A kitchen floor.

  A body lying there.

  And blood, copious amounts of blood…

  Journalists had gathered outside the station, so Jasmine and her parents were taken home in an unmarked van that had benches in the rear but no windows. Esson started whistling ‘Mrs Robinson’ as she watched.

  ‘Subtle,’ Clarke said as she started checking her phone. She had a dozen missed calls and as many messages from Laura Smith. She walked over to where Esson had just started filling in Reeves and Colson.

  ‘We need to ask Carla if she told her dad,’ she said to the group.

  ‘I can do that,’ Esson replied.

  ‘What about this black book?’ Reeves asked. ‘If the killer took it…’

  ‘It was to stop anyone else having it,’ Clarke said, nodding. ‘It also means whoever has it has access to the sextortion list. We need to check if anyone’s contacted the likes of Urquhart, trying to restart the scheme.’

  ‘You think that’s why it was taken?’

  ‘It’s one scenario.’

  ‘But not the most obvious.’

  ‘No,’ Clarke conceded. She stepped away from the huddle and called Marcus Simpson.

  ‘I need to ask you something,’ she said when he answered. ‘Did you ever see Zak with a little black book?’

  ‘That thing? Sort of like a diary? Aye, he always had it on him.’

  ‘Did he say what it was?’

  ‘Names and numbers, that’s what he told me – not that I ever saw him open it up. Could’ve been blank pages for all I know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Clarke said, ending the call. She watched DCI Carmichael walk in her direction.

  ‘Well, that’s at least one happy ending,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe.’ Thinking back to what Jasmine had gone through and the home awaiting her, she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘But I’m here to give you a strong reprimand – you and Christine both.’ He folded his arms. ‘The Fiscal’s not happy at you grabbing a schoolgirl off the street and grilling her in your car.’

  ‘We just had a couple of casual questions – didn’t feel the need to make it formal.’ Clarke had already rehearsed with Esson what to say when they were asked. ‘Once she was relaxed, she opened up to us, no grilling required. In fact, in an interview room, surrounded by adults, I’m not sure she’d have told us much of anything.’ She paused. ‘Besides, it got us Jasmine, safe and sound, didn’t it?’

  ‘No denying that.’

  ‘So the Fiscal might not be happy, but how about you, Bryan?’

  Carmichael leaned in towards her and lowered his voice. ‘I’m over the bloody moon, Siobhan – and I couldn’t be prouder of you.’

  ‘In which case,’ Clarke said, looking past his shoulder, ‘you can do me a favour.’

  ‘Name it.’

  She took a step back and nodded towards the figure who had appeared in the doorway. ‘Get rid of that ghoul.’

  Fox had spotted Clarke and was zeroing in on her. ‘I need access to Jasmine,’ he stated. ‘To both girls, actually.’

  Clarke held a hand out towards her boss. ‘DCI Carmichael, I think you know DI Malcolm Fox?’

  Fox took his eyes off her long enough to grace Carmichael with the curtest of nods.

  ‘OCCTU have been investigating Darryl Christie’s various dealings for many months – a lot of money and man-hours expended. Carla’s father is part of Christie’s gang and was targeted recently by persons unknown. We need information on who might be behind that attack.’ His words were aimed at Carmichael, but his focus remained fixed on Clarke.

  ‘So talk to the father,’ Carmichael said.

  But Fox was shaking his head. ‘He’s a criminal – he’s hardly likely to tell us anything. When he was safe and secure inside his own home, that’s when he’d have opened up – and those girls could well have heard something. Either the adults talking, or a telephone conversation, maybe another gang member visiting…’

  ‘This can be dealt with in due course,’ Carmichael stated coldly. ‘But right now we have a murder inquiry on our hands, and Carla and Jasmine are crucial to it. Once things are on an even keel…’

  Fox glowered at him. ‘Listen to yourself, man! An even keel? Scotland’s been holed beneath the waterline. Whole communities are in danger of drowning. I tend to think that takes priority over someone whacking a cut-price pimp!’

  Carmichael stared at Fox, the silence between the two men lengthening. ‘Your boss at Gartcosh is Phil Pratchett, yes?’

  ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Pratchett,’ Fox said.

  ‘Phil and I go back a ways – I assume you have his blessing for this ram raid of yours?’

  ‘Hardly a ram raid.’ Fox shuffled his feet, eyes on the floor.

  ‘Does he know or doesn’t he?’

  ‘In an operation like this, parameters have a way of widening suddenly.’

  ‘I’m not sure even you know what you mean by that – it just sounds good to your ears.’ Colour was creeping up Fox’s neck. ‘I think the best thing you can do right now, DI Fox, is go back to OCCTU and let us get on with our job without interference. Find another way of tackling Christie and his kind – maybe even try the gloves-off approach.’

  Fox was still wearing his leather driving gloves. He flexed a hand, eyes on Clarke.

  ‘I thought that’s what I was doing,’ he said. ‘With precious little help from my supposed colleagues in this city.’

  ‘I look forward to reading your complaint,’ Carmichael said. ‘Don’t let me detain you from writing and submitting it. Meantime I’ll be talking to your chief super. Goodbye now.’

  He made a sweeping motion with one hand. Realising that the whole office was now watching, Fox sniffed, turned and made his exit.

  ‘Was that good enough for you, Siobhan?’ Carmichael asked as soon as he was out of sight.

  ‘Just about perfect, I’d say.’

  ‘So now we can get back to the main business of solving our case?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir,’ Clarke said. ‘With pleasure.’

  After bang-up that evening, Rebus called Christine Esson. It wasn’t easy seeing the numbers through eyes reduced to slits by the violence earlier. He felt light-headed, and his heart rate was failing to come down. Without Billy Groam, his knight in shining tracksuit, he reckoned he’d have been a goner. He knew too that Bobby Briggs would never be appeased, meaning Rebus would have to be even warier than usual, his guard up until one of them was no longer inside.

  ‘News travels fast,’ Esson told him when she answered the call.

  ‘What news?’

  ‘Jasmine Andrews. She’s back with her family.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard.’

  ‘So why are you phoning?’

  ‘I need Fox’s number.’

  ‘I already gave it to you.’

  ‘And I thought I had it memorised – stuff happens.’

  ‘We found out that Jackie Simpson was Fox’s guy.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Before he got himself arrested, he was Fox’s snitch. Malcolm Fox is the reason he broke into that nail bar in the first place, so Fox had an excuse to go in there looking for anything incriminating to do with Hanlon.’

  ‘He hit the jackpot.’

  ‘But Fox couldn’t stop Simpson going to jail.’

  ‘Where he ended up dangerously close to Everett Harrison.’ Rebus thought for a moment. ‘That reminds me,’ he said eventually, ‘if the lab’s done with the Fast & Furious DVD, any chance of it coming back? I told the librarian I’d ask.’

  ‘Don’t see why not, but it might be a lowish priority.’

  ‘How come you’re not out celebrating the misper turning up?’ he asked.

  ‘Because Zak Campbell’s killer still needs to be caught.’

  ‘And Jackie Simpson’s too,’ Rebus reminded her.

  ‘That goes without saying.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like you’re getting very far with it.’

  ‘We do seem to have hit a wall,’ she confessed. ‘I’m hoping our man on the inside might have better luck.’

  ‘Your man on the inside’s hit a wall too, Christine.’ He probed at his aching nose. ‘So the missing girl didn’t kill the pornographer?’

  ‘We don’t think so.’

  ‘That narrows your list of suspects then.’

  ‘Small mercies, John,’ Esson said, reciting Fox’s number and bringing the call to an end.

  He had the same difficulty with Fox’s number. Plus the phone only had about fifteen per cent charge left.

  ‘What do you want?’ Fox barked.

  ‘I’m phoning on behalf of the Jackie Simpson Memorial Fund. Thought you might be minded to make a substantial contribution.’

  ‘You’re a prick, John.’

  ‘And you sound like you’re still at your desk. Got other lives to ruin, I suppose?’

  ‘I did what I could for Jackie.’

  ‘Did you, aye? Because my guess is you were pleased as punch when he ended up in the same hall as Darryl Christie and Everett Harrison. How did he get his reports to you?’

