Иэн Рэнкин: In a House of Lies

‘Deborah Quant says we need a forensic anthropologist. She’s contacting...’ he looked at the note he’d scribbled to himself, ‘Aubrey Hamilton. Based in Dundee apparently.’

‘But there’ll be an autopsy?’ Callum Reid asked. He was standing by his map as if to make sure no one else claimed ownership.

Sutherland nodded. ‘With Hamilton assisting Professor Quant. Meantime, the kids’ prints have been taken for purposes of elimination. I think Haj wants them terminated rather than eliminated — stomping all over his crime scene, leaving broken glass everywhere.’

‘What do we make of the handcuffs?’ George Gamble had removed his suit jacket and sat with his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his waistcoat.

‘Good question.’ Sutherland looked at each of them in turn. ‘Any ideas?’

‘They seem to be good quality,’ Tess Leighton drawled. She sat very upright on her chair, like a disapproving Miss Jean Brodie.

‘They’re proper,’ Sutherland agreed.

‘Meaning police issue?’

‘We don’t know that yet.’

‘But around the ankles ,’ Callum Reid said, shaking his head. ‘Doesn’t make sense.’

‘Unless you want to stop someone running away,’ Phil Yeats added.

Sutherland ran a finger thoughtfully down the bridge of his nose. ‘Anything to add, Siobhan?’

Clarke cleared her throat. ‘I’ve got a source who thinks he might have a name for us.’

There was a sudden energy in the room. Reid forgot about his map and marched in Clarke’s direction. ‘Go on then,’ he demanded.

‘He wouldn’t tell me.’

‘Then let’s go talk to him!’ Reid looked towards Sutherland, expecting a nod or a word, but his boss’s eyes were on Clarke.

‘Who is it exactly you’ve been speaking to, Siobhan?’

‘He’s an ex-cop. Been retired a few years. And if I know him, he’ll be turning up here in the next ten or fifteen minutes.’

‘Feel like telling us a bit about him before that happens?’

‘In ten or fifteen minutes?’ Clarke gave a little snort. ‘I doubt I’d be able to do him justice.’

Sutherland leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Give it a try anyway.’

‘They wouldn’t let me past the front desk,’ Rebus complained as Clarke led him up the stairs. ‘Time was...’

Clarke stopped, turning to face him. ‘ Are you okay, John? I mean, really?’

‘I’ve still got COPD, if that’s what you’re asking. It doesn’t go away.’

‘I know. It gets worse.’

‘But somehow I’m still here.’ Rebus stretched out his arms. ‘Like the proverbial...’

‘Bad penny? Bull in a china shop?’

‘I think I was going to say “ghost in the machine” until I realised it’s not exactly a proverb.’ He paused, studying his surroundings. ‘Just like old times.’

‘ Nothing like old times, John,’ she cautioned him, starting up the stairs again. Rebus was breathing heavily by the time they reached the landing. He took a moment to compose himself, patting his pocket to check he had his inhaler.

‘I kicked the cigarettes, once and for all,’ he informed Clarke.

‘And the booze?’

‘Just the odd tincture, m’lud.’ Pulling back his shoulders and fixing a look on his face that she recognised of old, he breezed past her into the room. Sutherland was already on his feet. He met Rebus in the middle of the floor and gripped his hand.

‘Not every day you meet a legend,’ he said.

‘Me or you?’ Rebus responded. Sutherland gave a half-smile before leading Rebus towards the waiting chair. Phil Yeats was leaning against the wall; it was his chair Rebus was settling on. Sutherland sat at his desk, hands clasped.

‘Siobhan tells us you might have some information, John. We’re grateful to you for coming in.’

‘You might not be when you hear the name. It was 2006.’ Rebus broke off and gestured towards Callum Reid. ‘You’d have been in short pants, son.’ Then, to Sutherland: ‘Is it bring your kid to work week or something?’

‘DI Reid is older than he looks.’ Sutherland was still trying for levity, but Clarke could tell it wasn’t going to last. His tone alerted Rebus, who scanned the room again. ‘Short memories, like I was telling Siobhan. If I’m right, your car most likely belongs to Stuart Bloom.’ He waited, watching as Sutherland’s brow furrowed.

‘I was still in Inverness in 2006,’ the DCI eventually said.

‘How about you, Siobhan?’ Rebus held up a finger. ‘Actually, I can help you there — you were on secondment in Fife. Three months, I think, which tied in almost exactly with the case.’

‘The private investigator?’ Clarke was nodding to herself. ‘I remember us talking about it. He did a vanishing act.’

‘That’s the one,’ Rebus said. ‘Ringing any bells?’ He looked around the room but was met by blank faces. Callum Reid, however, was already busy on his phone, starting a search of the name on the internet. The others realised what he was doing and followed suit. All except Sutherland, whose own phone had started buzzing. He pressed it to his ear.

‘DCI Sutherland,’ he said. His eyes were fixed on Rebus as he listened. Having thanked the caller, he waved his phone in Rebus’s direction. ‘Members of the public have been in touch. Other members of the public, I should say. Three of them gave the same name you just did.’

‘Private investigator from Edinburgh,’ Reid intoned, reading from his screen as he skimmed it. ‘Disappeared in March of 2006. His partner was questioned—’

‘Business partner?’ Sutherland interrupted.

‘Lover,’ Rebus corrected him. ‘Stuart Bloom was gay. Boyfriend happened to be the son of a Glaswegian murder squad detective called Alex Shankley.’

‘The boyfriend was a suspect?’ Sutherland asked.

‘No shortage of those,’ Rebus stated. ‘But when there’s no sign of foul play and a body fails to turn up...’

Sutherland had risen from his chair and walked over to the map, studying it. Rebus joined him.

‘Would those woods have been searched?’ He watched Rebus give a slow nod.

‘More than once, I think.’

Sutherland half turned towards him. ‘And why is that?’

‘Because of who owned them.’

‘Spit it out, John,’ Sutherland snapped, patience at an end.

‘The man Stuart Bloom was working for. A film producer called Jackie Ness. Ness’s house is the far side of the woods from the road.’ Rebus peered at the map, eventually pressing his finger against a particular spot. ‘There, more or less,’ he said. ‘And “house” might be doing it a disservice — more like a mansion.’

‘Ness still lives there?’ Sutherland watched Rebus shrug. He turned towards the room. ‘Get me that information,’ he demanded of no one and everyone.

‘A computer would be handy,’ Phil Yeats said. ‘My notebook’s in the car. I could go fetch it.’

Sutherland nodded. Then, for Rebus’s benefit: ‘It’s what laptops are called these days.’

‘I know that,’ Rebus retorted. ‘So what happens now?’

Sutherland grew thoughtful. ‘You worked the original inquiry. Be helpful to know what you know.’

‘Always assuming,’ Tess Leighton added, ‘it really is this guy Bloom’s car, and him in the boot.’

‘We need to keep an open mind,’ Sutherland agreed. ‘But meantime, maybe John could give a statement, just to keep everything tidy. I’m assuming the paperwork is in storage somewhere?’

‘CCU probably took most of it,’ Rebus said casually, pretending to study the map.

‘CCU?’

‘I know it’s called ACU these days, but it was the Counter-Corruption Unit in 2006. Wee history lesson might be needed for some of you. This was long before Police Scotland. We still had the eight regional forces then—’