Ian Rankin - Set in Darkness

‘A not inconsiderable sum,’ Milligan admitted.

‘We think Mr Callan might be able to claim it,’ Rebus told him.

‘How?’ Callan sounding cagey; wary of traps.

‘It belonged to a man called Freddy Hastings,’ Rebus explained. ‘Belonged in the sense that he carried it around with him in a briefcase. At one time, Mr Hastings was a property developer, working with AD Holdings to buy land near Calton Hill. This was in late ’78 and early ’79, prior to the referendum.’

Milligan: ‘And if there had been a Yes result, the land would have been worth a fortune?’

Rebus: ‘Possibly.’

‘What does this have to do with my client?’

‘In later years, Mr Hastings lived as a down and out.’

‘With all that money?’

‘We can only speculate why he didn’t spend it. Maybe he was holding it for someone. Maybe he was afraid.’

‘Or off his rocker,’ Callan added. But the remark was bravado; Rebus could tell he was thinking about things.

‘The point is, AD Holdings, of which we believe Mr Callan was prime mover, was using Hastings to make bids on all this land.’

‘And you think Hastings just pocketed the money?’

‘It’s one theory.’

‘So the money would belong to AD Holdings?’

‘It’s possible. Mr Hastings left no family, no will. The Treasury will claim it if no one else does.’

‘That would be a shame,’ Milligan said. ‘What do you say, Bryce?’

‘I’ve already told him, I only had a few shares in AD.’

‘You wish to add to that? Perhaps elucidate?’

‘Well, it might have been more than a few shares, now you mention it.’

Rebus: ‘You had dealings with Mr Hastings?’

‘Yes.’

‘Using his company as a front for buying land and property?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘You already had a company — AD Holdings. In fact, you had dozens of companies.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘So why did you need to hide behind Hastings?’

‘Work it out for yourself.’

‘I’d rather you told me.’

Milligan interrupted: ‘And why is that, Inspector?’

‘Mr Milligan, we need to be clear about whether Mr Callan here and Freddy Hastings did business together. We need some sort of proof that the money could conceivably have belonged to Mr Callan.’

Milligan was thoughtful. ‘Bryce?’ he said.

‘As it happens, he did take money off me, and then scarpered.’

Rebus paused. ‘You notified the police, of course?’

Callan laughed. ‘Of course.’

‘Why not?’

‘Same reason I used Hastings as a go-between. Filth were trying to drag my good name down, all sorts of lies and accusations. I wasn’t just buying land.’

‘You were going to build on it?’

‘Houses, clubs, bars...’

‘And you’d have needed planning permission, which Mr Hastings, with his credentials, might have found easier to come by.’

‘See? You’ve worked it out all by yourself.’

‘How much did Hastings take?’

‘Best part of half a mil.’

‘You must have been... displeased.’

‘I was raging. But he’d disappeared.’

Rebus looked towards the doorway. It explained why Hastings had changed identity so radically. It explained the money, but not why he hadn’t spent it.

‘What about Hastings’ partner?’

‘Did a runner at the same time, didn’t he?’

‘He doesn’t seem to have got any of the money.’

‘You’d have to talk to him about that.’

Milligan interrupted again. ‘Bryce, any chance you’ve got paperwork proving any of this? It would help validate any claim.’

‘I might have,’ Callan conceded.

‘Forgeries won’t count,’ Rebus warned. Callan tutted. Now Rebus sat forward in his chair. ‘But thanks for clearing that up. It brings me to a connected series of questions, if you don’t mind?’

‘Go ahead,’ Callan said breezily.

Milligan: ‘I think perhaps we should—’

But Rebus was off and running. ‘I don’t think I said how Mr Hastings died: he committed suicide.’

‘Not before time,’ Callan snapped.

‘He did so shortly after the prospective MSP Roddy Grieve was murdered. That’s Alasdair’s brother, Mr Callan.’

‘So?’

‘And also shortly after the discovery of a corpse in one of the old fireplaces at Queensberry House. You’ll remember that, Mr Callan?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just mean, maybe your nephew Barry told you about Queensberry House.’ Rebus picked up a sheet of paper, checked the facts. ‘He was working there early in 1979, around the time of the devolution vote. That’s when you found out that all the land you’d been buying up wasn’t going to be a gold mine after all. It’s also probably when you learned that Hastings had been skimming. Either that or he’d just kept all the loot on one of the deals and pretended to you it had gone through. You’d only find out later that it hadn’t, and by then he’d have done a runner.’

‘What’s that got to do with Barry?’

‘He was working for Dean Coghill.’ Rebus picked up another sheet. Milligan was trying to interrupt, but no way Rebus was letting him. Ellen Wylie was bouncing on her toes, willing him on. ‘I think you were putting pressure on Coghill. You got him to take on Barry. Barry was working for you at the time. I think you put Barry in there to screw things up for Coghill. It was like an apprenticeship.’

Callan — Rebus could imagine his face suffused with blood: ‘Here, Milligan, you going to let him talk to me like this?’

Milligan; not Big C; not pal or chum. Oh yes, Callan was fizzing.

Rebus talked right across the pair of them. ‘See, the body went into the fireplace same time your boy Barry was there, same time you were finding out that Hastings and Grieve had ripped you off. So my question to you, Mr Callan, is: whose body is it? And why did you have him killed?’

Silence, and then the explosion: Callan screaming; Milligan threatening.

‘You lousy conniving—’

‘Must strongly object to the—’

‘Come on the phone with a load of shit about four hundred grand—’

‘Unwarranted attack on someone with no criminal record in this or any other country, a man whose reputation—’

‘I swear to God, if I was there you’d need to slap me in chains to stop me smacking you one!’

‘I’m waiting,’ Rebus said, ‘any time you want to hop on a plane.’

‘Just you watch me.’

Milligan: ‘Now, Bryce, don’t let this appalling situation goad you into... Isn’t there a senior officer present?’ Milligan checked his notes. ‘Chief Superintendent Watson, isn’t it? Chief Superintendent, I must protest in the strongest terms about these underhand tactics, entrapping my client with tales of an unclaimed fortune...’

‘The story’s true,’ Watson said into the speaker phone. ‘The money’s here. But it seems to be part of a wider mystery, and one which Mr Callan could help clear up by flying back here for a proper interview.’

‘Any recording made today is, of course, inadmissible in a court of law,’ Milligan said.

‘Really? Well,’ the Farmer said, ‘I leave questions like that to the Fiscal’s office. Meantime, am I right in thinking that your client has yet to deny anything?’

Callan: ‘Deny? What do I need to deny? You can’t touch me, you bastards!’

Rebus imagined him on his feet, face turned a colour no hours of tanning would ever match, gripping the receiver in his fist, strangling the tormentor it had become.

‘You admit it then?’ Watson asked, his voice all naïve sincerity. He winked towards the doorway as he spoke. If Rebus didn’t know better, he’d say the man was beginning to enjoy himself.