Standing in another's man grave

13

‘Did you miss me?’ Rebus enquired as he walked into the SCRU office.

‘Have you been somewhere? Can’t say I’d noticed.’ Peter Bliss was hauling files and folders from a large plastic container. Some sheets fell free, sliding across the floor. Elaine Robison helped pick them up.

‘How are things at Gayfield Square?’ she asked.

‘Coffee’s not a patch on here.’

‘I meant the case.’

Rebus shrugged. ‘I’m not sure anyone’s convinced about the links to the other MisPers.’

‘It was always going to be a hard sell, John.’

‘I seem to be in luck here, though — no Cowan to speak of.’

‘He’s at some meeting,’ Bliss explained, seating himself at his desk. ‘Huckling for a move.’

‘To the CCU,’ Robison added, resting her hands on her hips. ‘Seems there’s a vacancy at the top table.’

‘I was under the impression our dear leader hates cold cases.’

‘But the one thing he does like is advancement. They’d have to promote him DI.’

‘Fast track to DCI and above,’ Bliss said with a shake of his head.

‘Well, his wardrobe’s good and ready, even if he’s not.’ Rebus turned to leave.

‘Not staying for some of that famous coffee?’ Robison asked.

‘Places to go, people to see,’ Rebus said by way of apology.

‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she called to him as he headed out of the door.

ETHICS AND STANDARDS was what it said on the wall next to the office, but everyone called them the Complaints. Rebus tried the handle. It didn’t budge. Combination lock. He knocked, pressed his ear to the door, knocked again. Further along the corridor was the Deputy Chief Constable’s office, and the Chief Constable’s beyond that. Rebus hadn’t been hauled up here for a carpeting in quite some time. His years on the force, he’d seen the pen-pushers come and go. They were always full of new ideas, tweaks they were keen to make, as if you could change the job by means of strategy meetings and focus groups. The Complaints was part of that — every year or two, their name seemed to change — Complaints and Conduct; Professional Standards; Ethics and Standards. One cop Rebus had known, the Complaints had gone after him because a neighbour had complained about the height of his leylandii. The whole process had taken the best part of a year, after which the cop had decided he didn’t like the job any more.

Another result for the Complaints.

Rebus gave up and took the lift down to the cafeteria. Bottle of Irn Bru and a caramel wafer. He walked over to a table by the window. The window looked on to the sports field, where you could sometimes see off-duty officers playing rugby. Not today, though. The chair made plenty of noise as Rebus pulled it out from the table. He sat down and returned the stare of the man sitting there.

‘Malcolm Fox,’ he stated.

Fox didn’t deny it. He was twenty years younger than Rebus, and a stone and a half lighter. A bit less grey in his hair. Most cops looked like cops, but Fox could have been middle management in a plastics company or Inland Revenue.

‘Hello, Rebus,’ Fox said. There was a plate in front of him, nothing on it but banana peel. The glass next to it contained tap water from the jug by the cash till.

‘Thought maybe we should meet properly.’ Rebus took a mouthful of Irn Bru and stifled a belch.

‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.’

‘We work in the same building: any reason we can’t be sitting together?’

‘Every reason.’ There was nothing confrontational in Fox’s style, no emotion when he spoke. He had the casual confidence of someone who knew they were on another plane from those around them.

‘Because you’re putting together a file on me?’

‘Today’s police force is very different from the one you got used to. Methods have changed, and so have attitudes.’ Fox paused. ‘Do you really think you’d fit in?’

‘You’re telling me not to bother reapplying?’

‘That’s a decision only you can make.’

‘Who was it told you about me and Cafferty?’

Fox’s face changed slightly, and Rebus realised he’d made a mistake. The man knew where Rebus had got that gen: Siobhan Clarke. A black mark against her.

‘Ask yourself this,’ Rebus ploughed on. ‘Could it have been Cafferty himself? Using an intermediary? Just to screw up my chances.’

‘Better if you’d simply kept clear of him in the first place.’

‘Hard to disagree.’

‘So why didn’t you?’

‘Maybe I was hoping he might let something slip — I work cold cases, remember.’

‘And has he?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘Not so far. But the amount of skeletons around Cafferty, there’s always a chance.’

Fox looked thoughtful as he sipped his water. Rebus unwrapped the wafer and bit into it.

‘The file on you,’ Fox said eventually, ‘goes back to the 1970s. In fact, to call it a “file” is doing it an injustice; it takes up one whole shelf.’

‘I’ve been called into the headmaster’s office a few times,’ Rebus conceded. ‘Never been given my jotters, though.’

‘I wonder: is that down to luck or guile?’

‘There was always a good reason why I did what I did — and it got results. The High Hiedyins recognised that.’

‘“Room should always be made for one maverick”,’ Fox quoted. ‘That’s what a former Chief Constable wrote about you. He underlined the “one”.’

‘I got results,’ Rebus repeated.

‘And what about now? Think you can break cases without bending a few rules along the way? We’ve no room for even one maverick these days.’

Rebus shrugged. Fox spent a moment studying him.

‘You’re on secondment to Gayfield Square,’ he said. ‘That brings you back into contact with DI Clarke.’

‘So?’

‘Since you retired, she’s managed to unlearn some of the stuff you taught her. She’s going to keep rising through the ranks.’ Fox paused. ‘Unless. .’

‘You’re saying I’m a bad influence? Siobhan’s her own woman. That’s not about to change just because I’m around for a week or two.’

‘I hope not. But back in the day, she covered up for you a few times, didn’t she?’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ Rebus tipped the bottle to his mouth again.

Fox managed to force out a smile, studying Rebus the way a sceptical employer might an underqualified job candidate. ‘We’ve met before, you know.’

‘We have?’

‘Sort of — we were on the same case one time, back in my CID days.’

‘I don’t remember.’

Fox shrugged. ‘Not so surprising really — I don’t think you made it to a single briefing.’

‘Probably too busy doing real work.’

‘With a mint on your tongue to mask the smell of booze.’

Rebus gave him a hard stare. ‘Is that what this is about — me not giving you the time of day? Did I nick your sweets in the playground and now you need to get your own back?’

‘I’m not that petty.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Quite sure.’ Fox was rising to his feet. ‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘You know there’ll be a physical? If you go ahead with your application, I mean.’

‘Constitution of an ox,’ Rebus declared, thumping his chest with a fist. He watched the other man leave, then finished his caramel wafer before heading outside to the smoking zone.