Ian Rankin - Black Book

But ‘getting away with it’ isn’t always getting away with it. The corpse haunts me. Last night I dreamt it came back to me, charred, smouldering. Pointing a finger towards me and squeezing the trigger. Oh Christ, this is agony. And they think I’m here for alcoholism. I still haven’t told father all of it, not yet. He knows, though. He knows I was there. But he’s not saying anything. Sometimes I wish he’d hit me more as a child and not let me misbehave. He liked me to misbehave! ‘We’ll make a man of you,’ he used to say. Father, I am made.

That was that. Rebus sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Eddie Ringan knew a little more than he’d been telling. He’d been a witness at the card game and could place Cafferty there. No wonder he’d been running scared. Cafferty probably hadn’t known him back then, hadn’t paid attention to a waiter who was moonlighting anyway and not one of the regular staff.

Rebus rubbed his eyes and returned to the journal. There was a bit about a holiday, then about the hospital again. And then a few months later:

I saw Cafferty today (Sunday). Not my idea. He must have been following me. He caught up on Blackford Hill. I’d come through the Hermitage, climbing the steep face of the hill. He must have thought I was trying to get away from him. He pulled on my arm, swinging me around. I think I nearly jumped out of my skin.

He told me I had to keep my nose clean from now on. He said it was a good idea, going into that hospital. I think he was trying to let me know that he knew everything I’d been up to. I think I know what he’s doing. He’s biding his time. Watching me as I take instructions in the business. Waiting for the day when I take over from my father. I think he wants it all, body and soul.

Yes, body and soul.

There was a lot more, the style and substance of the entries changing as Aengus too tried to change. He’d found it hard work. The public face, the charity face, masked a yearning for some of that wild past. Rebus flipped to the final entry, undated:

You know, dear friend or foe, I liked the feel of that gun in my hand. And when Cafferty put my finger on the trigge…he did squeeze it. I’m certain of that. But supposing he hadn’t? Would I still have fired, with his strong unfailing hand on mine? After all these years, all the bad dreams, the cold sweats and sudden surges, something has happened. The case is being reopened. I’ve spoken with Cafferty who tells me not to worry. He says I should concentrate my energies on the brewery. He seems to know more about our finances than I do. Father is talking of retiring next year. The business will be all mine, and all Cafferty’s. I’ve seen him at charity functions, accompanied by Mo, and at various public occasions. We’ve talked, but never since that night have we enjoyed one another’s company. I lost my usefulness that night. Perhaps I just showed my weakness by smashing the bottle. Or perhaps that had been the plan all along. He always gives me a wink when he sees me. But then he winks at just about everyone. But when he winks at me, when he closes his eye for that second, it’s as if he’s taking aim, setting me in his sights. Christ, is there no end in sight? If I weren’t so scared, I’d be praying the police would find me. But Cafferty won’t let them. He never will let them, never.

Rebus closed the journal. His heart was beating fast, hands trembling. You poor bugger, Aengus. When you read we’d got the gun, you thought we’d fingerprint it and then we’d come looking for you.

But instead, Cafferty had blown his trump trying to incriminate Rebus, just to keep him out of the picture for a while. And the irony of it all was, with the prints messed up, Black Aengus was in the clear-in the clear for a murder he didn’t really commit.

Again, though, it was all uncorroborated. Rebus imagined the field day the defence would have if he walked into the Royal Mile courts with nothing more than the journal of a recovering dipsomaniac. The Edinburgh law courts were notoriously tough at the best of times. With the sort of advocate Cafferty could afford, it was a definite loser from the word go.

Yet Rebus knew he had to do something about Cafferty. The man deserved punishment, a million punishments. Let the punishment fit the crime, he thought. But he shook the notion away. No more guns.

He didn’t go home, not right away. He walked out of the now-empty office and got into his car. And sat there, in the car park. The key was in the ignition, but he let it sit there. His hands rested lightly on the steering-wheel. After almost an hour, he started the engine, mostly because he was getting cold. He didn’t go anywhere, except inside his head, and slowly but surely, with backtracking and rerouting along the way, the idea came to him. Let the punishment fit the crime. Yes, but not Cafferty’s punishment. No, not Cafferty’s.

Andrew McPhail’s.

Rebus didn’t go near St Leonard’s for a couple of days, though he did get a message from Farmer Watson that Broderick Gibson was considering bringing an action against him, for harrying his son.

‘He’s been harrying himself for years,’ was Rebus’s only comment.

But he was waiting in his car when they released Andy Steele. The fisherman cum private eye blinked into the sun. Rebus sounded his horn, and Steele approached warily. Rebus wound down his window.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Steele. There was disappointment in his voice. Rebus had said he’d see what he could do for the young man, then had left him to languish, never coming near.

‘They let you out, then,’ said Rebus.

‘Aye, on bail.’

‘That’s because someone put up the money for you.’

Steele nodded, then started. ‘You?’

‘Me,’ said Rebus. ‘Now get in, I’ve got a job for you.’

‘What sort of job?’

‘Get in and I’ll tell you.’

There was a bit more life in Steele as he walked round to the passenger side and opened the door.

‘You want to be a private eye,’ stated Rebus. ‘Fair enough. I’ve got a job for you.’

Steele seemed unable to take it in for a moment, then cleared his head by shaking it briskly, rubbing his hands through his hair.

‘Great,’ he said. ‘So long as it’s not against the law.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing illicit. All I want you to do is talk to a few folk. They’re good listeners too, shouldn’t be any problem.’

‘What am I going to tell them?’

Rebus started the car. ‘That there’s a contract out on a certain individual.’

‘A contract?’

‘Come on, Andy, you’ve seen the films. A contract.’

‘A contract,’ Andy Steele mouthed, as Rebus pulled into the traffic.

There was still no sign of Andrew McPhail. Alex Maclean, Rebus discovered, was back in circulation though not yet back at work. When Rebus visited Mrs Mackenzie, she said she hadn’t seen a man with bandaged hands and face hanging around. But one of the neighbours had. Well, it didn’t matter, McPhail wouldn’t be coming back here again. He would probably write or telephone with a forwarding address, asking his landlady to send on his stuff. Rebus looked towards the school as he got back into his car. The children were in their own little worl…and safe.

He did a lot of driving, visiting schools and playparks. He knew McPhail must be sleeping rough. Maybe he was well away from Edinburgh by now. Rebus had a vision of him climbing up onto a coal train headed slowly south. A hand reached out and helped McPhail into the wagon. It was Deek Torrance. The opening credits began to roll …

It didn’t matter if he couldn’t find McPhail; it would just be a nice touch. A nicely cruel touch.

Wester Hailes was a good place to get lost, meaning it was an easy place to get lost. Sited to the far west of the city, visible from the bypass which gave Edinburgh such a wide berth, Wester Hailes was somewhere the city put people so it could forget about them. The architecture was unenthusiastic, the walls of the flat-blocks finished off with damp and cracks.