected to remember them all.’

‘But it’s possible that some of the very officers who would raid your club were also part of your clientele?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘We happen to know someone tipped you off, sir.’

‘And you can prove that?’ Hanratty smirked. ‘Of course you can’t. And none of it has any bearing on poor Stuart’s death.’

‘So why do you think he died?’

‘I’ve not the faintest idea.’ He gave Leighton a look. ‘Make sure you record those words exactly as spoken.’

‘You work as a porn merchant these days, is that right?’ Clarke asked.

Another roll of the eyes. ‘Online erotica,’ he corrected her.

‘DS Leighton here did a quick check of Companies House. Seems the other major shareholder in your business is William Locke — would that be the same Billy Locke who was co-owner of Locke Ness Productions?’

‘It would.’

‘So presumably you know Jackie Ness?’

‘I know he needed good-looking people for his films, and sometimes found them at Rogues.’

‘Mr Ness was one of your clients?’

‘God, no. But word would get around that extras were needed for certain scenes. When you tell people they’re going to be in a movie, they sign up gratefully, despite there being no fee, no expenses — sometimes not even a hot meal.’ He paused. ‘Though of course there were benefits.’

‘What sort of benefits?’

‘Let’s just say people tended to be a bit glassy-eyed after.’

‘You’re talking about drugs?’

‘Not unknown in the film industry.’

‘Might explain why Stuart and Derek looked so giggly in the clip I watched. The biggest dealer in the city at that time would have been a man called Cafferty, is that right?’

‘You tell me.’

‘We know he was a friend of Jackie Ness’s. Would he also have supplied your club, Mr Hanratty?’

‘No illicit substances in Rogues, Inspector.’ Hanratty held up both hands in a show of innocence.

‘One young person died of an overdose, I believe...’

Hanratty wagged a finger. ‘Be careful of libel. There was never any evidence those drugs came from anywhere near my club.’

‘The victim had been to your club, though, as had the others who fell ill.’ Clarke paused meaningfully. ‘Bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’

‘World’s full of coincidences,’ Hanratty said blithely.

‘Coincidences and connections,’ Clarke stated. ‘Tell me, did you ever appear in one of Ness’s films yourself?’

‘Never.’

‘But you did help out on occasion. For example, Colin Speke asked if you had any handcuffs he could borrow.’

Hanratty glowered at her. ‘Where are you going with this?’

‘You know that Stuart Bloom was found with his ankles cuffed? Doesn’t that strike you as a little... perverse?’

‘I ran a club that was popular with the gay and lesbian community. I wasn’t operating a fucking dungeon!’

‘But you did toy with the idea, didn’t you? A little bit of mainstream bondage? That was why you were able to lend Speke the handcuffs for the film he was helping to make.’

‘And I got them back, too!’

‘Did you?’ Clarke nodded to herself. ‘Mr Speke couldn’t quite remember. So what happened to them?’

‘I’ve honestly no idea.’

‘You kept them, threw them out, loaned them to someone else?’

Hanratty gave a hoot of laughter. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is too fucking delicious. You’ll do anything to throw people off the scent, won’t you?’

‘How do you mean, sir?’

‘Handcuffs means police — everybody outside these four walls knows that. You get wind of a pair of toy fucking handcuffs that might have been within half a mile of Jackie Ness and his crew, and suddenly you think you just might be able to make a gullible public swallow the lie. Who will you leak it to, Inspector? See, you may have used the internet to find out all about me, but that works both ways. When poor Stuart’s body was found, I began to devour the various news reports. And then your name came up, and you’d recently been in trouble for passing confidential information to a journalist at the Scotsman. You’ve been a naughty young lady, Detective Inspector Clarke. So you take your story to the papers and I’ll take mine, and we’ll see who’s the more credible. Nobody believes you any more; nobody trusts you.’

He sat back, happy to close his mouth and let his words sink in. After a few moments of silence, he turned towards Leighton again.

‘Need me to repeat any of that for you, sweetie?’

‘I think I got it all,’ Leighton said, tearing the sheet from her notebook and ripping it slowly and methodically to pieces in front of him.

37

Sir Adrian Brand had been questioned at home, in the same garden room where Clarke and Crowther had met him. Sutherland had taken Crowther with him, armed with the information on the break-in. This time Brand had his wife by his side, his hand held in hers, while Glenn Hazard stood at a distance, arms folded, ready to pounce whenever he didn’t like the line of questioning.

