Ian Rankin - Standing in another's man grave

‘Hazlitt knows about the two new additions,’ he said.

‘So soon?’

‘All over the internet, apparently.’

Clarke gnawed at her bottom lip. ‘As some might say, this shit just got serious.’

‘It was always serious, Siobhan.’

‘True,’ she agreed. ‘But now everyone’s taking it seriously.’

‘Did you get a rough ride at HQ?’

‘Not particularly, though it was made clear that if we’re reading more into this than is actually there. .’

‘You can always lay the blame on me,’ Rebus suggested.

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ She managed the beginnings of a smile. ‘So. . Inverness in the morning.’

‘It could almost be a country song.’ Rebus paused. ‘Thanks for inviting me along, by the way.’

‘Least I could do.’

‘And you almost didn’t do it at all. It’s as though my reputation precedes me.’

‘Well, there is that.’

‘Seems to me the focus has shifted from Annette McKie,’ Rebus commented.

‘Only because we’ve no new leads.’

‘I can’t see her family being thrilled about it.’

Clarke could do nothing but shrug. Then: ‘Think I should talk to her mother?’

‘Might be nice if someone did, before she hears about Golspie and Loch Ness.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘Maybe get Christine and Ronnie to do it, though — good training before they head north. And best be quick — news travels at broadband speeds these days.’

That evening, Cafferty turned up at the door of Rebus’s flat.

‘Can’t be that time already,’ Rebus complained.

‘Just fancied a drink,’ Cafferty responded. He was dressed as usual in a black leather jacket with a black polo-neck beneath.

‘You seem happy,’ Rebus said.

‘I’m fine.’

Rebus had already finished packing and had been considering setting out on the road. A drink was a decent enough alternative. It would stop him driving, meaning he’d get to Inverness in daylight rather than the middle of the night.

‘Somewhere walking distance,’ he stipulated.

Cafferty bowed his head. ‘I dare say you know the local hostelries.’

‘I’ll get my keys, then. And this time you stay that side of the threshold. .’

The Tannery was fairly busy. There was football on the TV, and most of the drinkers seemed to be there to watch it. Rebus and Cafferty found a spot at the far end of the bar. Not having a clear view of the screen, it was quieter than the rest of the pub. Cafferty insisted on buying the first round.

‘I’m the one dragging you out, after all.’

A man had risen from one of the tables. He waited until he had their attention, then nodded towards the barman. ‘He’s too young to know who you are, but I’m not. We don’t want any trouble here.’

Cafferty looked at Rebus. ‘Is he talking to you or to me?’ Then, to the man: ‘Don’t sweat it.’ He stuck out a hand, which the man — presumably the landlord — took, before returning to his table, a relieved look on his face.

‘Didn’t even offer us one on the house,’ Cafferty complained, demolishing his whisky and ordering another. ‘So, is it true about all these poor wee girls?’

‘Is what true?’

‘The count’s up to six now.’

‘Is it?’

‘I can use a computer, same as the next man. Silver surfers, they call us. So Annette McKie’s just the last in a long line?’

‘Looks that way.’

‘Maybe that’s the way it’s meant to look.’

Rebus put his glass down. ‘What are you saying?’

‘She’d had an argument with Frank Hammell, hadn’t she?’

‘Who told you that?’

Cafferty just smiled. ‘Could he maybe have followed her, with a view to settling it?’

‘You’d like us to put Hammell in the frame?’

Cafferty laughed away the suggestion. ‘I’m just speculating here.’

‘So how did that photo end up getting sent from Annette’s phone? How could Hammell have known about the others?’

‘Frank has fingers in many pies.’

But Rebus was shaking his head. He lifted the pint again. ‘He just didn’t want her taking the bus. Turns out he was right, too — she probably wouldn’t have got travel-sick on the train.’

‘I still think it’s too convenient,’ Cafferty offered. ‘Hammell’s a player, and she’s the next best thing he has to a daughter of his own. It can’t be down to chance that she was snatched. Have you spoken to Calum MacBride or Stuart Macleod?’

‘Never even heard of them.’

‘They run Aberdeen. There’s been a bit of tension between them and Hammell. .’

‘Same questions, then: why the photograph, and how did they know?’

‘I’m not the detective here.’

‘No, you’re not. What you are, though, is the same conniving bastard you’ve always been. Six missing women and you’re trying to conjure something out of it for your own entertainment.’

Cafferty’s eyes darkened. ‘Careful what you say, Rebus.’

‘I speak as I find.’ Rebus pushed his drink away and headed for the door. The landlord was outside, puffing on a cigarette and with his phone pressed to his face. He recognised Rebus and wished him all the best. As it dawned, however, that Cafferty was staying inside, he began to look a little more anxious. Rebus lit a cigarette of his own and kept walking.

Fox watched him leave. He was slouched in the passenger seat of a Ford Mondeo, parked across the street from the pub, outside a late-opening grocer’s shop. His colleague, Tony Kaye, was inside the shop itself, making it look as though they’d pulled up to buy provisions. Kaye emerged toting a four-pack of beer and munching on a Mars bar. He dumped the cans on the back seat and walked around to the driver’s side.

‘Cafferty’s still in there,’ Fox told him. But only a minute or two later the man emerged. He must have phoned for a taxi, because one drew to a halt and he climbed in. A further figure left the pub straight afterwards and jogged towards the Mondeo.

‘For me?’ he said, climbing into the back and opening one of the beers.

‘Better be worth it,’ Kaye muttered.

Joe Naysmith was the youngest member of Fox’s small team. He swallowed and stifled a burp before making his report.

‘Football on the telly. Helluva din.’

‘Could you make out any of what they were saying?’ Fox demanded.

‘Seemed to be about Frank Hammell. Him and the girl who went missing.’

‘What about them?’

Naysmith offered a shrug. ‘Like I say, it was noisy. If I’d got too close they’d have clocked me.’

‘Useless,’ Tony Kaye growled. He turned towards Fox. ‘All this effort, Malcolm — for what exactly?’

‘For a result.’

‘Some result.’ Kaye paused. ‘Who tipped you off that they’d be meeting?’

‘Text message. Number blocked.’

‘Same as before, then. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’

‘What?’

Kaye gestured in the direction Rebus had taken. ‘If he’s being set up.’

Fox stared at his colleague. ‘Am I missing something? Didn’t a retired detective — a current police employee, by the way, with his nose deep in an ongoing case — just have a known gangster turn up at his door? And didn’t the two of them then go out together for a drink and a catch-up?’

‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘It means everything , especially when they start discussing the very case Rebus is working on. Throw Frank Hammell’s name into the mix and it gets more interesting still.’

‘I don’t see it,’ Kaye said, shaking his head.

‘I do,’ Fox retorted. ‘And at the end of the day, that’s what really matters.’