Иэн Рэнкин: In a House of Lies

Edwards looked at each of the three of them in turn. ‘What do I have to do to save it?’

It was Fox who answered. ‘Sit in a room with Professional Standards and PIRC and anyone else who needs to hear your story. Don’t hold anything back. Everything needs to come out.’

‘Including Cafferty?’

Rebus leaned forward into the ensuing silence. ‘Talk to me,’ he said.

‘Him and Brian go back a ways. Lot of gen has passed between them, and it’s always been a two-way street.’

Rebus gestured towards Edwards’s pocket. ‘Any of their wee chats feature on that phone of yours?’

‘They might,’ Edwards conceded. ‘All depends whether I’m going to get hit by kid gloves or a knuckleduster.’

‘That won’t be up to us,’ Clarke said.

‘None of this is up to us,’ Edwards spat back. ‘We’re just the ones they send down the sewers with a shovel and bucket and a torch that’s low on juice.’

‘That what you’ve told yourself all these years?’ Rebus said. ‘A fairy tale to help you drift off at night?’

‘I sleep fine, thanks for asking. How about you, Rebus? All the stuff you’ve covered up over the years — and don’t tell me you’ve never traded with your good friend Cafferty.’ Edwards turned to Clarke. ‘And you with your journalist pal — we knew damned well who’d been talking to her...’ He broke off as he saw a quick look pass between Clarke and Fox. ‘Oh,’ he said, drawing the vowel out. ‘Seems we maybe got that one wrong.’

‘Which didn’t stop you setting Dallas Meikle on DI Clarke,’ Rebus snarled.

‘Brian’s idea — I told him it wasn’t one of his best. He was too into it, though.’

‘How come?’

Edwards fixed Rebus with a look. ‘Because we could never get to you. You were Cafferty’s creature.’ He saw that Rebus was about to interrupt. ‘Insofar as Cafferty enjoyed playing with you too much. We’d have spoilt that if we’d taken you down.’ He turned his attention towards Clarke without saying anything.

‘Because you saw me as John’s creature? You couldn’t have him, so you’d have me instead?’

Edwards offered a shrug. ‘That was Brian’s way of thinking.’

‘Maybe he was jealous, no?’ Fox offered. ‘He wanted to be the one Cafferty took an interest in?’

Another shrug from within the overcoat.

‘This all needs to come out,’ Fox went on. ‘I’ll put you in touch with Professional Standards. Best if you go to them — keeping us out of it.’ He waited until Edwards had nodded.

‘Then we’re just about done here,’ Rebus stated. He gestured towards the whisky glass. ‘But not before I get you a refill.’

As he returned from the bar, he had to squeeze past Fox and Clarke, who were already on their way. ‘Catch you up in a second,’ he said.

Edwards sat ruefully at the vacated table, draining his drink. Rebus placed the fresh one in front of him. But as Edwards reached for it, Rebus grabbed him by the wrist. Edwards was strong, but Rebus was on his feet, which helped give him more purchase over the seated figure.

Plus, no point denying it, his dander was up.

By the time Edwards did rise from his chair, his wrist was already held to the table leg by the handcuffs.

‘Same ones you used on me,’ Rebus said, backing away until he was out of range. Edwards had upended the table, the glasses flying. He studied the table leg and saw that it was connected to the others by a crosspiece. He couldn’t release himself by simply sliding the cuff down the length of the leg.

‘Seem to have lost the key,’ Rebus said with a shrug of his own, turning to leave.

Clarke and Fox were waiting for him outside. They began to walk along Young Street, towards North Castle Street where they’d parked their cars.

‘Is Edwards going to get off with this?’ Clarke asked.

‘Ever hear the story of Burke and Hare?’ Rebus answered, breathing heavily.

‘Killers who sold their victims to medical people for use in dissections,’ Fox stated.

Rebus nodded. ‘Hare turned king’s evidence — grassed his compadre up, in other words. He was let go, which sounds outrageous but apparently that was the deal. Didn’t help him much — he fled south but was recognised. Someone blinded him and left him like that. Ended his days begging.’ Having reached his Saab, Rebus paused. ‘Nobody ever quite gets away with it.’

‘Not even Billie Meikle?’ Clarke asked.

‘I suppose there may be exceptions,’ Rebus conceded. ‘Though even then, I’m not sure. Doesn’t mean you should feel guilty about any of it.’

‘I doubt that’ll stop me,’ she replied, shoulders hunched, head down as she headed to her own car.

Edwards was still wrestling with the table when he spotted a figure in the doorway.

‘A bit of help here,’ he said.

‘Well, well.’

Edwards froze momentarily as Brian Steele walked in. Steele had his hands in his pockets but removed them as he bent at the knees, the better to study his colleague’s predicament.

‘You go shooting your mouth off and this is the thanks you get, eh?’ He shook his head in mock sympathy.

‘Fuck you, Brian. Just give me a hand here.’

‘Here it is, Grant.’

The slap was like whiplash. Edwards tried lunging at Steele, but the table prevented it. Instead, Steele got him in a headlock, his forearm pressing hard on his partner’s throat. Edwards made a choking sound, eyes bulging, teeth gritted.

‘Been watching you for a while, lad,’ Steele hissed into his ear. ‘Wondering if and when you’d crack. Seems I have my answer.’

Edwards’s free hand clamped itself around Steele’s fingers and prised at one of them, bending it back until it threatened to snap. Steele gasped in pain, the pressure lessening on Edwards’s larynx. Edwards wrestled himself free and stamped hard on the table’s wooden crosspiece, snapping it and freeing the handcuffs. He turned towards Steele just as the punch connected, catching him square on the nose. Blood began to flow, his eyes filling with tears. Blindly he threw his whole weight at Steele, the two of them colliding with one of the other tables. Edwards had his hands around his old friend’s throat as the few regulars from the front bar finally plucked up the nerve to intervene. There were just enough of them to wrestle the two men apart. When Steele tried throwing another punch, he found himself restrained by the bar staff. Snarling and spitting, he was manoeuvred out of the room, down the steps and into the night.

The barman pointed at Edwards. ‘Take it outside if you want,’ he said, ‘but first you’re paying for the damage.’

‘It was Rebus did this,’ Edwards roared, shaking the handcuff in the barman’s face. ‘Get him to pay!’

‘If that’s the way you want it.’ The barman took out his phone. ‘We’ll let the police handle it.’

‘I am the police!’ Edwards went quiet as he got his breathing under control. ‘I am the police,’ he repeated quietly, though with a little less certainty than before.

Back home, Rebus fed Brillo and took him out to the Meadows for a run. He looked across the expanse of grass towards Quartermile. He knew which windows belonged to Cafferty’s duplex. One of them had its lights on. He took out his phone and made the call.

‘You have reached the Samaritans,’ Cafferty growled. ‘How can we help you tonight?’

‘I think you might be about to lose your friendly face at ACU.’

Silence on the line for a moment. Then: ‘Plenty more where that came from.’

‘Maybe so, but not many you’ll have nurtured for so many years.’

‘Well, thanks for the warning. I’m guessing there’s a favour you want in return.’