‘He flat out denied it,’ Sutherland told Clarke when he called her immediately afterwards.

‘He’s lying.’

‘You’re sure this Huston character is reliable?’

‘Gamble and Yeats are with him right now. Let’s see what they say. Meantime, did you ask Brand about what Ness is supposed to have said to him?’

‘He was a bit vague; says he’s no reason to doubt his wife’s version.’

‘Why does he think Ness used those exact words?’

‘He’s no idea.’

‘Lying again?’

‘Not twelve hours ago he suffered a blow to the head. His wife is after a second opinion — private this time. She’s worried the scan might have missed something.’

‘If he pegs it, at least we can put Ness away for something.’

‘Jesus, Siobhan, don’t even say that.’

‘Sorry, sir.’ She gave Sutherland a brief update on the interview with Hanratty.

‘Interesting about the handcuffs,’ he concluded.

‘I’m going to watch the DVD later. At this rate, I’m going to be an expert in lousy movies.’

‘We all need a break, one way or another — either in the case or from the case.’ He exhaled noisily from his nostrils. ‘Hang on, I’ve got another call coming in. It’s the lab, better take it. We’ll be back there in ten minutes tops.’

Clarke put her phone back in her pocket. Tess Leighton was coming up the stairs towards her, having deposited Hanratty in a taxi.

‘Quite the piece of work,’ she commented.

‘Nice touch with the notebook, though.’

‘A page of doodles from earlier.’

‘Well, I’d better let you get back to Malcolm. He’ll be missing your company.’

Leighton gave her a look. ‘It was just dinner, Siobhan.’

Clarke held up a hand. ‘I didn’t mean anything, Tess. I was just teasing. Forget I said it, okay?’

Leighton eventually nodded. Her eyes went over Clarke’s shoulder. ‘Talk of the devil,’ she said. Both women watched as Malcolm Fox approached. He was holding his headphones and the memory stick with the Newsome audio.

‘Singularly unenlightening,’ he confessed. ‘Thank God we’ve moved on from dinosaurs like that.’

‘And like John Rebus, too?’ Clarke enquired.

‘John’s old chum Newsome tries to take a dump on him. He’s not shy about the friendship with Alex Shankley, the drinking, and the history with Cafferty.’

‘Well, at least you have something to tell the Big House.’

Fox fixed her with a look. ‘Don’t worry, any report I make will focus on the facts rather than the fiction.’

‘We were just being accused of doing the opposite,’ Leighton informed him.

‘Oh aye?’

They were interrupted by more footsteps on the stairs. Too soon for it to be Sutherland and Crowther, which could mean only one thing.

‘Nice to see a welcoming committee,’ Brian Steele said, Grant Edwards only a couple of steps behind him.

The Chuggabugs had arrived for their grilling.

Rebus had taken Brillo with him to Restalrig, figuring he looked less suspicious that way. And a few schoolkids did stop now and then to give the dog some attention, attention all too gratefully received. Brillo or no Brillo, however, he learned precious little to add to his store of knowledge about Ellis and Kristen. Darryl Christie had hinted that Cafferty was back in the dope business, always supposing he’d ever left it. Rebus had called Fox, asking for a name at the Organised Crime Unit. He’d then phoned Gartcosh and spoken with Fox’s contact. Cafferty was on their radar, of course he was, but they had no evidence and no surveillance operations against him currently under way. Nothing for it then but to phone the man himself. Cafferty picked up on the fifth or sixth ring.

‘Hell do you want?’ he demanded to know.

‘You sound out of breath.’

‘I’m at the gym. You should try it sometime. Might help you conquer those stairs of yours.’

‘I’m enjoying a spot of exercise right now, actually, walking the gilded streets of Restalrig.’

‘What the hell’s in Restalrig?’

‘It was Ellis Meikle’s patch.’

‘The kid who killed his girlfriend? I’m no further forward.’

‘It’s become a bit of a hobby, digging into old cases.’

‘A solved case, though — where’s the fun in that?’

‘A few ends were left dangling. Maybe I can neaten them up.’

‘And how am I supposed to help?’

‘Ellis and Kristen both indulged recreationally...’

‘Doesn’t exactly put them in a minority round those parts.’

‘Maybe so, but I’m wondering who the seller would have been. After all, who knows you better than your own dealer?’

‘Sounds to me like you’re clutching at straws rather than threads.’

‘I have something to trade.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘If you think you can get me a meet...’

