Ian Rankin - Even Dogs in the Wild

‘To catch a kid from Acorn House who’s decided at last that it’s Judgement Day?’ Dunn’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. ‘Know what I say to that?’

‘What?’ Rebus asked, already knowing the answer.

‘I’d say fucking good luck to them.’

Dunn turned and began retracing his steps, shoulders slumped, hands in pockets.

Rebus considered trying to stop him, but instead stayed where he was, the filter of his cigarette pressed between two fingers long after the cigarette itself had died. He couldn’t help feeling that the man had a point, and Rebus was no longer a cop. What did it matter if Bryan Holroyd was out there, picking off his abusers and their abettors?

Yet somehow it did — it did matter. Always had, always would. Not because of any of the victims or perpetrators, but for Rebus himself. Because if none of it mattered, then neither did he. A couple of drunks walked past, their gait unsteady but smiles on their faces.

‘Don’t jump!’ one of them called out.

‘Not today,’ Rebus assured the man, taking out his phone to check who was calling him at this godforsaken hour.

The answer: Cafferty, naturally.

Mid morning, Rebus met Cafferty in a café on George IV Bridge.

‘Are we still keeping up the pretence that you’re staying at the G and V?’ he asked.

Cafferty just stirred his coffee. He had secured a large table by a window looking out across Candlemaker Row to Greyfriars Kirkyard. Rebus, arriving late, hadn’t bothered joining the long queue at the counter.

‘I should have got you one,’ Cafferty said by way of apology, lifting the cup to his lips. ‘I take it you’ve news?’

‘The kid who died — Bryan Holroyd — didn’t really die.’

Cafferty choked the mouthful of coffee down and lowered the cup back on to its saucer.

‘That’s why I wanted us to meet somewhere nice and public,’ Rebus went on. ‘Less chance of you throwing a fit.’

‘What the hell do you mean, he didn’t die?’

‘Miraculous recovery in the boot of the car. When Dave Ritter opened it, Holroyd leapt out and ran into the woods. Ritter and Jeffries went after him but had to give up eventually. They reckoned he would freeze to death.’

‘Bastards, the pair of them.’

‘They were bricking it for weeks in case you found out.’

‘You got this from Ritter? Where’s he holed up? I want a nice long word with him.’

Rebus was shaking his head. ‘Not going to happen.’

‘So this Holroyd kid’s coming after us? After all these years?’ Cafferty didn’t sound convinced.

‘Unless you’ve got a better theory.’

Cafferty was gripping the edge of the table with both hands, as though he might tip it over at any moment. His eyes flitted around the room as his thoughts tumbled, his breathing growing hoarse.

‘No coronaries, please,’ Rebus advised him.

‘There’s got to be a reckoning, John. No way I can let those two shits get away with it.’

‘At least now we have a line on the person we’re looking for. Only problem is, Holroyd seems to have gone off-grid — no sign of a conviction, or a National Insurance number, or taxes being paid.’

‘You sure of that?’

‘Christine Esson did the digging — she’s thorough as any gold miner.’

‘He fled the country then, and has only just come back?’

‘No passport in his name.’

‘Then he’s changed it.’

‘Which makes our job all the harder. Doesn’t help that I’ve only the vaguest physical description, and he’ll have changed a bit in thirty years. There is one thing, though — we’ve got a live one right here in Edinburgh. Or Portobello, if you want to be precise.’

‘Who?’

‘Todd Dalrymple — Ritter told me he was there that night.’

‘But Todd always had an eye for the ladies — the man’s been married three decades or more.’

‘Chief Constable was married too,’ Rebus said.

‘Do we go talk to Dalrymple?’

‘ I certainly do, and you’re invited if you think you can refrain from doing any major structural damage.’ Rebus’s phone was ringing: Siobhan. He got up from the table. ‘Got to take this,’ he said, making for the door. He pressed the phone to his ear as he passed the queue at the counter, a queue that now stretched the length of the café. ‘Yes?’ he said, pulling open the door and emerging on to George IV Bridge.

‘We missed you last night.’

‘That was always a probability. How was the grub?’

‘Good as ever. But here’s the thing — one of their takeaway menus was in Minton’s downstairs hall.’

‘And?’

‘They say they don’t flyer that far from the restaurant. So it’s a bit odd, wouldn’t you say, that there was also one in Michael Tolland’s kitchen?’

‘In Linlithgow?’ Rebus had been wrestling a cigarette out of the packet, but her words stopped him.

‘I had local CID go check,’ she was saying.

‘So what’s your thinking?’

‘If you were scoping a street out, or a particular house, and you didn’t want to look suspicious…’

‘Nobody pays much attention to someone sticking leaflets through doors.’ Rebus put the cigarette packet back in his pocket. ‘You might well be on to something.’

‘I’m heading to Newington Spice to ask the boss a few questions. But in the meantime…’

‘You’re wondering if Cafferty got one too? Easy enough to check — he’s right here with me.’

‘Great.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Malcolm’s dad’s unchanged.’

‘And Malcolm himself?’

‘Isn’t saying much of anything.’

‘Oh?’

‘I get the feeling he’s working on his own theories. I might have to remind him he’s supposed to be a team player.’

‘Do I detect a hint of jealousy?’

‘Your phone must be on the blink. Talk to you later.’

She ended the call. Rebus considered contacting Fox, but what would he say? So he headed back into the café instead. Cafferty had nearly finished the coffee. A couple of female students, one carrying a tray, had paused in front of the table and were sizing up the empty chairs. Cafferty’s glare was deflecting them so far, and when Rebus squeezed past, they shuffled off in search of easier prey.

‘Well?’ Cafferty enquired.

‘Takeaway menus,’ Rebus said. ‘You get them through the door, right?’

‘Pain in the arse they are too.’

‘Ever had any from Newington Spice?’

‘How the hell should I know?’

‘Could we go take a look?’

‘Why?’

‘Siobhan Clarke has a theory she wants to test to destruction.’

‘A theory about Indian restaurants?’

‘And the man who took that shot at you.’

Cafferty considered for a moment, then started getting to his feet. ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘I was enjoying repelling all boarders.’

The two students were retracing their steps, trying not to look too obvious, as Cafferty and Rebus made their exit.

‘So what does it mean?’ Cafferty asked.

They were in Rebus’s Saab, heading from Merchiston to Portobello through sluggish mid-morning traffic. Cafferty was studying the menu from Newington Spice. It had taken them only a couple of minutes sifting through the recycling bin to uncover it.

‘When did it arrive?’ Rebus asked.

‘You’re joking, aren’t you — how am I supposed to know that?’

‘Don’t suppose it matters. Siobhan’s thinking is that the gunman does a recce of each property before making his move.’

‘So we’re looking for a white male in his forties who doles out leaflets for a living?’

‘See? Already we’re hacking away at the undergrowth.’