Ian Rankin - Saints of the Shadow Bible

All of it to impress a man who knew tricks when he saw them. Paterson had even offered a wink towards Rebus as Fox fiddled with the cassette deck. If games were to be played, Paterson would prove a worthy competitor.

‘Good to see the old technology still in use.’ Paterson gestured towards the tape recorder.

‘Only when it’s fit for purpose.’ Fox looked up. ‘I forgot to ask about tea or coffee — DS Rebus can nip out and get us something. .?’

‘I’m fine,’ Paterson said, giving Rebus another surreptitious wink. Fox had been letting them know where they stood. Rebus was the hired help here, Fox the master of the house.

‘Shall we get started, then?’

‘Ready when you are.’ Paterson clasped his hands across his chest, Fox started the machine, and the interview began with a few moments of staring before Fox lobbed his first question.

‘Was the crossbow your idea?’

‘Crossbow?’

‘Didn’t Summerhall have its own crossbow? Used for games of darts until the dartboard shattered?’

Paterson smiled at the memory. ‘I don’t remember whose idea that was.’

‘You confiscated it after an arrest. Instead of forwarding it as evidence, you hung on to it for a while. It was only when it couldn’t be located pre-trial that anyone thought to come asking. .’

‘Okay, so you’ve done your homework, son — can we skip to the important stuff?’

‘But this is the important stuff, Mr Paterson. The lot of you seemed to run CID like it was your own little fiefdom — your rules and nobody else’s. The red light in Interview Room B? If you had anyone gullible enough in there, you’d say it was a lie detector and switch it on. I wonder how many confessions you got that way. .’

Paterson was still smiling benignly.

‘The row of optics in DI Gilmour’s office, hidden behind a bookcase — you even put the bookcase on castors so you could get at the booze quicker.’

‘You’d have to ask him about that.’

‘But I’m asking you .’ Fox glanced down at his notes again. ‘Or let’s try this one — the practice of signing statements rather than writing them? Something you were supposed to have witnessed, but you weren’t there at all. Or if you were there, Gilmour would have made sure everyone had the same story to tell — because he’d have written the version himself. All you lot had to do was go along with it.’

Paterson’s gaze shifted to Rebus. ‘John, tell the man. .’

But Fox slapped his hand against the tabletop. ‘DS Rebus is here as an observer. I’m the one you need to convince.’

‘Convince of what?’ Paterson’s eyes were drilling into Fox’s. ‘Sounds to me like you’ve already made your mind up — typical fucking Complaints. You should be thanking us and giving us medals — we were good at what we did. We got bad men off the streets. End of.’

‘You didn’t get Billy Saunders off the streets. Evidence against him went missing. Statements were riddled with inaccuracies. Witnesses changed their stories after talking to you. .’

‘We can all agree that mistakes were made — and Stefan Gilmour walked the plank because of them.’

Fox leaned back an inch or two. ‘What do you think Billy Saunders is going to say?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Procurator Fiscal will be talking to him. Might be Saunders will want to cut a deal, looking for leniency.’

‘So what?’

‘So he’s kept his mouth shut for thirty years, but he might think it’s time to spill what really happened.’

‘Confess, you mean?’

‘Maybe not to the murder — but the cover-up after.’

‘Balls-up rather than cover-up.’

‘You reckon that’s how he’ll frame it?’

‘I don’t care what he does.’

‘When was the last time you set eyes on him?’

‘Billy Saunders? Twenty, twenty-five years.’

‘Despite living in the same city?’ Fox paused, making show of studying his notes. ‘When DI Gilmour resigned, who took control of Mr Saunders?’

‘You mean, whose snitch was he?’ Paterson looked to Rebus. ‘He didn’t warm to any of us, did he, John?’

‘Not that I remember,’ Rebus felt obliged to answer.

‘And here was I thinking he would have owed you,’ Fox commented. ‘I mean, whatever titbits he’d gifted you down the years, you got him off a murder charge. .’

‘Not intentionally,’ Paterson corrected him.

‘Even so, he’d been useful to you and suddenly you just let him go?’

‘Almost as if there was more to it than that,’ Rebus interjected.

‘You were there, John,’ Paterson shot back. ‘What do you think?’

‘It was another country.’

‘But that’s where you’re wrong, both of you,’ Fox said, turning from one man to the other. ‘It was the exact same country — you just treated it like you had the run of the place. A lot of bad habits were picked up, and the passing of time doesn’t necessarily wipe the slate clean.’

‘It can play tricks on folk’s memories, though,’ Paterson stressed. ‘Whatever story Saunders decides to tell, no way of knowing it’s the truth.’

‘His short-term memory should be okay, though, eh?’

‘What do you mean?’ Paterson’s eyes had narrowed.

‘The Procurator’s office set up a meeting with him this lunchtime. You sure it’s been quarter of a century since either of you set eyes on him?’ He waited until both Paterson and Rebus had nodded. ‘Well, according to Mr Saunders, another of your number phoned him this very morning.’

It took Rebus a moment to come up with the name. ‘Stefan Gilmour?’

‘The same,’ Fox confirmed.

‘What did he want?’

‘He was wondering which particular beans Mr Saunders might be about to spill.’

‘Stefan spoke to him?’ Paterson sounded disbelieving, but Fox was nodding slowly.

‘Seems some of those bad habits just never go away,’ he commented, flicking through his notes again.

After ten further stilted minutes, the interview concluded. Fox thanked Paterson and told him that Rebus would see him out.

‘I’m sure the two of you will want a quick confab once I’m out of earshot.’

Neither man bothered to deny it. Out on Chambers Street, Paterson pulled out his phone and called Stefan Gilmour’s number.

‘It’s gone to voicemail,’ he muttered after a few seconds. He left a message anyway, telling Gilmour to phone him, adding, ‘You’ll know what it’s about, you daft bastard.’

‘Succinct,’ Rebus said. Paterson stared at the skies above and let out a sound that was on its way to being a growl.

‘What does he think he’s playing at, John?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Does he really want all of us in it up to our necks?’

‘Fox is right, though, isn’t he? There’s more to it than just keeping a good snitch on the street?’

Paterson jabbed a finger into Rebus’s chest. ‘ You’re the one who said that, not Fox!’

‘Only because he’d said it to me earlier.’

‘You’re supposed to be on our side, John.’

‘Oh aye? And what about Stefan — how’s he playing for the team when he’s calling Billy Saunders behind our backs?’

‘Christ alone knows,’ Paterson muttered, shoulders slumping.

‘The Shadow Bible was a long time ago, Porkbelly,’ Rebus said quietly. ‘It made sense that we stuck up for one another back then — might not be so true now.’

‘You’re asking me to side with you against Stefan?’ Paterson was shaking his head slowly but determinedly.

‘I’m saying we need to do what’s right.’

‘And tell me, John — was it “right” when you started seeing Dod Blantyre’s wife? Was it “right” that those of us who knew kept shtum?’