‘Maybe you better tell me what you’ve got first.’

‘I know about Larry Huston.’

‘Now there’s a name from the past.’

‘Jackie Ness asked you if you knew anyone who could crack a safe. You gave him Larry Huston and Huston broke into Adrian Brand’s office. Stuart Bloom took away everything they found.’

‘So what?’

‘So you might have wanted to know what was inside that safe. In any case, MIT are going to want a word. If they knew I’d just tipped you off, they’d buy me a ticket to Siberia.’

‘They can ask me anything they like. I don’t recall anybody reporting a break-in at the time.’

‘Which only makes it all the more intriguing, no? What was it Brand didn’t want anyone knowing had been taken from him?’

‘Maybe you should go and ask him — once he’s recovered from the thumping Ness gave him.’

‘But meantime...’

‘You in your car?’

‘With my faithful mutt for company.’

‘Keep an eye out for a text, then. It could take a while.’

But in fact it was less than ten minutes later when a message arrived. Alley behind Singhs.

Rebus walked with Brillo back to the corner shop where he’d bought the Sunday Post on his previous visit. The alley wasn’t quite a dead end. A high fence separated it from a piece of waste ground at the back of a disused warehouse, the alley itself a dumping ground for discarded TVs and mattresses, at least one of which had been set alight at some point in the recent past. There were two large container bins, obviously belonging to the shop, although one of them, its lid missing, had become home to a trolley from a distant supermarket. A young man stood next to this bin, smoking, using it as an ashtray. He had his phone in his free hand and was texting with a dexterity Rebus could only marvel at. A black hoodie covered the youth’s head and face. He wore faded denims and fashionable-looking trainers that were probably the envy of anyone who knew the brand and price tag.

‘No names, no shit.’ The voice was half muffled by the hood. Rebus realised there was a scarf under there too, wrapped around the face up to its nose. A BMX-style bike had been parked against the back wall of the shop, next to the solid metal delivery door. A security camera above had been draped with a polythene bag, rendering it useless.

‘I couldn’t care less about you,’ Rebus replied, slipping a piece of gum into his mouth. He scooped a few dog biscuits from his pocket and dropped them at his feet to keep Brillo busy. ‘I just want to know about Ellis and Kristen.’

‘What’s to know?’

‘They bought from you.’

‘Not much, not often.’ The fingers were still busy. Rebus wanted to snatch the phone away and crush it underfoot, but he guessed that might conclude the meeting prematurely.

‘What did you think of them?’

‘I try not to think.’

‘Maybe something you sold him sent him over the edge.’

The eyes met Rebus’s momentarily. ‘Don’t fucking think so.’

‘I hear weed’s stronger these days than it used to be.’

The head was being shaken slowly but determinedly. Rebus shuffled his feet.

‘So what were they like? You’re about the same age, went to the same school?’

‘Ellis was all right. Never talked much. Kristen was the one that wouldn’t shut up. Probably talk to the mirror if no one else was there.’

‘Was she seeing anyone apart from Ellis?’

‘I told her she should have been seeing me. Didn’t really mean it, though I wouldn’t have said no to a quickie.’

‘I hear she was the queen bee at school.’

‘You heard right.’

‘Meaning popular?’

‘Well, she had her gang around her.’

‘Not universally popular then?’

‘Tongue like a blade. Didn’t shy away from a scrap, either.’

‘Fists and tongue — she ever use anything else?’

‘A real blade, you mean?’ Another shake of the head.

‘How about Ellis?’

‘Seemed to get all his aggression out playing those games of his. Maybe that’s what you should be looking at — the effect of violent gaming on the teenage male brain. Me, I sell the antidote.’

‘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 find 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.’

‘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.

39

Rebus recognised her and got out of his car, locking it after him. Billie Meikle had a key out, ready to open the door to her tenement, but had paused to watch a group of students as they passed, probably heading home from the university. She was dressed in her school uniform and was toting a heavy-looking backpack.

‘Billie?’ Rebus said. ‘Is your father at home? Can I come up and have a word?’ She gave him a troubled look. ‘I’m with the police,’ he explained. ‘Nothing to worry about, it won’t take long.’

She didn’t say anything, just pushed at the door and held it while he followed her inside.

‘You moved schools, eh?’ he asked as they climbed the stone stairs. He was praying the flat would be no more than a flight or two up. ‘How’s it working out?’

‘It’s great.’ She had stopped at the first landing and was unlocking a red door with no name on it.

