Иэн Рэнкин - In a House of Lies

‘I was just watching you, Derek,’ she said conversationally. ‘The film you were in with Stuart.’

He almost snorted. ‘Weren’t we terrible?’

‘You looked to be enjoying yourselves, though.’

‘Well, you know what it’s like on film sets.’

‘Actually, I don’t.’

‘We want to know how we can help the inquiry, DCI Sutherland,’ Derek’s father interrupted, placing his hands flat against the table. ‘We want Stuart’s killer brought to justice.’

Sutherland nodded thoughtfully. ‘Have you had much to do with Stuart’s family, Mr Shankley?’

‘Not much.’

‘Yes, that’s what they said. Sent your condolences?’

Shankley made a show of clearing his throat. ‘I don’t have their address.’

Clarke watched as Derek raised an eyebrow — his father had just lied again.

‘Derek didn’t have much to do with the family after Stuart’s disappearance,’ Sutherland commented.

‘What have they been saying?’ the father snapped.

‘That they tried contacting him but he wasn’t very communicative.’

‘They never really liked me,’ Derek conceded. ‘I thought they blamed me.’

‘Blamed you how?’

‘In their eyes, Stuart might have been running from me.’

‘Why would he have done that?’

‘He wouldn’t.’ Derek’s eyes were glazing with the beginning of tears.

‘No tension between the two of you? No arguments?’

Derek looked to Clarke. ‘You saw us in that film — what do you think?’

‘Like I said, you were enjoying yourselves.’

‘We always did.’ He folded his arms as if to affirm the statement, the leather creaking.

‘How about you, Mr Shankley?’ Sutherland’s focus was still on the older man. ‘Did you have any issues with Stuart?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Quite comfortable with Derek’s sexuality?’

‘He’s my son, isn’t he? Of course I am.’ It sounded a line that had been used many times before. Derek turned his head to look at his father. That makes three, Clarke reckoned. Three little white lies.

‘Are you,’ she asked Derek, ‘still in touch with friends from those days? Friends Stuart would have known?’

‘Some, yes.’

‘It’s just that we’re compiling a list of people we need to speak to. If you could help us with addresses or phone numbers...’

‘Sure. I’ve no classes today.’

‘You still teach media studies?’ Clarke watched him nod. ‘And are there jobs waiting for your students at the end of the course?’

‘Not as many as there were, and the ones that are there often don’t pay. They’re supposed to be working for the contacts they’ll make, for the good of their CV, or because the internship’s so wonderful why would they ever want paying to be part of it?’ He rolled his eyes while Clarke turned from son to father.

‘There’s something I need to put to you, Mr Shankley. It concerns Rogues nightclub.’

‘What about it?’

‘It was subject to several visits by police officers. Unscheduled visits. But never when your son and Stuart were there.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘Just that you were a detective, sir, with friends everywhere, I’m guessing.’

Alex Shankley shifted his gaze from Clarke to Sutherland. ‘I don’t see what any of this has to do with Stuart’s murder.’ Sutherland seemed to agree, his eyes on Clarke.

‘Perhaps Derek could step outside for a moment,’ she said. The son looked to his father, who nodded his agreement. Clarke waited until Derek was on the other side of the door.

‘There’s something I’d like to share with you, but it would have to be in confidence. It’s something you might well find useful, because it’ll help you prepare yourself.’

‘And in exchange?’ Alex Shankley asked.

‘You’ll answer a question I’m going to put to you.’

Shankley weighed up his response. ‘Very well,’ he eventually said.

Clarke moistened her lips. ‘Stuart’s ankles were handcuffed together. Police-issue handcuffs most probably. We’re keeping that to ourselves at present, so please don’t go sharing, even with Derek.’

Shankley nodded his understanding. ‘Public will think it was a cop, and I was a cop.’

‘Now you’ll be prepared,’ Clarke stated.

Shankley nodded again. ‘So ask me your question.’

‘Did someone let you know whenever a police raid was due to be carried out at Rogues?’

‘How would it have looked, a murder squad man’s son being hauled into the back of a police van?’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘It is.’

‘The person who told you, they had to be on the inside, somebody local.’

‘You’ve already had your question, DI Clarke. You’ve got me feeling like a bloody snitch, but that’s as much of my soul as you’re having.’ He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. For the first time, Clarke saw the son reflected in the father.

‘You didn’t kill Stuart Bloom, did you, Mr Shankley?’ Sutherland asked.

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘And you didn’t order or otherwise facilitate his death?’

‘No.’

‘Happen to keep any old pairs of handcuffs in the house?’ Sutherland watched Shankley nod. ‘Any of them gone AWOL down the years?’

‘Definitely not.’

‘Sure about that?’

Shankley gazed towards the door. ‘It nearly destroyed Derek, you know. For a few months he was almost suicidal. Even now...’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘Took me a long time to understand how much they really cared for one another.’

‘Your wife...?’ Clarke asked.

‘Died when Derek was young.’

‘You brought him up by yourself?’

‘Family helped.’

‘Which is why it’s interesting you’ve never felt able to contact Stuart’s family.’

Shankley glowered at the two detectives across from him. ‘Did you hear the things they said about us? About hard-working cops like you and me? When Stuart went missing, his mum phoned me day and night — CID and home. She never gave it a rest, said I should be shouting from the rooftops, talking to all those bloody journalists.’

‘And now your son is teaching the next generation,’ Clarke commented.

The man snorted. Sutherland shifted on his seat.

‘You will,’ he said, ‘check the situation with those handcuffs, won’t you?’

Shankley slapped the table with the flat of his hand. ‘I’ve told you I had nothing to do with it.’

‘And you’ve no inkling who did?’

‘None.’

‘Then we’re probably done here.’ Sutherland made to rise to his feet.

‘But we may need to talk to you again, sir,’ Clarke cautioned. ‘And in the meantime, while Derek’s here, it would be good to get those contacts from him.’

‘If he’s willing, that’s fine. He might not know everyone, though. If he can’t give you a number or he doesn’t know a name, don’t read anything into it.’ Shankley paused, stabbing a finger into the air between the two detectives. ‘Don’t forget, I know how you think. And I know how wrong that thinking can sometimes be. I’ve always stuck up for the force and I always will — but I know .’

‘Don’t judge us by the past, Mr Shankley,’ Clarke said. ‘Trust me, we’ve learned a lot from the cock-ups and cosy conspiracies of your generation.’

That evening, after just the one drink with Graham Sutherland, Clarke stood in front of Rebus’s tenement and pressed his buzzer, leaning in towards the intercom.

‘Yes?’ his voice crackled.

‘I looked for you on the Meadows.’

‘Already done.’ The door sounded to let her know it had been unlocked. She climbed the two flights. Rebus was waiting on the landing, Brillo at his side, tail wagging. ‘Can I just say, Siobhan, that a woman of your age should have better things to do with her evenings.’