Ian Rankin - Dead Souls

‘Let’s stick to our strongest suit,’ the fiscal depute had said. This meant discarding the attack on Rebus, too, even though the taxi driver had been willing to testify.

‘Too many possible arguments for the defence,’ the fiscal depute had said. Rebus tried not to take it personally. He knew prosecution was a game all to itself, where the best player might lose, the cheat prosper. He knew it was the job of the police to investigate and present the facts. It was the job of lawyers like Richie Cordover to then twist everything around until they could persuade juries and witnesses that Celtic fans sang ‘The Sash’ and Cowdenbeath was an ideal holiday location.

‘Hey, John?’ Brian Mee was saying.

‘Yes, Barney?’

Brian laughed at that. ‘What about coming through some weekend, just you and me, eh? Double-act at the karaoke, and see if we can dust off some chat-up lines.’

‘Sounds tempting, Barney. I’ll give you a bell some time.’ Both men knowing he wouldn’t.

‘Right then, that’s you on a promise.’

‘Cheers, Barney.’

‘Bye, John. It was good to catch up with you...’

Another paedophile had been released from prison, this time in Glasgow. GAP had organised a bus and headed off for Renfrew, where he was rumoured to be holed up. Some of the younger males in the company had gone for a night on the town, which had ended with a full-scale battle raging through the streets.

It was hoped, at least in some quarters, that the resulting negative publicity would sound the organisation’s death knell. But Van Brady was still giving interviews and getting her picture in the papers, still applying to the Lottery for funding. Journalists liked that she talked almost exclusively in sound-bites, even if half of them had to be toned down for publication.

There was a memorial service for Jim Stevens. Rebus went along. He suspected that in his day Stevens had probably fallen out with at least three-quarters of the mourners. But there were eulogies and sombre faces, and Rebus couldn’t help feeling that Jim wouldn’t have wanted it that way. Afterwards, he held a little wake of his own in the Oxford Bar’s back room with three or four of the loudest, rudest, and funniest hacks around. They drank till well after midnight, their laughter almost drowning out the music from the ceilidh band in the corner.

Rebus stumbled down the road to Oxford Terrace, dumped his clothes in the washing basket and had a shower.

‘You still reek,’ Patience told him as he climbed into bed.

‘I’m keeping up traditions,’ Rebus said. ‘Edinburgh’s not called “Auld Reekie” for nothing.’

He thought it curious that Cal Brady should want to speak to him. Cal was out on bail, awaiting trial for various offences against the person on the night of the Renfrew stramash. The morning phone call was so unexpected, Rebus walked out of the station without telling anyone where he was going. They met up on Radical Road. Cal had wanted somewhere not too far from home, but not a cop-shop, somewhere they could talk without anyone hearing.

The wind was flying, stinging Rebus’s ears. There were occasional blasts of sunshine as the fast-moving clouds broke, only to blot out the sun again moments later. Cal Brady had deep bruises beneath both eyes, and a burst lip. His left hand sported a bandage and he seemed to limp ever so slightly as he walked.

‘Bad one, was it?’ Rebus asked.

‘Those weegies...’ Cal shook his head.

‘I thought it was Renfrew?’

‘Renfrew, Glasgow... all the same, man. Mad bastards, each and every one. Their idea of a square go is to rip your face off with their teeth.’ He shivered, pulled his denim jacket tighter around him.

‘You could button it up,’ Rebus told him.

‘Eh?’

‘The jacket... if you’re cold.’

‘Aye, but it looks stupid when you do that. Levi jackets are only cool when they’re open.’ Rebus had no answer to that. ‘I hear you got a bit of a scrape yourself.’

Rebus looked at his arm. No sling now, just a taped compress. Another week or so, the stitches would dissolve. ‘What did you want to see me for, Cal?’

‘These fucking charges.’

‘What about them?’

‘I’ll probably end up going down, record I’ve got.’

‘So?’

‘So, I could do without it.’ He twitched a shoulder. ‘Gonny help me out?’

‘You mean put in a good word?’

‘Aye.’

Rebus stuck his hands in his pockets, as if relaxing. In truth, he’d been on his guard ever since arriving at the meeting-point five minutes before Brady: on the lookout for traps or a possible ambush. Lessons learned from Cary Oakes. ‘Why should I do that?’ he asked.

‘Look, I’m no fucking snitch, right?’

Rebus nodded agreement, as seemed to be expected.

‘But I hear things.’ He paused. ‘Try not to, but sometimes I can’t help it.’

‘Such as?’

‘So you’ll put a word in?’

Rebus stopped walking. He seemed to be admiring the vista. ‘I could tell them you’re one of mine. I could make you sound important.’

‘But I wouldn’t be your grass, right? That’s the crux.’

Rebus nodded. ‘But you’ve got something to trade?’

Cal looked around, as if even here he might be overheard. When he lowered his voice, Rebus had to move close to him to hear what he was saying over the noise of the wind.

‘You know I work for Mr Mackenzie?’

‘You’re his enforcer.’

Brady prickled at that. ‘Sometimes he’s owed money. Happens to a lot of businesses.’

‘Sure.’

‘I make sure his debtors know the risks they’re taking.’

Rebus smiled. ‘A nice way of putting it.’

Brady looked around again. ‘Petrie,’ he said, like this would explain everything.

‘I know,’ Rebus said. ‘Nicky Petrie owed Charmer money, got beaten up in lieu of a final reminder.’

But Brady was shaking his head. ‘It was his sister owed the money.’

‘Ama?’ Brady nodded. ‘So why thump Nicky?’

Brady snorted. ‘She’s a cold, hard bitch. Maybe you haven’t noticed. But she likes her little brother. She loves little Nicky...’

‘So you were sending the message to her?’ Rebus thought about it, remembered something Ama had said to him at the beauty contest: Who do I owe money to? ‘Why didn’t she get the money from her father?’

‘Story is, she wouldn’t ask him for the time of day, and he wouldn’t give it to her if he’d a watch on either arm.’

‘I still don’t know what this has to do with me.’

‘That flat of theirs.’

‘What about it?’

‘ She lives there. The blonde you were looking for.’

Rebus stared at Brady. ‘She’s in that flat?’ Brady was nodding. ‘What’s her name?’

‘I think it’s Nicola.’

‘How do you know all this?’

Brady shrugged. ‘They can’t help talking, that little gang.’

Rebus thought of the scene on the boat... the way the drunk had been about to say something until warned off by Ama Petrie...

‘They know about this Nicola?’

‘They all know.’

Which meant they’d all lied to Rebus... including the brother and sister, Nicky and Ama.

‘Is she Nicky’s girlfriend?’

Brady shrugged again.

‘Or Ama’s maybe?’

‘I don’t get involved,’ Brady said, waving his hand as though to cut the discussion dead.

‘How about you, Cal? Still living with Joanna?’

‘Nothing to do with you.’

‘How’s Billy Boy? Don’t you think he’d be better off with his dad?’

‘That’s not what Joanna wants.’

‘Has anyone asked Billy what he wants?’

Brady’s voice rose. ‘He’s just a kid. How’s he supposed to know what’s best for him?’