‘You like living with your dad?’ Rebus tried not to sound too breathless.

‘Yeah.’

She was fourteen, her hair a mass of brown curls, falling over her forehead, half covering her eyes. Gawkiness would leave her soon, as would the puppy fat. She was already thinking of college, thinking of joining those students she had paused to study.

The flat was minimally furnished, not enough books to fill the single bookcase in the hall, the seating in the living room angled so that the vast flat-screen TV was the focus of attention.

‘He’ll be home soon,’ she said.

‘I’m happy to wait. Do you see much of your brother?’

Her cheeks reddened. ‘Just the weekly visit.’ She was shedding her outer coat and blazer, the backpack hitting the floor with a thump.

‘I saw him yesterday,’ Rebus told her. ‘I’m fixing for him to have an easier time of it inside.’

She seemed uncertain what he meant but thanked him anyway. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘I’m fine,’ Rebus said, settling on one of the chairs. ‘You got homework to be getting on with?’

‘Always.’ She had hoisted the backpack onto the small round dining table and was emptying it. ‘Maths, biology, geography, English...’

‘Can’t help you with any of those.’

She pretended an interest in a textbook while asking her next question: ‘How was he?’

‘Your brother’s doing okay.’

‘He doesn’t like that he’s in with... with people who...’

‘That’s one of the things I’m trying to change.’

‘Why?’ Now she looked at him, keen for knowledge.

‘Because it’s not right, I suppose.’

She considered this and nodded slowly in agreement.

‘You visited your mum that day, didn’t you? Did Ellis seem his usual self?’

‘He was on his computer mostly. He had a couple of mates round.’

‘But you popped into his room to say hello?’

‘He didn’t even take his headphones off — just a grunt and a wave.’

‘And you hadn’t heard anything about him and Kristen? Maybe breaking up or having a row?’ Rebus watched her shake her head. ‘Kristen was at your school, wasn’t she — your old school, I mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you know her? To hang out with?’

‘She was three years above me.’

‘I suppose at your age that seems quite a gap.’

‘She had her own friends.’

‘Did she ever visit here?’

Billie shook her head.

‘Not even when Ellis was visiting?’

Another shake.

‘So your dad didn’t really know her, then?’

She spun towards him. ‘What have they been saying?’

‘Who’s they?’

‘All of them!’

‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ She had turned her face away from him again and was sifting through her books. ‘You’re right, though — I’ve been hearing that Kristen might have had a thing for your dad.’

‘He wouldn’t give her the time of day.’

‘Just rumours, then.’

‘It’s revolting, you know — the stuff out there. The stuff in here.’ She was holding up her mobile phone.

‘World’s always been full of idiots, Billie, bullies and racists and the like. You just have to remember, a phone can’t really hurt you.’

‘Yes it can,’ she replied quietly.

‘Did you get messages about Kristen? About her and your dad?’

The sound of a lock turning, the front door opening.

‘You home, duchess?’ Charles Meikle called out.

‘In here!’

The grin on Meikle’s face disappeared when he saw there was a visitor.

‘He’s with the police,’ Billie told him.

‘Oh aye?’ Meikle removed his blue parka. He wore overalls underneath. ‘So can I see some identification?’

‘I’m not actually a police officer,’ Rebus explained. ‘What I told Billie is that I’m working with them.’

‘What on?’

‘Your son’s case.’

‘He’s in jail, if you hadn’t noticed. Trying to pin something else on him, are you? Help massage your clear-up rate?’

Meikle’s looks were almost worthy of Hollywood — chiselled face, brooding eyes, mop of black hair swept to one side, just the right amount of stubble. He’d had a few run-ins with the police in the past, but not since breaking up with his wife. According to the files, he’d been a car mechanic half his life, and, from what Rebus had seen of the flat, was doing his best as a single parent.

‘Just a few niggles that we’d like taken care of.’

‘You don’t think you’ve done enough damage?’

‘He visited Ellis,’ Billie interrupted. ‘He’s helping him.’

‘What you have to remember, duchess, is that the police will lie to your face and then lie some more.’

‘Billie’s right, though,’ Rebus said quietly.

Meikle just shook his head and disappeared across the hallway into the kitchen. Rebus followed and watched him fill the kettle from the tap. The place was immaculate, draining board and sink empty, surfaces wiped clean. He wondered: Billie’s work or her father’s?

‘You still here?’ Meikle asked.

