Ian Rankin - Mortal Causes

`I usually only meet shit when I wipe my arse.’

That took the smile off Bothwell's face.

`Inspector Abernethy,' Rebus said, `is Special Branch. He's here investigating The Shield.’

'The Shield?’

`No need to be coy, Mr Bothwell. You're not being charged, not yet. We just want you to know we're on to you in a big way.’

`And we're not about to let go,' Abernethy said on cue.

`Though it might help your case if you told us about Davey Soutar.’

Rebus placed his hands in his lap and waited. Abernethy lit a cigarette and blew the smoke across the strewn desk. Frankie Bothwell looked from one man to the other and back again.

'Is this a joke? I mean, it's a bit early for Halloween, that's when you're supposed to scare people without any reason.’

Rebus shook his head. 'Wrong answer. What you should have said was, "Who's Davey Soutar?”

‘Bothwell sat back in his chair. 'All right then, who's Davey Soutar?’

'I'm glad you asked me that,' said Rebus. `He's your lieutenant. Maybe he's also your recruiting ofcer. And 'now he's on the run. Did you know he's been keeping back some of the explosives and guns for himself? We've got a confession.’

It was a blatant lie, and caused Bothwell to smile. That smile sealed Bothwell's guilt in Rebus's mind.

`Why have you been funding the Gar-B youth centre?’ he asked. `Is it a useful recruiting station? You took the name Cuchullain when you were an anarchist. He's the great Ulster hero, the original Red Hand. That was no accident. You were dismissed from the Orange Lodge for being a bit over-zealous. In the early ' 70s your name was linked to the Tartan Army. They used to break into Army bases and steal weapons. Maybe that's what gave you the idea.’

Bothwell was still smiling as he asked, `What idea?’

'You know.’

`Inspector, I haven't understood a word you've said.’

`No? Then understand this, we're a bollock-hair's breadth away from you. But more importantly, we want to find Davey Soutar, because if he's gone rogue with rifles and plastic explosives…’

'I still don't know what you're-.’

Rebus jumped from his seat and grabbed Bothwell's lapels, pulling him tight against the desk. Bothwell's smile evaporated.

`I've been to Belfast, Bothwell, I've spent time in the North. The last thing that place needs is cowboys like you. So put away your forked tongue and tell us where he is!' Bothwell wrenched himself out of Rebus's grip, his lapel tearing down the middle in the process. His face was purple, eyes blazing. He stood with his knuckles on the edge of the desk, leaning over it; his face close to Rebus's.

'Nobody meddles wi' me!' he spat. 'That's my motto.’

`Aye,' said Rebus, `and you know the Latin for it too. Did you get a kick that night in Mary King's Close?’

'You're crazy.’

'We're the police,' Abernethy said lazily. 'We're paid to be crazy, what's your excuse?’

Bothwell considered the two of them and sat down slowly. 'I don't know anyone called Davey Soutar. I don't know anything about bombs or Sword and Shield or Mary King's Close.’

'I didn't say Sword and Shield,' said Rebus. 'I just said The Shield.’

Bothwell sat in silence.

'But now you mention it, I see your father the minister was in the original Sword and Shield. His name's on file. It was an offshoot of the Scottish National Party; I don't suppose you know anything about it?’

'Nothing.’

'No? Funny, you were in the youth league.’

'Was I?’

'Did your dad get you interested in Ulster?’

Bothwell shook his head slowly. 'You never stop, do you?’

'Never,' said Rebus.

The door opened. The two bouncers from the main door stood there, hands clasped in front of them, legs apart. They'd obviously been to the bouncers' school of etiquette. And, just as obviously, Bothwell had summoned them with some button beneath the lip of his desk.

'Escort these bastards off the premises,' he ordered.

'Nobody escorts me anywhere,' said Abernethy, 'not unless she's wearing a tight skirt and I've paid for her.’

He got up and faced the bouncers. One of them made to take his arm. Abernethy grabbed the bouncer at the wrist and twisted hard. The man fell to his knees. There wasn't much room for the other bouncer, and he looked undecided. He was still looking blank as Rebus pulled him into the room and threw him over the desk. Bothwell was smothered beneath him. Abernethy let the other bouncer go and followed Rebus outside with a real spring in his step, breathing deeply of Edinburgh's warm summer air. 'I enjoyed that.’

'Aye, me too, but do you think it worked?’

'Let's hope so. We're making liabilities of them. I get the feeling they're going to implode.’

Well, that was the plan. Every good plan, however, had a fall-back. Theirs was Big Ger Cafferty.

'Is it too late to grab a curry?’

Abernethy added.

'You're not in the sticks now. The night's young.’

But as Rebus led Abernethy towards a good curry house, he was thinking about liabilities and risks… and dreading tomorrow's showdown.

The day dawned bright, with blue skies and a breeze which would soon warm. It was expected to stay good all day, with a clear night for the fireworks. Princes Street would be bursting at the seams, but it was quiet as DCI Kilpatrick drove along it. He was an early riser, but even he had been caught by Rebus's wake-up call.

The industrial estate was quiet too. After being cleared by the guard on the gate, he drove up to the warehouse and parked next to Rebus's car. The car was empty, but the warehouse door stood open. Kilpatrick went inside.

'Morning, sir.’ Rebus was standing in front of the HGV.

'Morning, John. What's with all the cloak and dagger?’

'Sorry about that, sir. I hope I can explain.’

'I hope so too, going without breakfast never puts me in the best of moods.’

'It's just that there's something I had to tell you, and this seems as quiet a place as any.’

'Well, what is it?’

Rebus had started walking around the lorry, Kilpatrick following him. When they were at the back of the vehicle, Rebus pulled on the lever and swung the door wide open. On top of the boxes inside sat Abernethy.

'You didn't warn me it was a party,' Kilpatrick said.

'Here, let me help you up.’

Kilpatrick looked at Rebus. 'I'm not a pensioner.’

And he pulled himself into the back, Rebus clambering after him.

'Hello again, sir,' Abernethy said, putting his hand out for Kilpatrick to shake. Kilpatrick folded his arms instead.

'What's this all about, Abernethy?’

But Abernethy shrugged and nodded towards Rebus.

'Notice anything, sir?’ said Rebus. 'I mean, about the load.’

Kilpatrick put on a thoughtful face and looked around. 'No,' he said finally, adding: 'I never was one for party games.’

'No games, sir. Tell me, what happens to all this stuff if we're not going to use it in a sting operation?’

'It goes to be destroyed.’

'That's what I thought. And the papers go with it, don't they?’

'Of course.’

'But since the stuff has been under our stewardship, those papers will be from the City of Edinburgh Police?’

'I suppose so. I can't see 'You will, sir. When the stuff came here, there was a record with it, detailing what it was and how much of, it there was. But we replace that record with one of our own, don't we? And if the first record goes astray, well, there's always our record.’

Rebus tapped one of the boxes. 'There's less here than there was.’

'What?’

Rebus lifted the lid from a crate. 'When you showed me around before with Smylie, there were more AK 47s than this.’

Kilpatrick looked horrified. 'Are you sure?’