Иэн Рэнкин: In a House of Lies

Rebus watched Brillo, wishing he had even a fraction of the dog’s energy. ‘What can you tell me about the break-in at Brand’s office?’

‘It was a set-up,’ Cafferty explained. ‘The paperwork was fake, the intention being to wrong-foot Ness if he ever got hold of it.’

‘And you know this because...?’

‘Stuart Bloom made a note to that effect. Didn’t even bother showing any of it to Ness. He knew as soon as he read through it.’

‘You broke into his flat?’

‘In point of fact, a nurtured and friendly face did that for me.’

Steele...

‘And afterwards?’

‘When Bloom disappeared, I ditched everything.’

‘You must have been gutted the papers didn’t give you the leverage you wanted with Conor Maloney.’

‘Water under the bridge, John.’ Cafferty paused to sip from a glass, making sure Rebus could hear him. He gave a noisy exhalation. ‘I hear Siobhan got someone for Bloom’s murder, though.’

‘That dealer, the one who used to be Graeme Hatch. Reinvented himself as Glenn Hazard.’

‘The PR guy?’

‘Bloom was threatening to hand him over to you.’

‘Really?’

‘I’m guessing it’ll come out at the trial.’

‘All of it?’

‘Maybe not quite all,’ Rebus conceded. Brillo had started barking at another dog. Rebus told him to sit, then clipped the lead back on to his collar.

‘You’re at the Meadows with your mutt? I can’t quite see you.’

Rebus turned to peer at the lit window. ‘I can see you, though, clear as day.’

‘Pop by for a drink. Wine’s supposed to be good for the blood pressure.’

‘Maybe so, but I doubt you’d be good for mine.’

‘Remember to congratulate Siobhan for me, John. And don’t be a stranger.’

‘One last thing...’

‘Yes?’

‘Steele and Edwards, they knew Graeme Hatch back in the day. All the time you were looking for him, they protected him so they could keep buying what he was selling.’

Silence on the line while Cafferty digested this. Then he made a snuffling sound. ‘I hope you’re not just spinning me a line.’

‘I’m not.’

‘In which case, I might have to have words with them.’

‘I wouldn’t put it off. They’ll be in custody before too long. Fair warning, though — I want to hang on to Edwards.’

Rebus ended the call and watched the silhouette retreat from the penthouse window. Brillo was straining at the leash.

‘Time to go home, son,’ Rebus told him.

The call came at 3 a.m. Number withheld. When Cafferty lifted the phone, he noticed that there was a text on the second phone lying next to it. It was from the lovely Rebecca. He had messaged her earlier, advising her to dump Brian Steele before the shit storm arrived. Her reply consisted of a heart and a thumbs-up. Cafferty allowed himself a thin smile as he answered the call.

‘What’s so fucking urgent?’ Conor Maloney snarled.

‘Bit of news to report — they got Stuart Bloom’s killer. It was the dealer who sold the bad stuff to those kids.’

‘Oh aye? So it wasn’t me, then?’

‘And the dealer definitely didn’t work for me. So...’

‘Truce?’

‘We’ve maligned and mistrusted one another for far too long. Time we got out the pipe of peace, don’t you think?’

‘Depends what’s in it for each of us.’

‘Plenty of opportunities, Conor. Brexit’s going to be a gold mine for disaster capitalists.’

‘Is that what we are?’

‘I imagine you’ve been eyeing up the dotted line between south and north, wondering what a hard Irish border might mean.’

‘Where did you hear that?’

‘An educated guess. I was able to make it because you and me think the same way. Seems that everywhere people are burning bridges or building walls. I want the opposite to happen with us.’

‘I suppose we could bounce a few ideas around.’

‘Not on the phone, though. I can come to you or you can come to me. Some pretty nice hotels in Scotland — even if I don’t own any of them yet.’

‘Eyeball to eyeball, eh?’

Cafferty had picked up the other phone. The screen still showed Rebecca’s message. ‘Sometimes,’ he said softly, ‘the old ways are the best.’

A bright Sunday afternoon. John Rebus and Deborah Quant walked hand in hand to Bruntsfield Links. Brillo’s leash was in Rebus’s free hand, the dog leading the way. They soon caught sight of Clarke and Sutherland. Both were wrapped up against the east wind. Both carried a putter and a nine iron. Malcolm Fox gave a wave of greeting as Rebus and Quant approached.

‘You the referee?’ Rebus asked.

‘There’d be rampant cheating otherwise. Three holes played. Graham’s not showing much mercy. You heard the news?’

‘What news is that?’

‘Steele seems to have gone AWOL.’

‘Is that right? Vacancy for you at ACU then, always supposing you want it.’

Fox gave him an appraising look. ‘Sounds like you think he’s not coming back.’

The gesture Rebus made with his shoulders could have been a shrug or a shiver. They watched as Clarke took her tee shot, missing the ball completely with her first swing, then sending it rolling and bouncing along the turf with her second.

‘Shouldn’t there be slightly more elevation?’ Quant asked.

‘She’d be better off just using the putter,’ Rebus added.

They watched as Sutherland connected cleanly, sending his ball up into the air and landing it on the edge of the green.

‘Turning into a massacre,’ Fox commented. They joined the players as they walked towards their next shot.

‘Twenty quid says Siobhan wins this hole,’ Rebus called out to Sutherland.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Never more so.’

‘You’re on,’ Sutherland said with a grin. Clarke took her shot and almost reached the green.

‘Not a bad lie,’ Rebus stated. Sutherland started lining up his putt. Rebus reached down and unhooked Brillo’s leash.

‘Go fetch,’ he said. Brillo didn’t need telling twice. He bounded across the fairway and scooped up Sutherland’s ball in his mouth. Rebus turned to Fox.

‘The hole’s forfeit, wouldn’t you say, ref?’

Deborah Quant was squeezing his arm. ‘You’re a bad, bad man, John.’

‘But we’ve all known worse in our time, right?’ Rebus pecked her on the cheek and tried not to glance in the direction of Quartermile.