Fox was usually first into the Complaints office, but not today. Tony Kaye was standing behind Fox’s desk, holding a cardboard beaker of coffee in one hand and using the other to sift through one of the stacks of paperwork relating to John Rebus.
‘Early bird,’ Fox said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up.
‘Thought I’d maybe have a word before Joe Naysmith arrives.’
‘Lost your phone?’
‘I thought this was best done face to face.’
‘Spit it out, then.’
Kaye rested a hand on one of the piles of paper. ‘You know what I’m going to say.’
‘You’re going to tell me we’re wasting our time.’
‘The guy’s old-school, Malcolm. It’s amazing any of them still survive.’
‘So he’s some kind of endangered species and we should be feeding him bamboo?’
‘A good hunter knows when not to pull the trigger.’
‘You’ve seen the phone logs, Tony: is there any villain in the city he’s not cosied up to?’
‘DI Clarke said it — if Rebus is attached to the McKie case, he’s got plenty of reasons for talking to Frank Hammell.’
‘And Cafferty?’
‘Used to be Hammell’s employer.’
Fox shook his head slowly. ‘The man’s a liability — and dangerous with it.’
‘That’s for the board to decide.’
‘With our input. Are you saying I put a halo over Rebus’s head?’
‘Just stick to the facts. Don’t let it get personal.’
‘Who says it’s personal?’
‘It is, though. You worked CID at St Leonard’s, same time he did.’
‘So?’
‘I remember you once telling me, not every good detective fits in at Complaints.’
‘Are you saying I couldn’t hack it in CID?’
It was Kaye’s turn to shake his head. ‘I’m saying Rebus got results the old way, without seeming to earn them. He did that because he got close to some nasty people in a way you couldn’t. This is what you’re good at, Malcolm.’ He tapped the desk. ‘Rebus specialises in something a bit different — doesn’t necessarily make him the enemy.’
‘We’ve got to be accountable, Tony. Rebus and his ilk don’t see that. In point of fact, I think he gets his jollies sticking two fingers up to the rest of us.’
‘Doesn’t make him the enemy,’ Kaye repeated quietly.
Fox’s phone vibrated, letting him know he had a message. He looked at the screen, then at his colleague.
‘Have you mentioned any of this to the Chief?’
Kaye shook his head. ‘Why?’
‘Because he wants a word.’ Fox’s eyes scanned the mass of paperwork. There were boxes of it on the floor next to his desk. Thousands of pages detailing dozens of infractions. But dozens of arrests, too. And no smoking gun. Same with the notes at Fox’s house — all of it circumstantial; easy to read into it anything you liked.
‘You think it’s about Rebus?’ Tony Kaye was asking.
‘What else?’ Fox said, making for the door.
‘They could bounce me down the stairs for this,’ Arnold complained, meeting Rebus outside Northern Constabulary HQ.
Rebus held out a brown paper bag, which Arnold took and opened, pulling out a croissant and biting into it. Then he gestured for Rebus to follow him into the building, where he was signed in as a visitor and handed a pass, ‘to be worn at all times’.
Arnold was still chewing as they reached the inquiry room. He made another gesture — letting Rebus know he should wait there — before disappearing through the door. When he came out again, he was holding a clear plastic envelope containing several CD-sized silver disks.
‘Laptop?’ he asked.
Rebus shook his head.
Arnold gave a twitch of the mouth as if to indicate that he’d expected this. He led Rebus along the corridor until he found a room with an unused desk. He gave the mouse a nudge, activating the monitor, then entered his password.
‘CaleyThis?’ Rebus enquired.
‘Short for Caledonian Thistle.’ Arnold pulled out the chair and nodded for Rebus to sit down. The disk drive was on the floor beneath the desk, and he crouched in front of it, sliding home the first of the disks.
‘Eight hours’ worth,’ he warned Rebus.
‘Won’t take me nearly that long.’
‘Anybody asks, you tell them whatever story you like.’
‘Keeping your name out of it?’ Rebus guessed. Then he held out his hand. ‘Thanks, Gavin.’
The two men shook, and Arnold left him to it.
