Ian Rankin - Fleshmarket Close

‘I’ve nothing against Stu,’ Cafferty growled.

‘Wouldn’t say no to a bit of his action though, eh?’ Rebus paused to light a cigarette. ‘Nicely played, too.’ He blew smoke into the night sky, where it merged with the steam.

‘I don’t want any of this,’ Felix Storey said. He made as if to turn and leave. Rebus let him, betting he wouldn’t carry through. After a few paces, Storey stopped and turned, then retraced his steps.

‘Say what you want to say,’ he challenged.

Rebus examined the tip of his cigarette. ‘Cafferty here is your “Deep Throat”, Felix. Cafferty knew what was going on because he had a man on the inside — Barney Grant, Bullen’s lieutenant. Barney feeding info to Cafferty, Cafferty passing it along to you. In return for which, Grant would get Bullen’s empire handed to him on a plate.’

‘What does it matter?’ Storey asked, brow furrowing. ‘Even if it was your friend Cafferty here...’

‘Not my friend, Felix — yours . But the thing is, Cafferty wasn’t just passing you information... He came up with the passports... Barney Grant planted them in the safe, probably while we were chasing Bullen down that tunnel. Bullen would take the fall and all would be well. Thing was, how did Cafferty get the passports?’ Rebus looked at both men and shrugged. ‘Easy enough if it’s Cafferty who’s smuggling the immigrants into the UK.’ His gaze had rested on Cafferty, whose eyes seemed smaller, blacker than ever. Whose entire rounded face glistened with malice. Rebus gave another theatrical shrug. ‘Cafferty, not Bullen. Cafferty feeding Bullen to you, Felix, so he could bag all that business for himself...’

‘And the beauty is,’ Cafferty drawled, ‘there’s no proof, and absolutely nothing you can do about it.’

‘I know,’ Rebus said.

‘Then what’s the point of saying it?’ Storey snarled.

‘Listen and you’ll learn,’ Rebus told him.

Cafferty was smiling. ‘With Rebus, there’s always a point,’ he conceded.

Rebus flicked ash into the tub, which put a sudden stop to the smile. ‘Cafferty is the one who knows London... he has contacts there. Not Stuart Bullen. Remember that photo of you, Cafferty? There you were, with your London “associates”. Even Felix here let slip that there’s a London connection involved in all of this. Bullen didn’t have the muscle — or anything else — to put together something as meticulous as people-smuggling. He’s the fall guy, so things ease up for a while. Thing is, putting Bullen in the frame becomes a whole lot easier if someone else is on board — someone like you, Felix. An Immigration officer with an eye for an easy score. You crack the case, it means a big fillip. Bullen’s the only one who’s being shafted. Far as you’re concerned, he’s scum anyway. You’re not going to worry about who’s behind the shafting or what might be in it for them. But here’s the thing — all the glory you’re going to get, it adds up to the cube of bugger-all, because what you’ve done is smoothed Cafferty’s path. It’ll be him in charge from now on, not only bringing illegals into the country, but working them to death too.’ Rebus paused. ‘So thanks for that.’

This is bullshit,’ Storey spat.

‘I don’t think so,’ Rebus said. ‘To me, it makes perfect sense... it’s the only thing that does.’

‘But like you said,’ Cafferty interrupted, ‘you can’t make any of it stick.’

‘That’s true,’ Rebus admitted. ‘I just wanted to let Felix here know who he’d really been working for all this time.’ He flicked the rest of his cigarette on to the lawn.

Storey lunged at him, teeth bared. Rebus dodged the move, grabbing him in a chokehold around the neck, forcing his head into the water. Storey was maybe an inch taller... younger and fitter. But he didn’t have Rebus’s heft, his arms flailing, uncertain whether to search for purchase on the side of the tub, or try to unlock Rebus’s grip.

Cafferty sat in his corner of the pool, watching the action as if he were ringside.

‘You haven’t won,’ Rebus hissed.

‘From where I’m sitting, I’d say you’re wrong.’

Rebus realised that Storey’s resistance was lessening. He released his grip and took a few steps back, out of range of the Londoner. Storey fell to his knees, spluttering. But he was soon up again, advancing on Rebus.

‘Enough!’ Cafferty barked. Storey turned towards him, ready to channel his anger elsewhere. But there was something about Cafferty... even at the age he was, overweight and naked in a tub...

It would take a braver — or more foolish — man than Storey to stand up to him.

Something Storey knew immediately. He made the right decision, shoulders untensing, fists unclenching, trying to control his coughs and splutters.

‘Well, boys,’ Cafferty went on, ‘I think it’s past both your bedtimes, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not finished yet,’ Rebus stated.

‘I thought you were,’ Cafferty said. It sounded like an order, but Rebus dismissed it with a twitch of the mouth.

‘Here’s what I want.’ His attention was on Storey now. ‘I said I can’t prove anything, but that might not stop me trying — and shit has a way of making a smell, even when you can’t see it.’

‘I’ve told you, I didn’t know who “Deep Throat” was.’

‘And you weren’t just a tiny bit suspicious, even when he gave you a tip such as who owned the red BMW?’ Rebus waited for an answer, but got none. ‘See, Felix, the way it’ll seem to most people, either you’re dirty or else incredibly stupid. Neither looks good on the old CV.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Storey persisted.

‘But I’m betting you had an inkling. You just ignored it and concentrated on all those brownie points you’d be getting.’

‘What do you want?’ Storey croaked.

‘I want the Yurgii family — the mother and kids — released from Whitemire. I want them housed somewhere you’d choose for yourself. By tomorrow.’

‘You think I can do that?’

‘You’ve blown an immigrant scam apart, Felix — they owe you.’

‘And that’s it?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘Not quite. Chantal Rendille... I don’t want her deported.’

Storey seemed to be waiting for more, but Rebus was finished.

‘I’m sure Mr Storey will see what he can do,’ Cafferty said levelly — as if his was always the voice of reason.

‘Any of your illegals turn up in Edinburgh, Cafferty...’ Rebus began, knowing the threat to be empty.

Cafferty knew it too, but he smiled and bowed his head. Rebus turned to Storey. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you just got greedy. You saw a golden chance and you weren’t going to question it, far less turn it down. But there’s a chance to redeem yourself.’ He jabbed a finger in Cafferty’s direction. ‘By pointing your guns at him .’

Storey nodded slowly, both men — locked in combat just moments before — now staring at the figure in the tub. Cafferty had half turned, as if he’d already dismissed them from his mind and his life. He was busy with the control panel, jets suddenly gushing into the tub again. ‘You’ll bring your trunks next time?’ he called as Rebus started heading for the driveway.

‘And an extension cable,’ Rebus called back.

For the two-bar electric fire. Watch the lights change colour when that hit the water...

The Oxford Bar.

Harry poured Rebus a pint of IPA, then told him there was a ‘journo’ in the back room. ‘Fair warning,’ Harry said. Rebus nodded and took his drink through. It was Steve Holly. He was perusing what looked like the next morning’s paper, folded it closed at Rebus’s approach.