  ‘Those little booths they have for video calls.’

  He was so quick to reveal this, Rebus knew it was because he reckoned it ingenious and therefore worth sharing.

  ‘Any of the staff here know what was going on?’

  ‘Far as anyone knew, I was Jackie’s solicitor. Well, obviously the governor had to be in the loop, but no one else. And you’re right – I am still at work, more determined than ever to get some justice for Jackie.’

  ‘Well, I might have some news for you. Darryl Christie isn’t quite ready to step into the dead man’s shoes, but he says he’ll cooperate with you if it will bring Hanlon crashing down.’

  ‘I’m not convinced Hanlon has anything to do with it, John – not directly.’

  ‘Oh?’ Rebus was trying to work out how Fox could have identified Chris Novak.

  ‘I’m coming around to the idea of Mickey Mason. He got out of the Bar-L a few weeks back – the timing clicks almost exactly.’

  ‘Mason’s muscling in on Edinburgh?’ Rebus hoped the relief didn’t show in his voice.

  ‘In cahoots with Hanlon. Think about it: Hanlon needs someone on the ground. Mason is pals with Bobby Briggs. Briggs has regular chinwags with Harrison – that’s how the two bosses communicate. In Glasgow Mason pushed more ketamine than a vets’ school – and right now Edinburgh’s awash with it.’

  ‘You’ve got it all figured out, Malcolm,’ Rebus said, trying to sound impressed. He was about to muse on why Mason might be using a motorcyclist with a Liverpool accent, but he didn’t want Fox jumping to anything but wrong conclusions. ‘So you’ve got eyes and ears on Mason?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m trying to convince my boss.’

  ‘If anyone can do it, you can.’

  ‘So maybe I won’t have much need of your chum Darryl.’

  ‘He seems blissfully unaware of Mason’s involvement.’

  ‘Let’s keep it that way – I’d like to get Mason before Christie does something stupid.’

  ‘I won’t say a word.’ Rebus pressed an exploratory finger against one of his puffed-up eyelids.

  ‘But I do appreciate you taking the trouble to call me.’

  ‘I’ll let you get back to the grindstone, Malcolm.’

  ‘One last thing, John.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I said that I’ve got Mason in my sights, but I’m ruling nothing out. If not Mason, then Hanlon direct, and if not Hanlon…’

  ‘Who?’ Rebus felt his chest tightening a little.

  ‘Think about all the enemies Christie’s made. Someone might have thought it was time for a bit of vigilante justice.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Rebus said, understanding only too well.

  ‘A lone wolf, someone with a grudge.’

  ‘Unlikely, I’d have thought.’

  ‘They’d need help, of course – to track Christie’s men. But a few quid slipped to the right people…’

  ‘I don’t know, Malcolm, the way Everett Harrison acts…’

  ‘And how exactly is that?’

  ‘Like he knows precisely what’s going on.’

  There was silence on the line. ‘You’re keeping something from me, John – what is it?’

  ‘I’m telling you everything I know.’

  ‘And why would that be, when you’ve always hated my guts?’

  ‘I just think you’re in danger of taking a wrong turning.’

  ‘Or maybe a right one, eh? Is that what’s worrying you?’

  Rebus was still trying to think of some convincing line to spin when he realised Fox had hung up on him. He cursed under his breath as he clambered from the toilet pan. So the governor knew that Jackie Simpson had been reporting to Fox. Rebus speculated about that for a minute or two as he lay on his narrow bed, hands clasped behind his head. And Fox wasn’t ruling out the lone wolf theory – a theory that, taken to its conclusion, would bring Darryl Christie down on Chris Novak’s head. Along the hall, someone was singing behind their cell door. It sounded like ‘Hurt’. Rebus knew Johnny Cash didn’t write it, but it was Cash’s version he liked. He recited the words silently until a mix of pleading and angry voices stilled the singer.

  Folsom Prison to San Quentin to Saughton.

  Quite the journey.

  ‘Are you driving?’ Fox asked Jason Mulgrew when his call was connected.

  ‘I promised Christine a gin and tonic. Everything okay with you, Malcolm?’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any news from the prison?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Fox heard Mulgrew give a heavy sigh.

