Иэн Рэнкин - In a House of Lies

Fox’s mouth twitched. ‘Why do you say “of course”?’

‘My time in Professional Standards, Rebus was never far from a bollocking or a suspension. Did you never cross swords?’

‘Rebus retired at the end of 2006. Well, sort of.’

‘Sounds like you have come across him, though?’

‘John Rebus has a way of turning up. Anything in particular blot his copybook on the Bloom case?’

‘He was mates with the boyfriend’s dad, a cop from Glasgow. Word was, they kept meeting for a quiet drink.’

‘Which might not mean much in itself.’

‘Unless information was being passed along. We never proved anything.’

Fox sat for a moment deep in thought, then he nodded slowly. ‘Thanks for your time, Ray, I really appreciate it. It was good to catch up.’

‘You know where I am if you need me again.’ Hungerford had extended his hand, but not for the shake Fox was about to offer. The palm was upwards, stretched flat. He nodded towards the front of the cab, where the meter had been ticking throughout. ‘Twenty-five fifty,’ he said. Then, with a wink: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll write you a receipt for thirty.’

The others had made their excuses after one drink, but Clarke and Sutherland stuck around for a second. He fetched her the tonic water she’d requested, along with a half of IPA to add to the pint he’d almost finished. The bar was about as upmarket as this part of Leith got, meaning cops could feel relatively safe there. All the same, they were seated at a corner table with a view of the door.

‘Sure you don’t want a gin in that?’ Sutherland asked.

‘Don’t want to make a bad impression.’

‘Two gins after work is hardly a disciplinary offence.’ He chinked his glass against hers. ‘Speaking of which...’

‘How much do you know?’

‘Just that ACU thought you were passing stories to a reporter pal.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘And also that you’d used a work computer to try getting the same reporter some information.’

‘I was cleared.’

‘Indeed you were, and you resent having been accused.’

‘I was made to feel like I was a bad cop. I’m not.’

‘These two ACU officers...?’

‘Steele and Edwards.’

Sutherland nodded. ‘Do you hold a grudge against them ?’

‘No.’

‘I think that’s maybe a lie.’

‘Depends how you define “grudge”. Would I do them a favour in future? No. Would I want someone to attack them in a dark alley? No.’

‘And if you saw them out having a drink, then climbing into the driving seat...?’

‘I’d phone it in like a shot.’

They both smiled, focusing on their drinks. Clarke leaned back, rolling her head, feeling the tension there.

‘I remember,’ Sutherland was saying, ‘back in Inverness. There was a time-server none of us liked. He had a drink problem, but we covered for him where necessary. Day he retired, there was a party laid on in the canteen with more than a few refreshments. We all clapped and handed him the gift we’d bought, then watched and waved as he headed out to his car, ready to drive home. Traffic had been tipped off. He was stopped, lost his licence.’

‘A sort of justice to that, I suppose.’ Clarke sipped her drink. ‘So did you grow up in Inverness?’

Sutherland nodded. ‘Not much of an accent left, except when I visit family. I notice you’re English.’

She shook her head. ‘Born here; grew up there — I blame the parents. So where else have you been other than Inverness?’

‘Aberdeen, Glasgow, even Skye for a while.’

‘They have crime on Skye?’

‘I like to think I eradicated it.’ He made a little toast to himself. ‘You ever been anywhere other than Edinburgh?’

‘I was on secondment in Glenrothes when Stuart Bloom disappeared.’

‘That was lucky — if you’d been attached to the case, you couldn’t be on my team now. Conflict of interest, et cetera.’

Clarke nodded distractedly. ‘So where do you live these days?’ she eventually asked.

‘Shettleston, in Glasgow.’

‘Can you see Barlinnie from there?’

‘More or less. How about you?’

‘Five minutes from here. Just off Broughton Street.’

‘On your own?’ He watched her nod. ‘Me too. Wasn’t always the case, but you know how it is. I decided to marry my golf clubs instead. I don’t suppose you play?’

‘Do I look like a golfer?’

‘I don’t know — what does a golfer look like?’

‘My idea of fresh air and exercise is the local café and paper shop.’ Her phone buzzed. It was lying on the table to the side of her glass, so she could see that it was the call box again.

‘Not answering?’ Sutherland queried.

‘It’s not important.’

They waited for it to stop.

‘I get the distinct feeling there’s more to you than meets the eye, Detective Inspector Clarke.’

‘Trust me, there really isn’t.’

Sutherland thought for a moment, watching her from behind his raised glass. He smacked his lips when he lowered it. ‘I know Tess has given the Bloom file a first pass, but would you like to take a look too?’

‘Why?’

‘Might be our friends Steele and Edwards will pop up there, something you could tuck away for future use.’

She stared at him. ‘It was you who tipped off Traffic, wasn’t it?’ His left eyebrow was the only part of his face that moved. ‘There’s a prize if you tell me.’

‘Okay, I’m intrigued.’

‘A game of pitch ’n’ putt at Bruntsfield Links.’

‘An offer that’s hard to refuse. But you might be wearing a wire, so...’ He maintained eye contact as he slowly but definitively nodded.

‘Has to be on a warm day, mind,’ Clarke cautioned.

‘And how many of those does Edinburgh get?’

‘We had one a couple of years back.’

They both started laughing.

The Meadows again, illuminated by the street lamps on Melville Drive.

The rain had stopped, but the grass was wet, the cold penetrating their shoes and chilling their toes. Rebus stood with hands in pockets, the collar of his overcoat up, while Clarke had pulled the hood of her waterproof jacket over her head. In front of them, Brillo was busy sniffing some invisible trail. It was like watching an infant take a line for a walk across a sheet of paper.

‘He’s determined,’ Clarke admitted.

‘Not to mention tireless — can’t think who that reminds me of.’

‘I wanted to ask you about Steele and Edwards. How dirty do you think they were back then?’

‘You know that old saying — you need a lang spoon tae sup wi’ the devil?’

‘I thought that was Fifers.’

‘Same thing. All you need to know is, that’s what they were like. Kept everything to themselves. Always sat at a different table from everyone else, heads together. If they had a brain, it was a hundred per cent the property of Brian Steele. Grant Edwards had heft but not much else.’

‘He’s not changed much.’

‘Well, you’ve had more recent dealings with them. But back then, none of us thought they would last too much longer in the force. They’d be up on a charge or else off to greener pastures.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Steele owned a couple of executive cars, chauffeured bigwigs around. That’s probably how he fell in with Adrian Brand. He always said police work was boring.’

‘And Edwards?’

‘Did some of the driving. Worked a lot of his free nights as a club doorman. Was said to have money in a car wash out near the Forth Bridge.’

‘Did they try to influence the investigation?’

‘At Brand’s behest, you mean?’ Rebus thought for a moment. ‘Aye, maybe. They wouldn’t have been above taking a few quid from him, either to keep him posted or else to make sure he wasn’t given too much grief.’