Иэн Рэнкин - In a House of Lies

They had reached the first-floor landing, where a grim-faced Siobhan Clarke was waiting. ‘Just had a text from Laura,’ she said, holding up her phone, ‘asking what John Rebus is doing here.’

Fox turned towards Rebus, who was busying himself with his inhaler. ‘Not daft, I believe you were saying.’

‘So what the hell are you doing here, John?’

‘Being nosy,’ Rebus eventually replied. ‘Promise I won’t get in the way.’

Clarke turned to Fox. ‘And I thought I heard that you’d been recalled to Gartcosh?’

‘Just packing up my things,’ Fox told her.

‘What things?’

‘Whatever they are, it’s taking me a little bit longer than anticipated.’

Clarke rolled her eyes and turned away, disappearing into the MIT room before re-emerging.

‘Malcolm,’ she said, ‘I’m putting you in charge of John. Try not to let him slip his collar.’

Fox nodded and led Rebus to the cramped room that had been his office for the past week.

‘I thought the farmer was in here,’ Rebus said.

‘He’s been released,’ Fox said. ‘With conditions.’

‘Meaning not enough evidence to charge him?’

‘Oh, he’ll definitely face charges — we’re just not sure yet what they’ll be, and meantime we want him to keep cooperating.’

‘So what’s he spilled so far?’ Rebus accepted the chair Fox offered him. He picked up a sheaf of paper — all relating to the 2006 inquiry.

‘Please don’t do that,’ Fox said. ‘Anyone walks in and sees you here...’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word about you inviting me up here to help you massage your report.’

‘You ever thought about stand-up?’

Rebus put the sheets back. ‘You were about to tell me about the farmer,’ he prompted.

‘He was friends with Graeme Hatch, had been since school. Then Hatch went off to college. Flunked first year and came home to Poretoun, but he’d picked up a new skill while away.’

‘Selling dope?’

‘Not massively, according to Carlton, but enough to make a living. Pubs and clubs around Edinburgh, plus the village and others like it. When a film was being made, that was always a good market.’

‘And all of this under Cafferty’s nose?’

‘We did ask Carlton if Hatch was working for anyone, but he reckons he was all on his own.’

‘Must have got the stuff somewhere.’

‘The internet apparently.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Ordered from China and elsewhere via the Dark Web.’

‘Was Carlton a client as well as a user?’ Rebus asked.

‘Just a few uppers to keep the party going.’

Rebus grew thoughtful. ‘Interesting phrase, Malcolm.’

Fox’s brow furrowed. ‘Is it? Why?’

‘That spate of overdoses — the connection with Rogues. Cafferty says it was all down to a seller called Graeme.’ Rebus paused. ‘So what does Carlton say about the car?’

‘Just that Hatch turned up with it one night and said he needed to leave it there.’

‘Did he ask why?’

‘Says he joked about it being stolen. Hatch was adamant — no questions. They took it to the corner of the field, made sure it was surrounded by junk, and draped a tarpaulin over it. He says the interior looked empty. Hatch had a bag with him; Bloom’s laptop and phone could have been inside.’

‘Plus the papers from Brand’s safe?’ Rebus guessed. Fox just shrugged.

‘We know Stuart Bloom’s body was kept in the boot. It’s feasible the farmer never took a peek.’

‘Hatch isn’t saying?’

‘He’s still being questioned, not twenty feet from here.’

‘Lawyered up?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘The car was moved two or three years back?’

Fox nodded. ‘Around the time Carlton told his old pal he was considering selling the farm. They towed it out of the field, jump-started the battery and put a bit of air in the tyres.’

‘It was still working after all those years?’

‘German engineering,’ Fox agreed. Hazard drove off in it and that was the last Carlton heard of it.’

‘He knew, though, right? Knew who it belonged to?’

‘I’d say so, or else why panic when he saw Siobhan?’

‘But what does he say?’

‘He denies it. Never watched the news, so was only vaguely aware someone had gone missing.’

‘He must be lying.’

‘Of course he’s lying.’

‘So his old pal turns up again a few years later having added a bit of weight and with a new haircut, new attitude. And they never talk about the car? Carlton never goes near it?’

‘Allegedly.’

‘And when it turns up again in Poretoun Woods with Stuart Bloom’s remains inside...?’

‘He still doesn’t watch the news.’

‘Aye, right.’ Rebus gave a snort.

‘That’s his story.’

‘Well, it stinks worse than a freshly laid cowpat. And cooperation or no cooperation, if he knew what he was doing, he’s headed jailwards.’

‘Which is why he’ll keep denying it.’

Rebus nodded in agreement. ‘So now you just have to play him off against Hazard.’

‘Exactly. Though there is just the one problem...’

Rebus nodded again. ‘Why did Hazard do it?’

‘Any thoughts on that?’

‘Put me in a room with him for five minutes and I might be able to help.’ Rebus watched as Fox gave a wry smile. ‘I’m serious, Malcolm,’ he said. ‘Deadly serious.’

They could hold Hazard for twenty-four hours without charging him. They were using that time to search his home and office, his computers and phone records. They were interviewing people from his past as well as his present. His lawyer meantime was making a bit of noise. What was it with MIT and unproven allegations? First the break-in and now a long-unsolved murder.

Sutherland had stared hard at the solicitor. His name was Francis Dean. He didn’t work at the same firm as Kelvin Brodie, but word had obviously got around.

Hazard’s fingerprints had been taken and he’d been swabbed for a DNA sample. They’d be re-examining the handcuffs, the Polo’s steering wheel and door handles, the tarpaulin and the various vehicles and bits of equipment surrounding the space where the Polo had lain. They’d asked Carlton, but his memory was that Hazard had worn gloves when they were getting the Polo going again. And Carlton himself? No gloves that he could remember. His prints and a cheek swab had been taken, too. The lab at Howdenhall had been told to pull an all-nighter if necessary. Sutherland had already arranged for a delivery of pizzas and soft drinks.

Eventually tiredness got the better of them. Glenn Hazard was taken to a cell at St Leonard’s, and Sutherland’s team were told to try and get a bit of rest. Not too much, though — the clock was ticking and they had plenty to do to convince the fiscal’s office that a murder charge was in order. Rooms had been found in a B&B on the links. Clarke had turned down the offer, insisting that her own flat was only a five-minute drive. Fox asked if he could take the sofa, and she agreed.

‘So that’s a chair for me,’ Rebus said, ‘unless you’re offering this exhausted old man your bed?’

Clarke stared at him. ‘What’s wrong with your own place?’

‘You might forget to call me if there’s a break in the case.’

‘And Brillo?’

‘Good point...’

Rebus drove to Marchmont to fetch Brillo. Meanwhile, Fox had been dropped off at a chip shop near the top of Broughton Street. By the time Rebus reached Clarke’s flat, his fish supper was tepid at best. But the kettle had been boiled and tea brewed, and Fox had brought a battered sausage for the dog.

‘He’d better not sick that back up,’ Clarke cautioned.