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.’