Ian Rankin - Black and Blue

‘You smell like a brewery,’ Jack said.

‘Jesus, Jack, how did you get here?’

‘Took a taxi.’

‘No, I mean...’

‘You can thank Shetland.’ Jack sniffed. ‘That wind up there, I’ve got a cold coming. Went to get the hankie out of my trouser pocket... no car keys. No car in the car park, and no John Rebus tucked up in bed.’

‘And?’

‘And reception repeated the message they gave you, so I phoned for a taxi. What the hell happened?’

‘I took a beating.’

‘I’d say that was an understatement. Who’s got the gun?’

‘Judd Fuller, the American.’

‘We’ll stop at the nearest phone, get an armed response unit over there.’

‘No.’

Jack turned. ‘No?’ Rebus was shaking his head. ‘Why not?’

‘I was taking a calculated risk, Jack.’

‘Time to buy a new calculator.’

‘I think it worked. Now all we need to do is give it a bit of time.’

Jack thought about it. ‘You want them turning on each other?’ He nodded. ‘Never were one to play by the book, were you? The note was from Eve?’ Rebus nodded. ‘And you thought you’d leave me out. Know something? When I saw the keys were gone, I was so angry, I almost said “Stuff it, let him do what he wants, it’s his neck”.’

‘It almost was.’

‘You’re a stupid bastard.’

‘Years of dedicated practice, Jack. Can you stop and untie me?’

‘I like you better tied up. Casualty or a doctor call-out?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ The nosebleed had already stopped; there was no pain from the dead tooth.

‘So what did you do there?’

‘I fed Fuller a line, and I found out Hayden Fletcher hired Allan Mitchison’s killer.’

‘And you’re telling me there wasn’t an easier way?’ Jack shook his head slowly. ‘If I live to be a hundred, I swear I’ll never understand you.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Rebus said, leaning his head back against the seat.

Back at the hotel, they decided it was time to leave Aberdeen. Rebus had a bath first, and Jack checked his injuries.

‘Strictly an amateur sadist, our Mr Fuller.’

‘He did apologise at the start.’ Rebus checked his gap-toothed smile in the mirror.

Every bit of his body ached, but he’d live, and he didn’t need a doctor to agree with him. They loaded the car, signed out without fuss, and got back on the road.

‘What an end to our holidays,’ Jack commented. But his audience of one was already asleep.

When he had narrowed the list to four individuals, four companies, it was time to use the ‘key’ — Vanessa Holden herself.

More of the suspects had turned out to be too old, or not right in some other way: one, first name Alex, had turned out to be a woman.

Bible John made the call from his own office, door closed. He had his notepad in front of him. Four companies, four individuals.

Eskflo

James Mackinley

LancerTech

Martin Davidson

Gribbin’s

Steven Jackobs

Yetland

Oliver Howison

The call was to Vanessa Holden’s company. A receptionist answered.

‘Hello,’ he told her, ‘Queen Street CID here, Detective Sergeant Collier. General question: I was wondering if you’d ever undertaken any work for Eskflo Fabrication?’

‘Eskflo?’ The receptionist sounded dubious. ‘Let me put you through to Mr Westerman.’

Bible John wrote the name on his notepad, circled it. When Westerman answered, he repeated his question.

‘Is this to do with Vanessa?’ the man asked.

‘No, sir, though I was sorry to hear about Ms Holden. You have my deepest sympathies — same goes for everyone here.’ He looked around the walls of his office. ‘And I’m sorry to have to call at such a distressing time.’

‘Thank you, Detective Sergeant. It’s been a great shock.’

‘Of course, and rest assured, we’re following up several lines of inquiry concerning Ms Holden. But my present request concerns a suspected fraud.’

‘Fraud?’

‘Nothing to do with yourselves, Mr Westerman, but we’re investigating several companies.’

‘Including Eskflo?’

‘Indeed.’ Bible John paused. ‘You’ll appreciate that I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence?’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘Now, the companies I’m concerned with are...’ He made show of shuffling some papers, eyes on the notepad. ‘Here we are: Eskflo, LancerTech, Gribbin’s, and Yetland.’

‘Yetland,’ said Westerman, ‘we did some work for them recently. No, wait... We pitched for a contract, didn’t get it.’

‘And the others?’

‘Look, can I get back to you? I’m going to have to go to the files. I seem to be having trouble concentrating.’

‘I understand, sir. I’m due out on a call... how about if I phone again in an hour?’

‘Perhaps if I call you when I’m ready?’

‘I’ll phone again in an hour, Mr Westerman. I do appreciate this.’

He put the phone down, bit a fingernail. Would Westerman try phoning Queen Street CID, asking for a DS Collier? He’d give him forty minutes.

But in the end, he gave him thirty-five.

‘Mr Westerman? That call didn’t take as long as I thought. I wonder if you’ve come up with anything for me?’

‘Yes, I think I’ve got what you need.’

Bible John concentrated on the tone of voice, listening for any doubt or suspicion, any inkling Westerman might have that he was not talking to a policeman. He found none.

‘As I said,’ Westerman continued, ‘we pitched for a Yetland contract but didn’t get it. That was in March this year. Lancer... we did a panel display for them in February. They had a stand at the Safety at Sea conference.’

Bible John consulted his list. ‘Do you happen to know who your contact was?’

‘I’m sorry, Vanessa handled it. She was very good with clients.’

‘The name Martin Davidson doesn’t ring any bells?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Not to worry, sir. And the other two companies...?’

‘Well, we’ve worked for Eskflo in the past, but not for a couple of years. And Gribbin’s... well, to be honest, I’ve never heard of them.’

Bible John ringed Martin Davidson’s name. Put a question mark beside James Mackinley: a lag-time of a couple of years? Doubtful, but possible. Decided that Yetland was a distant third, but just to be sure...

‘Would Yetland have dealt with yourself or Ms Holden?’

‘Vanessa was on holiday around then. It was just after Safety at Sea, she was exhausted.’

Bible John scored both Yetland and Gribbin’s off his list.

‘Mr Westerman, you’ve been a big help. I appreciate it.’

‘Glad to help. Just one thing, Detective Sergeant?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘If you ever find the bastard who killed Vanessa, give him one from me.’

Two M. Davidsons in the phone book, one James Mackinley and two J. Mackinleys. Addresses noted.

Then another phone call, this time to Lancer Technical Support.

‘Hello, it’s the Chamber of Commerce here, just a general question. We’re compiling a database on local companies connected to the oil business. That would include LancerTech, wouldn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the receptionist said. ‘Definitely.’ She sounded a bit frazzled. Background noise: staff talking, a photocopier, another phone ringing.

‘Can you give me a thumbnail sketch?’

‘Well... we, erm, we design safety aspects into oil platforms, support vessels...’ She sounded like she was reading from a crib-sheet. ‘That sort of thing.’ Her voice trailed off.

‘I’m just writing that down,’ Bible John told her. ‘If you work in safety design, can I take it you have links to RGIT?’