Rebus reckoned he could focus on a specific hour of comings and goings on the petrol station’s forecourt — thirty minutes either side of Annette McKie’s arrival in Pitlochry. The first disk he tried was no help, being too early in the day. Ditto the second and third. When he got to the fourth, he fast-forwarded, keeping an eye on the clock in the corner of the screen. Eventually, when he was happy, he leaned forwards and watched intently.
Dempsey couldn’t place him at first. When she did, her face tightened. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’
Rebus had hidden the visitor’s badge in his pocket. ‘Not a crime, is it?’ he asked.
‘Actually, it probably is.’
He had found her in one of the meeting rooms. She had been seated but was now standing. The other officer was wondering what was going on. Dempsey dismissed the man with a wave and an announcement that they would finish their discussion later. Once she was alone with Rebus, she folded her arms and waited.
‘I’ve got him,’ was all Rebus said. She saw that he was holding a small silver object in one hand.
Both Magrath brothers, along with Kenny’s wife Maggie, were brought in for questioning that same afternoon. Search warrants had been applied for, and Dempsey seemed to think they wouldn’t be long arriving. Meantime, preliminary questions were being asked of neighbours in Rosemarkie.
The media had reacted quickly to the news. The ranks of reporters had swollen outside HQ, and a radio car was in position, a satellite dish on its roof. No TV as yet, or none that Rebus could see from the windows of the inquiry room. He had asked to be present at the interviews, but Dempsey had put the kibosh on it. He wasn’t even a serving police officer — a lawyer could make ‘potentially devastating’ use of that.
‘In fact,’ she’d told him, ‘best thing would be if you went back to Edinburgh. And remind me, how did you get in here in the first place?’
She’d said she would call him with news — she didn’t want him to think she was ungrateful. But as yet it was all just supposition mixed with what might turn out to be coincidence.
And that was it: Rebus was dismissed.
He texted a brief thank you to Gavin Arnold, not being able to track him down in the flesh, and headed outdoors. Raymond, Dempsey’s nephew, nodded a greeting and asked if he had any comment. The other journalists frowned and twitched, not knowing who Rebus was. They quickly gathered round Raymond, keen to be included. Rebus took his time getting a cigarette lit before he spoke.
‘Persons of interest are currently being interviewed by DCS Dempsey and her team,’ he obliged.
‘Any names?’
Rebus kept his eyes on Raymond. The young man was pointing his phone, using it as a mic.
‘The persons of interest are local,’ Rebus went on. ‘I don’t doubt tongues are wagging. .’
Then he got into his car and started the engine.
Was he heading home? He wasn’t sure. First he drove to Rosemarkie and cruised past the lock-up. Kenny Magrath’s van was parked in front, and Rebus stopped, getting out to peer through its windows again. It looked exactly the same as before, except for a Tupperware box and a Thermos — lunch prepared by Maggie, at a guess. A leftover sandwich was visible through the plastic. The lock-up itself still boasted its padlock. Rebus walked around the vehicle. It was small, with thin tyres, their tread reduced through use. Could a van like this have been driven into the woods at Edderton without getting stuck? Rebus checked for damage but didn’t find any, just a bit of mud. The van was only a year or so old, judging by the number plate. He was walking around it again, checking more closely for non-existent scrapes and scuffs, when the forensics team arrived. There were four of them — two in a Ford Transit and two in a Vauxhall Astra. One of them recognised Rebus from the Portakabin at Edderton. He jutted out his chin and gave a twitch of the head, as much acknowledgement as Rebus was going to get.
Before anyone else could ask who he was or demand ID, Rebus garnered all the authority he could muster and explained that they would find the lock-up well organised and with few obvious hiding places.
‘You might want to check the perimeter,’ he added. ‘If he’s kept any trophies, I doubt they’re going to be under your noses.’
‘Why do you say that?’ he was asked.
‘I was here with him earlier. He seemed perfectly relaxed about a search of the place.’
The questioner nodded his understanding.
‘Have all the warrants been signed?’ Rebus enquired, receiving another nod for his efforts. ‘Both brothers’ homes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I think you might want to add the green Land Rover sitting outside Gregor Magrath’s place. Not sure who it belongs to, but strikes me it should be checked. More of an all-terrain vehicle than this.’ Rebus gestured towards the van.
‘Why don’t you arrange that, then?’ the team leader asked.
‘Not my job,’ Rebus explained, retreating to the Saab.