Ian Rankin - Standing in another's man grave

‘What’s it to you?’

‘I just reckon he’s a man who has his own ways of getting to the bottom of things.’

‘And?’

‘And I think he should share whatever he finds. Might hamper the eventual trial otherwise.’ Rebus paused again. ‘Of course, Mr Hammell’s probably of the opinion a proper trial won’t be necessary, not when he can act as judge and jury.’

Rebus waited for Darryl Christie to say something. He had turned his back on Doorman Donny and walked with the borrowed phone towards the roundabout, watching the traffic negotiate its way in and out of town. Eventually he spoke into the silence.

‘Frank Hammell’s a man with enemies, Darryl. You know that as well as I do. Is that what he’s thinking — one of them’s got their hands on Annette?’ More silence. ‘See, my feeling is, he’s wrong to head that way, and I don’t want you and your mum following him.’

‘If you know anything, spit it out.’

‘Maybe I should talk to him first. .’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘Will you let me give you my number, just in case?’ There was another pause on the line, before Darryl Christie told Rebus to go ahead. He recited his mobile number and spelled out his name. ‘Frank might have heard of me.’

Christie took a moment to form his next question. Rebus watched the passing parade of headlamps while he waited.

‘Are your lot going to find my sister?’

‘We’ll do our damnedest, that’s the only promise I can make.’

‘Just don’t hold it against her.’

‘Hold what against her?’

‘That Frank Hammell’s dating our mother.’

‘That’s not the way it works, Darryl.’

‘Prove it, then. Get busy.’

The line went dead. Rebus got another cigarette going, while he replayed the conversation. There was steel to the kid, but brains, too. And plenty of concern for his sister. Rebus pressed a few buttons until the screen presented him with the number of the last call. He took out his own phone and entered the details into his contact list under the name Darryl. When the cigarette was done, he headed back to the Gimlet and returned the phone to Doorman Donny.

‘That took a while.’

Rebus shook his head. ‘Finished talking to your boss ages ago. Phoned one of those premium chatlines after. Enjoy your next bill. .’

What was it about Cafferty?

Even in a busy mid-morning cafe, customers kept their distance. Rebus had found them a corner table. The table next to it, once vacated, stayed empty. People might head towards it, then glance up at the hulking figure in the black leather jacket and change their minds.

‘Turn-up for the books,’ Cafferty had said. ‘ You asking me for a drink.’ He had then demolished a flat white and requested another with the complaint that the cups were like something out of a doll’s house.

He was pouring sugar into this second coffee when Rebus asked him about Frank Hammell.

‘Hammell? Shorter fuse than I like to see on a man. Never a great one for realising that actions have consequences.’

‘I forget, did he ever work for you?’

‘Back in the day.’ Cafferty’s phone, which had been sitting on the table, began to vibrate. He checked who the caller was but didn’t answer. ‘Is this about the missing girl?’

Rebus nodded.

‘Saw Hammell on TV,’ Cafferty continued. ‘That’s some reward he’s put up.’

‘Why do you think he did it?’

Cafferty considered this. He knew what Rebus meant: a man like Hammell could get information without needing to pay for it. ‘He loves her,’ he answered eventually. ‘The mother, I mean. This is his way of showing it. You know he put the frighteners on her husband?’

Rebus shook his head.

‘That’s why the poor sod scarpered to New Zealand.’

‘Australia, I heard.’

‘Same difference — other side of the planet. That’s how far he needed to be from Frank Hammell.’

‘What about the missing girl’s brother?’

Cafferty thought for a moment. ‘Enlighten me.’

‘His name’s Darryl Christie — kept his dad’s surname. He spoke at the press conference. Manages at least one of Hammell’s bars.’

‘I didn’t know that.’ Rebus could see Cafferty storing the information away.

‘Seems like a bright kid.’

‘Then he should get out while he can.’

‘How many places does Hammell own these days?’

Cafferty’s mouth twitched. ‘Hard to say, even for me. Half a dozen pubs and clubs. Fingers in a lot more pies than that, of course. He’s had meetings in Glasgow and Aberdeen.’

Meaning meetings with men like himself.

Rebus watched as Cafferty stirred his coffee. ‘You sound like you still take an interest,’ he commented.

‘Call it a hobby.’

‘Some hobbies end up all-consuming.’

‘Man’s got to have something to fill his retirement. That’s where you went wrong. Nothing to do with yourself all day, so you ended up back in the game.’ Cafferty scooped up some of the mousse from the surface of his drink and spooned it into his mouth.

‘Any idea who might bear a grudge against Hammell?’

‘Present company excepted?’ Cafferty smiled. ‘Probably too many to count, but I doubt they’d bring a kid into it.’

‘If they did, though. .?’

‘Then any day now they’ll get a message to Hammell, and that’s when he’ll go supernova. You’ll want to know about it if that happens.’

‘We should keep a watch on him?’

‘You should be doing that anyway. I seem to remember a fair few surveillance operations mounted against me in the dim and distant past.’

‘Caught you red-handed, too.’

Cafferty gave another twitch of the mouth. ‘Best not to dwell on it.’

‘Actually, I think we need to, just for a moment.’

Cafferty looked at him. ‘And why’s that?’

‘Because the Complaints are keeping tabs on me.’

‘Tut-tut.’

‘They know, for example, that we’ve been out a few times together.’

‘Someone must have told them.’

‘Wasn’t you, was it?’

Cafferty’s face remained a mask.

‘See, it makes sense to me,’ Rebus continued. His hands were wrapped around his own mug of coffee, but he hadn’t taken so much as a sip since sitting down. ‘In fact, I can’t think of a neater way of setting me up. You keep taking me out for these little drinks and chats, making everyone think we’re bosom buddies. .’

‘I’m insulted.’

‘Well, someone’s been talking to them.’

‘Not me.’ Cafferty shook his head slowly as he placed his spoon on the table. His phone was vibrating again.

‘Sure you don’t want to answer that?’ Rebus asked.

‘I can’t help it if I’m popular.’

‘You might want to look that word up in a dictionary.’

‘The shit I let you get away with. .’ Cafferty’s eyes were sudden dark tunnels, leading to darker places still.

‘There you are,’ Rebus said, giving a thin smile. ‘Knew you were still in there somewhere, waiting to come out and play.’

‘We’re finished,’ Cafferty stated, rising to his feet and snatching his phone. ‘You should try being nice to me, Rebus. Sometimes I think I’m the only friend you’ve got left.’

‘We’ve never been friends, and never will be.’

‘You sure about that?’ Rather than wait for an answer, Cafferty started threading his way between the tables, nimble for such a big man. Rebus sat back and looked around him, studying the cafe’s morning clients. He wished the Complaints had been watching and listening, just this one time; it might have put their minds at rest.