‘I know you and Ellis had a few differences down the years,’ Rebus said, ‘but did you get on okay with Kristen?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Just wondering how well you knew her.’

Meikle stabbed a finger towards him. ‘Shouldn’t go listening to gossip, should you?’

‘Billie says she never came round here.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But you had met her?’

‘When she was with Ellis, aye. At his mum’s.’

‘Things were okay between you and your ex-wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your brother wasn’t an issue?’

‘There’s nothing going on between them.’

‘And nothing between Dallas and Kristen?’

‘More fucking lies,’ Meikle muttered, shaking his head as he dropped a tea bag into a mug. ‘Don’t you sometimes think there’s more shite out there than anything else?’

‘Billie said much the same.’

‘I told her she should ditch that phone, but she can’t do it. They have to have them these days.’ Meikle rested his knuckles against the worktop as he waited for the kettle to boil. ‘Best thing I ever did was ask if she wanted to come live with me. Her old school was rubbish, grades dropping.’ He paused. ‘I’m doing everything I can, really I am.’

‘I’ve seen no evidence to the contrary.’

‘I’ve not always been a good dad — you’re right that me and Ellis used to have a fair few ding-dongs. He’s not a bad kid, though.’

‘So what drove him to do it, Charles?’

‘Did you try asking him?’ Meikle watched Rebus give a slow nod. ‘Aye, me too. But I don’t think even he knows. At the trial, his lawyer tried putting the blame on us — Seona and me. Bad upbringing, bad parents...’

‘She was doing her job, trying to get him a lesser sentence.’

‘I know that. It still hurt, though.’ He stared at Rebus. ‘Is that all you’ve got, then? I was leching after my own son’s girlfriend so he decides to top her?’ He shook his head again. ‘Jesus...’

‘You don’t visit Ellis, Mr Meikle — why is that?’

‘He won’t let me — don’t think I haven’t tried. I’ve had Billie practically beg him.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed shut his eyes for a moment. ‘After the split, he took his mum’s side, reckoned it was all my fault — maybe that was payback for all the rows I’d had with him. He’s still my son, though; I still love him. I’d do anything for him, if he’d let me.’

Billie had been listening from the hall. She burst in and gave her father a hug. His eyes stayed closed as he stroked her hair. Father and daughter seemed close to tears, and Rebus suspected it was a regular occurrence. He retreated as quietly as he could and let himself out, standing on the landing for a minute or two while he considered what he had heard and seen.

And, most importantly of all, what he’d not seen.

40

Graham Sutherland walked into the MIT room with a face like thunder. He crossed to the window and stood there, hands in pockets, saying nothing. Clarke looked to Callum Reid, who just shrugged. Tess Leighton entered, closing the door after her, looking as though she’d been summoned. Eventually Sutherland turned round. When he fixed Siobhan Clarke with a look, she began to realise what was coming.

‘You were seen yesterday,’ he told her, working hard to keep his jaw from clenching, ‘just prior to the press conference, in a café halfway up Leith Walk. You were with Dougal Kelly, is that right?’

‘Him and Laura Smith, yes. Laura invited me — I’d no idea Kelly was going to be there.’

‘Neverthless—’

‘Ask her,’ Clarke ploughed on. ‘I was there about two minutes before I got the hump with Kelly and walked out.’

‘Two minutes in which you discussed Jackie Ness’s fingerprint?’

‘Absolutely not. If I’d done that, Laura would have known too. She was as surprised as anyone when Kelly blurted it out at the press conference. I wouldn’t have told him, I’d have told her! And who saw me anyway? Anyone with an axe to grind?’

‘One of the admin staff.’ Sutherland was about to say something else, but Clarke was already on her way. She flung open the door, stalked to the office next door and stared at the faces there, half hidden behind computer screens. Women mostly; civilians.

‘Nobody likes a grass!’ she yelled into the room, before marching back into MIT. Sutherland had moved to the middle of the floor. All eyes were on Clarke.

‘Until recently,’ she stated, her voice betraying the slightest tremble, ‘people kept saying I was in Laura’s pocket — so why would I give the Ness fingerprint to Dougal Kelly? Don’t you see — it’s Steele. It has to be.’

‘Explain,’ Sutherland said, folding his arms.

‘I know how it looks.’ Clarke held up her hands as if in surrender. ‘But Steele and Edwards have been talking to Kelly, sharing gossip from the original inquiry, giving him dirt on practically everyone involved, except themselves.’

