Ian Rankin - Saints of the Shadow Bible

‘Thanks for meeting me,’ Malcolm Fox said, fussing with the positioning of his glass on the beer mat. Clarke squeezed into the same pew as Rebus, but equidistant between the two men, saying nothing. ‘Mind if I ask: why here?’

‘There’s an old Edinburgh tradition of transacting business in pubs,’ Rebus explained. ‘Besides which, it shows how keen you are.’

Fox looked at him. ‘Keen how?’

‘You could have made it all official — summoning me to HQ — instead of which, here we are on my turf. Means you’re keen, bordering on desperate.’

Fox decided to let this go. ‘I’m here at the behest of the Solicitor General. She’s looking at reopening some old cases.’

‘Now that the double jeopardy ruling’s been tweaked.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And she’s got Billy Saunders in her sights?’

‘For starters.’

Rebus turned towards Clarke. ‘How much has he told you?’

‘Thirty years back,’ Clarke answered, ‘Saunders was put on trial for beating a man to death. The case collapsed. Later on, he served time for another offence and admitted to a prisoner that he’d done it. Didn’t matter, as he couldn’t be tried a second time.’

‘But now he can,’ Fox added.

‘Then what’s Elinor Macari waiting for?’ Rebus asked.

‘The case against Saunders collapsed because of the actions of Summerhall CID. Evidence was tainted, interviews hadn’t been conducted properly. .’

‘I seem to remember our DI at the time took the bullet.’

‘Stefan Gilmour, you mean? Eventually he did, yes. But there were some who said that was because he wanted to put a lid on it.’

‘A lid on what?’

‘Billy Saunders had been a Summerhall snitch. You decided he was more use to you out on the street than behind bars. The guy he killed was a scumbag called Douglas Merchant — Merchant had been spending time with Saunders’s partner. As far as Summerhall was concerned, Merchant was good riddance. So you made sure the case against your pal wouldn’t stick.’

‘No one ever proved that.’

‘From what I can gather, no one really tried. Stefan Gilmour handed in his papers, then the station itself was condemned and the bulldozers got to work. No more Summerhall, no more Saints of the Shadow Bible.’

‘What’s so funny?’ Rebus asked, as Fox tried to stifle a smile.

‘You don’t think it’s over the top? Who came up with the name anyway?’

Rebus shrugged. ‘It was around way before I got to Summerhall.’

‘So the seventies, or maybe even the sixties?’

Another shrug. ‘What is it you think you’ll get from any of this — apart from a few of the Solicitor General’s brownie points?’

‘The notes on the case are being dusted off. Such evidence as still exists will be re-examined. Interviews with the main players. .’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘I’ve been given a job and I’m doing it,’ Fox stated.

‘George Blantyre’s had a stroke — good luck getting him to answer your questions. And Frazer Spence died ten years back.’

Fox nodded, letting Rebus know none of this was news. ‘But you’re still here,’ he intoned. ‘As are Stefan Gilmour and Eamonn Paterson. Plus others connected to the case. .’

‘Billy Saunders?’

‘Drives a private-hire taxi.’ Fox paused. ‘Have you ever happened to bump into him?’

‘Not in quarter of a century.’

‘That sort of thing can be checked,’ Fox cautioned.

‘So go check.’ Rebus rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘But don’t expect to find much, other than cobwebs and dust.’

‘Can I assume you’ll now pass word along to your ex-colleagues, let them know I’ll be contacting them?’

‘They’ll tell you you’re wasting your time, as well as a good chunk of taxpayers’ money.’

Fox ignored this. ‘I think I have the address for George Blantyre. Stefan Gilmour will be easy to track down — he’s never out of the papers.’ He paused. ‘Does Eamonn Paterson still live on Ferry Road?’

‘As far as I know.’

‘I doubt he’s moved house since last night.’ Fox’s eyes were fixed on Rebus’s. ‘I was reconnoitring,’ he explained. ‘Saw you dropping him off. Good to see you’re still close.’ Fox paused. ‘When the Saunders case flared up, you hadn’t been part of the team at Summerhall very long?’

‘About six months, maybe seven.’

‘Newest disciple to the ranks of the Saints?’

‘Yes.’

‘Makes me think maybe you weren’t involved — Gilmour and the others wouldn’t have known how far they could trust you.’

‘Is that right?’ Rebus leaned back, the pew creaking in complaint.

‘You’re just barely back on the force. Something like this could jeopardise that. .’

‘What you’re saying is, if I help you, I can be written out of the story?’

‘You know I can’t make those sorts of promises.’ But Fox’s tone of voice hinted otherwise.

‘And all I’d have to do is grass up some of my oldest friends?’

‘I’m not asking for that.’

‘You’re a piece of work, Fox. And let me tell you something I do know.’ Rebus was edging out from the pew, getting to his feet. ‘You’re a baw-hair away from having served your time in the Complaints. Means you’ll be back in the fray soon, surrounded by people like me — fun and games ahead, Inspector. I hope you’re not averse to a bit of ruck and maul. .’

‘Is that a threat?’

Rebus didn’t bother answering. He was sliding his arms into his coat. The pint was where he’d left it, not even half finished.

‘Formal interviews will commence in a day or two,’ Fox stated. ‘And trust me, those will be rigorous and recorded.’ He turned to watch as Rebus headed towards the doorway then through it, descending the few steps to the bar, the main door and the world outside.

There was silence at the table for a few moments, then Fox puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.

‘Went well, I thought,’ Siobhan Clarke offered.

‘Insofar as we didn’t end up grappling on the floor, yes, I suppose it did.’

Clarke had risen to her feet. Fox asked if she wanted a lift, but she shook her head. ‘Almost quicker to walk,’ she told him. ‘Plus it’ll help clear all the fumes from my nose.’

‘The fire?’ Fox enquired.

‘The testosterone,’ she corrected him.

‘Thanks for your help, anyway.’

‘I didn’t really do anything.’

‘You got Rebus here.’

‘He actually didn’t need any persuading.’

Fox considered this for a moment. ‘Maybe he was warned by Eamonn Paterson. .’

Clarke held out her hand and Fox shook it.

‘Good luck,’ she told him.

‘You really mean that?’

‘Up to a point.’

Left alone in the back room of the bar, Fox noticed that his glass wasn’t quite centred on its mat. Slowly and carefully, he began the task of repositioning it.

Rebus had paused long enough at the North Castle Street junction to get a cigarette going and call Eamonn Paterson’s home number.

‘It’s John,’ he said, when Paterson picked up.

‘Last night was good, wasn’t it? Thanks again for the lift.’

‘I’ve just been speaking to Malcolm Fox.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Works Complaints, which makes him Macari’s attack dog.’

‘That was quick.’

‘He’s got us all in his sights. Reckons we banjaxed the Saunders case to keep a good snitch on the street.’

‘As if we’d do such a thing.’

‘But it wasn’t that, was it?’

‘How do you mean, John?’

‘I mean, there was something else — something that had all of you twitchy. Doors that were pushed shut when I walked past. . conversations that would stop dead when I stepped into the bar.’