  ‘Can I let you in on a secret?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I visited Carla’s home – Jasmine’s best friend. Took an OCCTU colleague with me. We were looking to speak to Carla’s dad. He works for Christie, but someone stuck a gun in his face and he went into hiding. But here’s the thing – while Carla’s mum was lying through her teeth about the father’s whereabouts, Jasmine was already ensconced in the attic. How crazy is that?’

  ‘There was no way you could have known – I assume the mum had no idea?’

  ‘How am I supposed to answer that when they won’t let me talk to Carla?’

  ‘Siobhan Clarke’s warned you off?’

  ‘She got her boss to do her dirty work for her.’

  ‘What’s your thinking?’

  ‘Carla’s parents might have let anything slip during their various chats. Anyone in the house could have heard. Could be stuff about Christie, the gunman, Harrison or Hanlon…’

  ‘Or even Simpson’s murder, if there’s a Christie connection.’

  ‘See, that’s what I’m thinking, Jason. If the request to interview the girls came from the Simpson inquiry…’

  ‘You think I’m likely to have any more luck than you?’

  ‘You could hardly do worse. Maybe pitch it to your DCI, see what she thinks.’

  ‘You’re tenacious, Malcolm, I’ll give you that. Shall I pass on your best to Christine?’

  ‘Might be better not to mention me at all.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘And Jason? Only soft drinks if you’re driving afterwards. Wouldn’t want you failing a breath test…’

  Christine Esson had a G and T in front of her when Mulgrew walked into the bar. It was actually her second, but he wasn’t to know that. A pint, with plenty of life still in it, sat on a coaster waiting for him.

  ‘Thought we agreed this was my shout,’ he said, settling next to her.

  ‘Second round’s yours.’ She leaned back and exhaled.

  ‘You’ve had a pretty good day,’ he said, hoisting his glass in a toast.

  ‘Only because Carla was bursting to tell someone.’

  ‘Incredible they could keep Jasmine hidden.’

  ‘It maybe helped that the father was elsewhere.’

  ‘He works for Darryl Christie, yes?’

  Esson nodded and lifted her glass.

  ‘See, that’s interesting from a Jackie Simpson perspective.’

  Esson stared at him. ‘Are you sure you don’t mean a Darryl Christie perspective? This you doing Fox’s work for him, Jason?’

  ‘Simpson is our case, Christine – maybe you’ve been forgetting that?’

  She decided to allow him this. He lifted his own drink and took a sip. She didn’t think he was planning on finishing it. Safety first; clear head – Fox again.

  ‘So Jasmine is back with her family,’ he commented, ‘but nothing to suggest she’s the killer?’

  ‘There’s a client called Valerio. We could do with pinning him down.’

  ‘Like valerian, the plant? Or Valerie Watts?’

  ‘Or a hundred other permutations. See, Zak Campbell’s blackmail scheme could have backfired on him. There’s a missing book, a sort of diary with names and details.’ Esson paused. ‘Actually, we don’t know what’s in it, if anything.’ She began to deflate a little, compensating with one more mouthful of gin.

  ‘You want to stick with this to the bitter end, don’t you?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘If Mae McGovern will let me.’

  ‘I really doubt she will. You don’t know the pressure she’s under.’

  ‘Her and every other cop in this city.’

  Mulgrew was looking at her. ‘You need an early night, Christine.’

  ‘Some women would read that as a chat-up.’ She saw his face change. ‘Don’t worry – I know Zara Shah’s more your type.’ He seemed ready to protest, but Esson lifted a hand, palm towards him. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘When I came in here, I intended having three or four, but I think I’m done. I was about to apologise, but you’re not really in the mood either, are you?’

  They both studied his barely touched pint.

  ‘Another time, DS Esson?’ he said.

  ‘Another time, DI Mulgrew,’ she replied.

  Day Seven

  25

  After breakfast, Rebus visited Everett Harrison in his cell.

  ‘What the hell do you want, Rocky?’ Harrison growled.

  ‘Just a bit of clarity. Did you know who Jackie Simpson was? Why he was inside, I mean?’