‘You’ve got a bit of history with them,’ Sutherland said.

‘I know this looks like I want payback.’

‘More to the point, can you prove it?’

‘Not without Dougal Kelly.’

Sutherland thought for a moment. ‘What was the meeting about anyway?’

‘Laura’s a mate. I thought it was just a catch-up.’

‘What did Kelly want?’

‘A contact on the inside, I think. We really didn’t get very far.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he wanted to talk about the team on the original inquiry and how they’d fallen down on the job.’

‘You didn’t want to hear that?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Because it might have meant hearing something unflattering about John Rebus?’

‘Because,’ Clarke countered, ‘my focus is the current case, not what happened back then.’

Sutherland pursed his lips and stared at the floor, then raised his head and scanned the faces around him.

‘Thoughts, people?’

There were shrugs, and twitches of mouths, and a clearing of the throat from George Gamble.

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Clarke said drily.

‘Your reporter friend, she’ll back up your story?’ Sutherland asked.

‘I’d hope so, since it happens to be the truth.’

‘Then again, she’s a mate — you said as much yourself — so she’d want to cover your back.’

‘Am I being reprimanded? Kicked into touch?’

‘Course of action yet to be decided.’

‘Thanks a fucking bunch.’ Clarke turned and started to leave.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Some fresh air — want someone shadowing me to make sure I don’t get up to anything?’ She waited for a response. When none came, she headed for the stairs.

Rebus was driving through the city when Christine Esson called him.

‘Bad time?’ she asked.

‘Bloody roadworks,’ Rebus snarled. ‘What can I do for you, Christine?’

‘I’ve done what digging I can. Ended up using a few aliases, so I can keep monitoring the chat. This is by way of an interim report.’

‘Fire away.’

‘Kristen wasn’t hugely popular among Ellis’s friends. They all fancied her, but none of them actually liked her. Too stuck-up and too mouthy. Nothing to suggest she wasn’t in love with Ellis, though, or was seeing anyone else. Her parents are a bit...’

‘Religious?’

‘Cold, I was going to say. After she died, they went deep and silent, their social media presence non-existent. Ellis’s mum, on the other hand, went into overdrive. Anyone bad-mouthed her son, she hit back hard. Mostly Facebook and Twitter for her, a mix of Snapchat, Tumblr, Instagram, Flickr, Reddit and WhatsApp for everyone else.’

‘Everyone else meaning...?’

‘Kristen and Ellis’s peer group.’

‘What about Ellis’s sister?’

‘She’s online a fair amount. I tried saying hello to some of her friends, but I think they twigged. Not sure my “voice” was right.’

‘You’re telling me you’re not down with the kids?’

‘Steady, Grandad.’

‘Is she still in touch with pals from her old school?’

‘Looks like.’

‘But no trouble integrating at her new one?’

‘Nope.’

‘Her dad says her old school had been letting her down.’

‘Can’t help you there. But about her dad...’

‘Yes?’

‘I think I found traces of him on a dating site — he only seems to have the one email address and used his real name. Having left his wife, he seems to be in the market for a younger model.’

Rebus’s brow furrowed. ‘How young?’

‘Nothing illegal — not that I can find. Late teens to late twenties.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘A tweet he sent to a mate he works with, thanking him for the tip. I scrolled back through the workmate’s timeline.’

‘He ever have dealings with Kristen?’

‘Anything between them could have been deleted.’

‘How about Kristen and Dallas?’

‘Same goes. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.’

‘It’s all helpful, Christine.’

‘One other thing. There’s always a fair bit of goading and sneering online, even between friends. One seems to have a go at Billie harder than the others. They go by the name Chizzy. I’m not sure Billie knows them, except online.’

‘What sort of stuff are we talking about?’

‘They’ll comment on a photo, saying Billie’s looking fat or spotty — that sort of thing. Pretty harmless, and always accompanied by winking or laughing emojis. But it’s the sort of thing a girl like Billie might take to heart.’

‘Any idea who Chizzy might be?’

‘Well that’s the thing.’ Esson paused. ‘I’m thinking Billie’s mother.’

‘What?’

‘I might be totally wrong, but it’s just a couple of the things Chizzy says. She spells “laughs” as l-a-f-z, for example. Seona Meikle does the same on her Facebook posts. I could be reading too much into it, of course.’

‘Can we find out Chizzy’s real identity?’

