Ian Rankin - Saints of the Shadow Bible

‘You might take a ricochet?’

Rebus shrugged again. ‘I wasn’t there but I was sort of there — you see what I’m saying?’

‘You were in the team but not the room?’

Rebus rose slowly to his feet, walked over to the stereo and stared at the record as it revolved, the pick-up arm travelling almost imperceptibly towards the centre of the vinyl. ‘It was thirty years ago, Siobhan. Everything was. .’ He turned towards her. ‘Is it fair to bring it all up?’

She looked at him. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? I mean, okay, the guy was a snitch, but he’d just pummelled someone to death. I’m guessing even back then your instinct would have been to wash your hands of him. A lesser crime. . maybe you’d have asked for leniency. . but murder?’

He returned to his chair, slumping into it.

‘You know I’m right, don’t you?’ she asked quietly. ‘I think you knew it then too. Saunders had to have something on Stefan Gilmour. When you saw Gilmour the other night, how was he? When Blantyre told him about reopening the case, how did he react?’

‘He was fine; he acted fine.’

‘Maybe acting is one of those things he does well. Have you seen him on TV, campaigning for Scotland to stay in the union?’

‘I doubt that’s an act.’

‘But it’s a role he’s playing.’

‘He resigned over the Saunders case.’

‘I know.’

‘He did the right thing.’

‘Does he still have any contact with Saunders?’

‘Why would he?’

‘If Saunders did have some hold over him. .’ She let this sink in. ‘And now Saunders knows Elinor Macari’s coming gunning for him. .’

‘He might want to talk to Stefan.’

‘If nothing else, Gilmour probably knows a few sharp lawyers.’

Rebus nodded slowly.

‘If Saunders does have something on Stefan Gilmour — something big — do you have any inkling what it might be?’

‘No.’

‘And if you dig down deep enough and hit the truth — do you take it to Malcolm Fox, or do you arrange another meeting of the Saints?’

‘I’d have to give it some thought.’

‘And you really think you can do all of this without Fox catching on?’

‘I don’t really give a damn if he catches on.’

‘No?’

Rebus shook his head. ‘But I know what Miles Davis would say if he did.’

Clarke narrowed her eyes. ‘What would he say?’

‘He’d say: So what .’

‘We can’t question Saunders,’ Malcolm Fox stated.

He was in the office at the Sheriff Court, removing the lid from the tea Rebus had brought him. Rebus had arrived first, weaving his way through the concourse, past the mix of law officials and their clients — the two groups not easily confused — before finding the door to Fox’s room firmly locked. By the time Fox arrived, Rebus had been out again to a café on George IV Bridge, returning with the gift of tea. He had asked if he could have a key, but Fox had shaken his head and Rebus had decided against pressing the point just yet. He had then thrown Saunders’s name into the mix.

‘Why not?’ he asked now, trying his own tea and finding it wanting.

‘Because the Solicitor General ruled it out from the off. I’m looking at Summerhall and Summerhall only.’

‘But surely Saunders is part of that.’

‘Elinor Macari’s team will be questioning Mr Saunders.’

‘But you must know that’s going to make your job all the harder?’ Rebus persisted.

‘Nevertheless, it’s what the Solicitor General wants.’

‘And you just left it at that?’ Rebus sounded bemused.

‘I’m not like you. Someone in authority tells me to do something, I don’t question it.’ Fox slurped at the tea, savouring it.

‘I still think it would help us ask the right questions of the Saints if we hear Saunders’s side of the story first.’

‘I don’t disagree. And once Saunders has been interviewed by Macari’s team, we’ll take a look at the transcripts.’

‘So we wait for that to happen before we bring them in?’

‘I doubt it would be practical to “bring in” George Blantyre.’

‘So we interview him at home?’

Fox fixed him with a look. ‘You’re sure you can do this?’

Rebus nodded.

‘And of course there’s your own interview to consider.’

‘Of course.’

‘In fact, it might help if we got that out of the way. .’ Fox lifted his briefcase on to the desk and opened it, bringing out a pad of lined A4 paper.

‘Shouldn’t we finish going through the files first?’ Rebus queried, nodding in their direction.

‘I’ve been over them several times.’ Fox opened the pad, flicking through its pages. Dozens of them filled with his small, neat handwriting. Rebus saw a lot of question marks and a good deal of underlining. He was wondering if he had been huckled by Fox, reeled in like a greedy fish. Fox was staring at him, offering the thinnest of smiles.

‘Might help me size you up,’ the man explained. ‘See how much use I can make of you.’

‘No tape recorders? No video?’

‘Nothing so formal,’ Fox said with the same thin smile. ‘So. .’ He glanced towards the pad in front of him while removing the top from a ballpoint pen. ‘You were a detective constable when you went to Summerhall? And this was in October 1982?’

‘November,’ Rebus corrected him.

‘Of course.’

Rebus watched as Fox made a little tick in the margin of a page. You knew that already. You’re just testing me, watching for when the lying starts . .

‘And did you know any of the other CID officers before you arrived there?’

‘I’d met one or two.’

‘Specifically?’

‘Blantyre and Paterson.’

‘Both of them detective sergeants at this point?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you know them?’

‘Probably from court — the old Sheriff Court. Hanging around waiting to give evidence.’

‘And then there was the Police Club?’

‘I never went. Too much shop talk.’

‘You were already a regular at the Oxford Bar? A lot of cops used to drink there back in the day — anyone from Summerhall?’

‘Not that I remember.’

‘The CID team was pretty well established when you arrived?’

‘Was it?’

Fox allowed the question with yet another smile. He made show of checking his notes. ‘DI Gilmour had been there a couple of years, as had DS Blantyre. By the time you showed up, DS Paterson and DC Spence had the best part of eight months under their belts.’ Fox looked up. ‘Yet you were welcomed to the fold? They didn’t treat you with any degree of suspicion?’

‘They were fine.’

‘And how long was it before you were initiated?’

‘You mean into the Saints?’ It was Rebus’s turn to smile. ‘You make it sound like a big deal.’

‘You’re saying it wasn’t?’

‘It was just a name. Other CID units had their own versions — F Division were the Cowboys, C Division the Marooned.’

‘A lot more straightforward than “Saints of the Shadow Bible” — you have to admit, it sounds more than a little portentous.’ Fox paused. ‘Or pretentious even.’

‘Were you never in a gang at school? Maybe you were shunned, kept on the outside, looking in?’

‘I was asking how long you were part of the group before the Saints came up in conversation.’

‘Just a week or two.’

‘And there was an initiation?’

‘What have you heard?’

‘Everything from downing six pints to the slaughter of the innocent.’

‘Old wives’ tales,’ Rebus stated.

‘But the Saints did have a rep — not too many wanted to spend a night in the cells or be taken in for questioning.’ Fox paused, turning the sheets of his lined pad. ‘Is it true about Interview Room B?’