Ian Rankin - Rather Be the Devil

‘So let’s go into my office and have a little chat, eh?’ Page said, giving Fox a final pat on the shoulder and leading the way.

Page’s inner sanctum was a converted storeroom with no natural light and just about enough space for his desk, a filing cabinet and a couple of chairs for visitors.

‘Sit,’ he commanded, having got himself comfortable.

The problem was, Clarke and Fox were so close together when seated that their feet, knees and elbows almost touched. Clarke could feel Fox squirming as he tried to put some distance between them.

‘Why are Gartcosh interested in a mugging?’ she asked into the silence.

Fox kept his eyes on the desk. ‘Darryl Christie is a known player. He has direct ties to Joe Stark’s gang in Glasgow. Obviously he’s on our radar.’

‘So you’re here to make sure we do our job?’

‘I’m an observer, Siobhan. All I’ll be doing is reporting back.’

‘And why can’t we do that ourselves?’

He turned his head towards her. She noticed that his cheeks had coloured slightly. ‘Because this is the way it is. If everything’s thorough — and knowing you, I doubt it’ll be anything but — there’s not going to be an issue.’

‘You have to understand, Malcolm,’ Page interrupted, ‘that it can rankle somewhat when overseers suddenly arrive without warning.’

‘I’m only doing my job, DCI Page. There’ll be an email somewhere or a phone message from ACC McManus, advising you of my role.’ Fox glanced at Page’s laptop, which lay closed on the desk.

‘McManus runs Organised Crime,’ Clarke commented. ‘I thought you were Major Crime.’

‘They’ve borrowed me.’

‘Why?’

He held her gaze. ‘Until recently, this was my patch. Maybe they thought I’d be welcomed back with open arms.’

Clarke gave a twitch of the mouth.

‘And of course you are welcome, Malcolm,’ Page announced, ‘and we’ll do our best to accommodate your needs, so you can make your report and we can all get our proficiency badges.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘But tell me, Siobhan, is this really anything that should set Gartcosh’s antennae twitching?’

Clarke considered her response. ‘His injuries aren’t life-threatening, but his mother says his car was attacked previously and their bin was set ablaze.’

‘Classic escalation,’ Fox commented, earning a look from her that he couldn’t quite read.

‘Reckon he knows who’s responsible?’ Page asked.

‘I’ve not interviewed him yet. He’s being released today; I was going to drop in on him this evening.’

Page nodded. ‘No witnesses? Nobody spotted fleeing the scene?’

‘We’re knocking on doors right now, though a few more bodies would be useful.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I’m wondering if we need to offer Christie something,’ Clarke went on. ‘Maybe a marked car outside his house for a night or two.’

‘I doubt he’d thank us for it.’

‘An unmarked car then — and he doesn’t need to know.’

‘He doesn’t have bodyguards?’

‘Seems to have dispensed with them.’

‘Meaning what exactly?’

She shrugged. ‘Could be he’s trying to save on outgoings. The house he’s in won’t have come cheap.’

‘You think he might be strapped for cash?’ Fox’s eyes narrowed as he weighed this up.

‘How does he make his money anyway?’ Page was looking at Fox. ‘Your lot should know better than anyone.’

‘He has his hotel,’ Fox obliged, ‘and some bars and nightclubs, plus a couple of betting shops.’

‘There’s other stuff, too,’ Clarke added. ‘A car wash, I think. Plus a door-to-door operation providing the same sort of thing.’

‘Okay,’ Page said, his eyes still on Fox. ‘And if we scratch the surface?’

‘I’m not privy to everything Gartcosh has,’ Fox admitted, shifting in his seat again. ‘Drugs... money laundering... who knows?’

‘I’ve got Christine looking into it,’ Clarke said. ‘So we might have something a bit more substantial by end of play.’

‘It’s thin stuff for CID,’ Page advised. ‘People get duffed up all the time.’ He paused. ‘But as this is Darryl Christie we’re talking about, and because our colleagues in Organised Crime are taking an interest... fine, let’s throw what resources we can at it.’

‘Including the watch on his home?’ Clarke asked.

‘Maybe for a night or two. Better still would be a list of anyone who bears a grudge — you can ask Mr Christie about that when you see him.’

‘I’m sure he’ll give us a full and frank account.’

Page’s mouth twitched. ‘Use what charm you can muster, Siobhan. And keep Malcolm fully apprised.’

‘Due respect, sir,’ Fox interrupted, ‘I think I need a bit more than that.’ Page looked at him for elucidation. ‘I need to be with DI Clarke each step of the way,’ Fox obliged. ‘I doubt ACC McManus would brook anything less.’

Clarke’s eyes were pleading with her boss, but Page just sighed and nodded.

‘Off you go then, the pair of you.’

‘Sir...’ Clarke started to complain.

‘It’s the price you pay, Siobhan, when you don’t tell me what’s going on under my own nose.’

Having said which, Page opened the screen of his laptop and began hitting keys.

Fox led the way back into the CID suite, but Clarke signalled towards the corridor, and he followed her, stopping as she turned to face him.

‘Ask me how happy I am about all of this,’ she hissed.

‘I did try phoning...’

‘You could have left a message.’

‘So you do know I tried?’

‘I was a bit busy, Malcolm.’

‘You’ve not driven the length of the M8 twice already today — I’m the one who should be cranky.’

‘Who says I’m cranky?’

‘You sound cranky.’

‘Livid is what I am.’

‘All because the chiefs chose me over you for the Gartcosh posting?’

‘What?’ She pretended amazement. ‘That’s got nothing to do with it.’

‘Good, because it looks like we’re stuck together for the next wee while. And I’m fine, by the way, settling into the new job nicely, thanks for asking.’

‘I sent you a text on your first day!’

‘I don’t think so.’

Clarke thought for a moment. ‘Well, I meant to.’

‘Cheers.’

The silence lingered until Clarke gave a sigh. ‘Okay, how do we work this?’

‘You treat me like part of the team, because that’s what I’ll be.’

‘Right up to the point where you scurry off westward to make your report. And by the way, this needs to be a two-way street — anything in the files at Gartcosh, I need to see it.’

‘That would need to be approved.’

‘But you can ask — and you will ask.’

‘And if I do that, you and me declare a truce?’ He was holding out his hand. Eventually she took it.

‘Truce,’ she said.

Clarke stood outside the tenement on Arden Street and pressed the intercom, then took a few steps back so she could be seen from the second-floor window. When Rebus’s face appeared, she waved. He seemed to hesitate before shrinking back into his living room. Seconds later, the buzzer told her the door was unlocked. She pushed it open, holding it with her shoulder as she lifted a box from the ground.

‘Am I in for a telling-off?’ Rebus barked from above, his voice echoing off the tiled walls of the stairwell.

‘Why would...?’ She broke off, realising. ‘You went to see Cafferty. Of course you did.’

‘Got a confession in full, too.’

‘Aye, right. Did he tell you anything useful?’

‘What do you think?’ She had reached his landing and he saw the box. ‘Did I forget Christmas or something?’