Иэн Рэнкин - In a House of Lies

‘Thought I was supposed to keep you in the loop.’

‘A phone call would suffice.’ She followed him down the long hallway into the kitchen.

‘You’ve tidied,’ she commented.

‘Cut to the quick by your critique. Coffee or gin?’

‘Actually I’m fine.’

He lifted a box of tea bags. ‘Turmeric. Guess who from?’

‘A certain pathologist?’

‘She thinks I want to live forever.’ He took a bottle of IPA from the worktop and opened it. They went into the living room, where a CD was playing. Rebus turned it down a notch.

‘Is that classical?’

‘Arvo Pärt.’

‘Our pathologist friend again?’

‘Music to soothe the fevered brow.’ He sank into his chair. ‘How’s it all going, anyway?’

‘Malcolm’s settled in.’

‘He’s good at that.’

‘He had a couple of visitors today — the Chuggabugs.’

‘Sounds about right. They’ll be checking their arses are covered.’

‘You think Malcolm will roll over for them?’

‘It won’t be like that, Shiv. They’ll doubtless have something to offer. Maybe they dug up some dirt on him. Our Malcolm’s not half as shiny as he looks, remember.’ Rebus swallowed a mouthful of beer. ‘Anything else?’

‘I sat and watched one of Ness’s films — Zombies v Bravehearts . Stuart Bloom and Derek Shankley were extras. This was after I’d interviewed both Ness and Brand. Can’t say I was enamoured of either — Ness might stab you in the back, but Brand’s as likely to do it while looking you in the eye. Meantime, the forensic anthropologist reckons the car might not have lain in that spot throughout.’

‘Good news for those of us on the original search team.’

Clarke nodded from her corner of the sofa. Brillo had settled by her feet, curled into a ball. ‘Means there was maybe nothing in those woods for you to miss,’ she agreed.

In the silence that followed, Rebus kept his eyes on her. ‘Any time you’re ready,’ he said.

‘Ready?’

‘To say what you came here to say.’

She stiffened her back. ‘Derek Shankley turned up at Leith along with his father. Definitely the father’s idea, but it got me thinking.’

‘That’s because you’re a detective.’

‘See, Jackie Ness had hinted at something. Police raids on a club Stuart Bloom and Derek Shankley frequented.’

‘Rogues?’

Clarke nodded. ‘Stuart and Derek were never there, which could just be coincidence, of course.’

‘But Ness didn’t think so?’

‘If you ask me, Bloom had maybe bragged about it, or at least let something slip.’

‘That they were forewarned?’ She nodded again, her eyes on his. ‘And you think maybe it was the dad who tipped them the wink?’

‘He admitted as much.’

‘But he was Glasgow-based.’

‘So there had to be someone else right here in Edinburgh.’ She paused for a beat. ‘Did you happen to know Alex Shankley back in the day, John?’

Rebus gave a thin smile. ‘You know what the job’s like, Siobhan. Gangs, drugs, acts of violence... there are webs and connections and chains. Murder squads have always pooled and shared.’

‘Alex Shankley was a friend?’

‘We did one another a few favours, just now and then.’ Rebus had risen again to stand by the uncurtained window. ‘Even before I had Brillo, I’d often walk down to the Meadows of an evening. Late, after the pubs had shut. I’d stand there in the middle of it all, listening to the night. You can hear the city, you know. If you train your ears. But hearing it isn’t always enough.’

‘Did Alex Shankley ask for your help when Stuart Bloom went missing?’

‘You know damned fine he did — he wanted his son’s name kept out of it. I spoke to a few of the seasoned hacks, made my case...’

‘Promised them favours if they complied?’

‘Quid pro quo, Siobhan — just like you and Laura Smith. Not so many laptop warriors back then; it was easier to manage the way news got out, the words used and the ones left unsaid. Christ, was it only twelve years ago? Seems like a different age.’

‘The handcuffs, John.’

Rebus shook his head. ‘It wasn’t Alex Shankley. He’d worked murders half his life. He would know handcuffs were going to scream police involvement.’

‘Would the Chuggabugs have known the same?’

‘Up to a point.’ He returned to his chair and sat down, the bottle clutched in his hand. ‘Isn’t it more likely those cuffs are there to send us on a wild goose chase? The cuffs and the gully both.’

‘Why tie the ankles rather than the wrists?’

‘I refer you to my previous answer.’ Rebus dug a pack of gum from his pocket and held it up. ‘Every time I feel like smoking, I’m supposed to chew one of these little bastards instead. From experience, however, they make the beer taste weird.’ Having said which, he drained the bottle before sliding a lozenge of gum into his mouth.

‘How many are you on?’ Clarke asked, watching him chew.

‘Twenty a day — is that the definition of irony or what?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Clarke’s smile was fleeting. ‘John, if it gets out you were jeopardising police operations...’

‘By warning two young men to stay out of a club?’

‘Nothing was ever found in those raids. Doesn’t that sound to you like word got around?’

‘Or else the club was squeaky clean. There’d been a bad consignment, a few kids OD’ing, one of them dying. That’s what the raids were for — not just at Rogues but across the city. For a while, the dealers kept their heads down, job done.’ Rebus grew thoughtful, his chewing slowing. ‘You think ACU have an inkling about me and Alex Shankley?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Malcolm hasn’t said?’

‘He doesn’t know I know about the meeting.’

‘And how do you know?’

‘Sources.’

‘Would that be Laura again?’ Rebus gave a half-smile. ‘Steele and Edwards were assigned to at least a couple of the Rogues visits in the months before Bloom disappeared. Then they worked the misper case. Could be they found out I was friends with Alex Shankley, joined the dots and then tucked it away for future use.’

Clarke picked up the thread. ‘They also know that you, me and Malcolm are friends, so they tell him that if he does them a favour, they won’t use the information.’

‘Hearsay rather than information,’ Rebus felt the need to qualify.

‘All the same...’

‘Aye.’ Rebus raised the empty bottle towards her. ‘Well, here’s to you, Siobhan. Your visit’s fair cheered up an old man.’

‘Sorry about that.’ Rebus had picked up his phone and was tapping away at it with one finger. ‘Who are you messaging?’

‘Malcolm, of course. I’m letting him know: if they want to come at me, let them come.’

‘He’ll wonder how you know.’

‘It’ll be more evidence of my almost supernatural powers.’ Rebus pressed send, then gave Clarke an almighty wink.

She was on Clerk Street when her phone sounded. The call box again. She pressed her foot to the accelerator. Canongate was only a couple of minutes away. Maybe when she didn’t answer they would stick around and try again. She signalled right, saw the two call boxes in front of her and cursed under her breath — no sign of anyone. She drove on for fifty yards, examining the few pedestrians, not recognising any faces. The street was quiet, so she managed a U-turn, heading back to the call boxes. There were plenty of narrow routes leading off Canongate. Her anonymous caller could have vanished down any one of them. She noticed that her smoking friend was back outside McKenzie’s, so she parked and got out. He recognised her and jutted his chin by way of greeting.