‘We’d need someone a bit more technical. I’m strictly amateur hour.’

‘What does that make me?’ Rebus asked.

‘Thing is, why would Seona be taunting her own daughter?’

‘I’ll need to think about that.’

‘Want me to keep going?’

‘If it’s no bother.’

‘I’m actually quite enjoying it.’

‘Just so long as it doesn’t cross the line into stalking.’

He heard her give a tut. ‘Incidentally,’ she said, ‘I even decided to check your social media presence.’

‘Oh aye? And?’

‘There isn’t one.’

‘Did that come as a surprise?’

‘Not in the least. But knowing how frugal you are...’

‘Tell me.’

‘You could FaceTime for free.’

‘I’m still getting the hang of phones without wires, Christine — don’t start bamboozling me.’

41

‘Well,’ Clarke said, ‘I thought Zombies v Bravehearts was bad, but it was Gregory’s Girl by comparison.’ The end credits had finished and the DVD’s main menu was showing on her TV screen. She was seated on the sofa next to Rebus. He had nodded off for a couple of minutes in the middle and missed absolutely nothing. She stepped over the dozing Brillo, crossed to her living room window and closed the curtains against the Edinburgh night.

‘Looked like they shot some of it in Craigmillar,’ Rebus said, popping open the empty DVD case. ‘Must have saved a fortune, not needing make-up for the demons.’

‘The two male leads were the same as in Bravehearts.’

‘Neither seems to have become box office gold.’

‘I googled them — they’re not actors any more.’

‘Were they ever?’ Rebus poured the last dregs of his solitary bottle of IPA into the glass. Clarke had managed two gins before switching to tonic only. The evening had been her idea — the still centre Rebus had told her to find. A couple of microwaved ready meals followed by the film. She checked her copious notes.

‘As for the female cop... procedure wasn’t exactly her strong point.’

‘I’d say the camera’s interest was in the two strong points at the tips of her breasts.’

Clarke writhed in mock distaste. ‘Fifteen minutes ten and twenty-six minutes forty,’ she intoned. ‘The two scenes where we see the handcuffs. Second one is the best.’ She used the remote to skip through the film. ‘Here we go.’ After a few seconds, she hit the pause button. ‘Nice close-up.’

The film’s heroine had apprehended a thug after a chase and had him on the ground, pulling handcuffs from her belt and clamping them around the man’s wrists.

‘They look pretty real, don’t they?’ Rebus asked. ‘The same kind we used back in the day?’

‘They’re not from a joke shop,’ Clarke replied. ‘If that’s what you’re asking.’

‘So where did they come from?’

‘Something we need to find out. We can’t prove they’re the same ones Bloom was wearing, though I’d swear they’re the exact same model. Plus, say they are the same ones, the fact that they’re in this film would explain how Ness’s prints could have got on them.’ Clarke was kneeling only a foot or so from the TV screen. She gestured towards it. ‘It would help if we knew what happened to them after this.’

‘Ness is the obvious person to ask.’

‘Tomorrow for definite. Sorry you weren’t there when we brought in Cafferty.’ She returned to the sofa and lifted her glass.

‘You’re forgiven. I take it he gave you hee-haw?’

‘He admitted knowing Conor Maloney, for what it’s worth.’

‘You could have FaceTimed me and let me listen.’

Clarke smiled. ‘Suddenly you’re an expert on FaceTime?’

‘Since a few hours back, aye. Christine’s been mentoring me.’

‘Oh?’

‘There’s nothing I don’t know about Ribbit, Pratchat and what have you.’

‘Wonders never cease,’ Clarke said with a smile. ‘So you’ve got her checking Ellis’s online history?’

‘She’s being a bit more thorough than that.’

‘I’d best say thank you next time I see her, then.’ She paused. ‘So what else is happening with Ellis Meikle?’

‘I’ve been on it all day.’

‘Not just leaving it to Christine?’

‘Perish the thought.’

‘Any conclusions?’

‘Just that you can tell Dallas Meikle you’ve earned his cooperation.’

‘They were questioned today, too — Steele and Edwards.’

‘Articulate and charming as ever?’

‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Ness had got the cuffs from one of them?’

‘They didn’t know Ness, though.’

‘They knew Adrian Brand.’

‘Yes, so why would they do anything for Brand’s sworn enemy?’

Clarke didn’t know the answer to that. ‘I want them hurt,’ she said instead.

‘Really? I’d never have guessed. Now can I have that second beer I made you promise not to hand over, no matter how much I begged?’

‘Over my dead body,’ Clarke said, rising to her feet. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea instead.’

When she left the room, Rebus leaned down to give Brillo a rub.

‘Nearly time to go home,’ he explained as the dog raised his head. ‘And Siobhan’s going to have to vacuum this carpet by the look of it.’ He raked his fingers across the floor, scooping up as much dog hair as he could, while thinking back to Charles Meikle’s flat with its neat and tidy kitchen. The residue of oil on the mechanic’s knuckles would have left marks on the worktop. Everyone left traces. The handcuffs were still on the TV screen. Police issue. CID or uniform, you’d know where to find some. Maybe, like Rebus, you kept a set at home as a memento. He’d checked a few nights back and they were still there in the drawer, a pair of the old chain-link design, along with the rudimentary key that accompanied them. There was other stuff in the drawer, too: a retractable steel baton and his old warrant card. He didn’t doubt that the likes of Alex Shankley, Doug Newsome and even Bill Rawlston would have a drawer almost identical. And if one of those drawers was lacking an item, what did that prove?

‘You okay with redbush?’ Clarke was asking from the doorway.

‘Not even tea’s straightforward these days,’ Rebus pretended to complain. He followed her back into the kitchen. She had her back to him when she spoke.

‘Thanks for coming over, John. I appreciate it.’

‘After the day you’ve had? Least I could do.’

She half turned her head towards him, managing a thin smile. ‘Do you think Graham will kick me off the team?’

‘Question is, why hasn’t he already?’

‘To which the answer is...?’ She handed him a mug.

‘Maybe he believes you. Maybe he even likes you.’ Rebus offered a shrug. ‘But if word gets to Mollison, it might be a different story. How are the rest of MIT handling it?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’ She leaned back against the worktop.

‘Steele won’t admit anything,’ Rebus commented.

‘I know.’

‘But Dougal Kelly’s got nothing to lose by telling MIT it wasn’t you.’

‘You think I should ask him?’

‘Your call.’

‘It’d mean owing him a favour.’

‘Sod that. He wants a favour afterwards, he can go whistle.’

‘Maybe I won’t say that when I talk to him.’

‘Best kept on a need-to-know basis,’ Rebus agreed, taking a slurp of tea.

‘How’s the redbush?’

‘It almost tastes like tea.’ Rebus was eyeing the bottle of IPA visible on the worktop behind Clarke.

‘Down, boy.’

Rebus turned his head towards the doorway, where Brillo was standing and watching.

‘I wasn’t talking to the dog,’ Clarke said.

After Rebus and Brillo had gone, Clarke stood in her living room, ready to do the tidying. But instead she took a deep breath and called Dougal Kelly.

‘Hi there,’ he answered.

‘My boss thinks I might be the source of the leak,’ she said without preamble. ‘My workmates are giving me looks behind my back and it’s all your doing.’

‘They know we had lunch?’

‘In point of fact, we didn’t have lunch, but I was spotted in the café with you, which amounts to the same thing. I need you to tell DCI Sutherland that you got the gen from elsewhere.’

‘Are you really in trouble?’

‘Will you talk to him?’

‘I can probably do that.’ He paused. ‘I’ve been mulling over what you said about Brand’s safe being broken into by Stuart and this guy Huston. I’ve persuaded Catherine we shouldn’t go public with it just yet. But it raises a possibility, doesn’t it? Stuart goes to Jackie Ness afterwards. Maybe he’s holding back the contents of the safe; maybe he reckons whatever he found is worth a lot more than Ness has been paying him. They argue, and Ness ends up clobbering him.’

‘We’ve found nothing at Poretoun House to suggest that.’

‘Could have been outside, maybe as Stuart was getting back in his car.’

‘I suppose,’ Clarke admitted, rubbing at her eyes. She felt like she could sleep the clock around.

‘You’re exhausted,’ Kelly said into the silence. ‘Go grab some shut-eye. I’ll talk to your boss first thing.’

‘Will you tell him you got it from Steele and Edwards?’

‘Probably not.’ Kelly paused again, as if he’d been about to say something. Clarke felt cogs shifting in her head.

‘Steele wanted us to meet, didn’t he? He put the idea in your head — said I’d be prime candidate if you needed someone inside the investigation?’

‘What if he did?’

‘It means he’s coming for me,’ Clarke stated, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘And thanks to you, he’s in with a shout.’