Ian Rankin: Mortal Causes

He looked inside the crate.

"Yet the current inventory shows twelve AK 47s, and that's how many are here.’

'Twelve,' Abernethy confirmed, as Rebus got out the sheet of paper and handed it to Kilpatrick.

'Then you must have made a mistake,' said Kilpatrick.

'No, sir,' said Rebus, 'with all due respect. I've checked with Special Branch. They hold a record of the original delivery. Two dozen AK 47s. The other dozen are missing. There's other stuff too: a rocket launcher, some of the ammo…’

'You see, sir,' said Abernethy, 'normally nobody would bother to backtrack, would they? The stuff is going for disposal, and there's a chitty says everything checks. No one ever looks back down the line.’

'But it's impossible.’

Kilpatrick still held the sheet of paper, but he wasn't looking at it.

'No, sir,' said Rebus, 'it's dead easy. If you can alter the record. You're in charge of this load, it's your name on the sheet.’

'What are you saying?’

Rebus shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets. 'The surveillance on the American, that was your operation too, sir.’

'As requested by you, Inspector.’

Rebus nodded. 'And I appreciated it. It's just, I can't understand a few things. Such as how your trusted team from Glasgow didn't spot me and a friend of mine having a drink with Clyde Moncur and his wife.’

'What?’

'The details you gave me, sir, there was nothing about that. I didn't think there would be. That's partly why I did it. Nor was there any mention of a meeting between Clyde Moncur and Frankie Bothwell. All your men say is that Moncur and his wife go for walks, see the sights, act the perfect tourists. But there is no surveillance, is there? I know because I put a couple of colleagues onto Moncur myself. You see, I knew something was up the minute I met Inspector Abernethy here.’

'You put an unofficial surveillance on Moncur?’

'And I've the pictures to prove it.’

On cue, Abernethy rustled a white paper bag, one side of which was clear cellophane. The black and white photos could be seen inside.

'There's even one here,' Abernethy said, 'of you meeting Moncur in Gullane. Maybe you were talking about golf?’

'You must have promised The Shield some of these arms before I came along,' Rebus went on. 'You brought me into the investigation to keep an eye on me.’

'But why would I bring you here in the first place?’

'Because Ken Smylie asked you to. And you didn't want to raise his suspicions. There's not much gets past Ken.’

Rebus had expected Kilpatrick to deflate, but he didn't, if anything he grew bigger. He plunged his hands into his jacket pockets and slid his shoulders back. His face showed no emotion, and he wasn't about to talk.

'We've been looking at you for a while,' Abernethy continued. 'Those Prod terrorists you let slip through your fingers in Glasgow…’

He shook his head slowly. 'That's one reason we moved you from Glasgow, to see if you could still operate. When news of the six-pack reached me, I knew you were still lending a hand to your friends in The Shield. They've always relied on inside help, and by Christ they've been getting it.’

'You thought it was a drugs hit,' Kilpatrick argued.

Abernethy shrugged. 'I'm a good actor. When you seconded Inspector Rebus, I knew it was because you saw him as a threat. You needed to keep an eye on him. Luckily he came to the same conclusion.’

Abernethy peered into the bag of photographs..’And here's the result.’

'Funny, sir,' said Rebus, 'when we were talking about' Sword and Shield, the old Sword and Shield I mean, you never mentioned that you were a member.’

'What?’

'You didn't think there were any records, but I managed to track some down. Back in the early '60s you were in their youth league. Same time Frankie Bothwell was. Like I say, funny you never mentioned it.’

'I didn't think it was relevant.’

'Then I was attacked by someone trying to put me out of the game. The man was a pro, I'd swear to that, a streetslugger with a cutthroat razor. He had a Glasgow accent. You must have met a few hard men during your stint over there.’

'You think I hired him?’

'With all respect,' Rebus locked eyes with Kilpatrick, 'you must be off your rocker.’

'Madness comes from the head, not the blood, not the heart.’

Kilpatrick rested against a box. 'You think you can trust Abernethy, John? Well, good luck to you. I'm waiting.’

'For what?’

'Your next gimmick.’

He smiled. 'If you wanted to make a case against me, we wouldn't be meeting like this. You know as well as I do that a filing mistake and an innocent photograph don't make a case. They don't make anything.’

'You could be kicked off the force.’

'With my record? No, I might retire early, say on health grounds, but no one's going to sack me. It doesn't happen that way, I thought two experienced officers would know that. Now answer me this, Inspector Rebus, you set up an illicit surveillance: how much trouble can that get you in? With your record of insubordination and bucking the rules, we could kick you off the force for not wiping your arse properly.’

He rose from the box and walked to the edge of the lorry, then dropped to the ground and turned towards them. 'You haven't proved anything to me. If you want to try your act with someone else, be my guests.’

'You cold bastard,' Abernethy said. He made it sound like a compliment. He walked to the edge of the lorry and faced Kilpatrick, then slowly began to pull his shirt out from his trousers. He lifted it up, showing bare flesh and sticking plasters and wires. He was miked up. Kilpatrick stared back at him.

'Anything to add, sir?’

Abernethy said. Kilpatrick turned and walked away. Abernethy turned to Rebus. 'Quiet all of a sudden, isn't it?’

Rebus leapt from the lorry and walked briskly to the door. Kilpatrick was getting into his car, but stopped when he saw him.

'Three murders so far,' Rebus said. 'Including a police officer, one of your own. That's a madness of the blood.’

'That wasn't me,' Kilpatrick said quietly.

'Yes, it was,' Rebus said. 'There'd be none of it without you.’

'I don't know how they got to Calumn Smylie.’

'They hack into computers. Your secretary uses one.’

Kilpatrick nodded. 'And there's a file on the operation in the computer.’

He shook his head slowly. 'Look, Rebus…’

But Kilpatrick stopped himself. He shook his head again and got into the car, shutting the door.

Rebus bent down to the driver's-side window, and waited for Kilpatrick to wind it down.

'Abernethy's told me what it's about, why the loyalists are suddenly arming themselves. It's Harland and Wolff.’ This being a shipyard, one of the biggest employers in the province, its workforce predominantly Protestant. 'They think it's going to be wound up, don't they? The loyalists are taking it as a symbol. If the British government lets Harland and Wolff go to the wall, then it's washing its hands of the Ulster Protestants. Basically, it's pulling out.’

Hard to know whether Kilpatrick was listening. He was staring through the windscreen, hands on the steering wheel. 'At which point,' Rebus went on anyway, 'the loyalists are set to explode. You're arming them for civil war. But worse than that, you've armed Davey Soutar. He's a walking anti-personnel mine.’

Kilpatrick's voice was hard, unfeeling. 'Soutar's not my problem.’

'Frankie Bothwell can't help. Maybe he could control Soutar once upon a time, but not now.’

'There's only one person Soutar respects,' Kilpatrick said quietly, 'Alan Fowler.’

'The UVF man?’

Kilpatrick had started the engine.

'Wait a minute,' said Rebus. As Kilpatrick moved off, Rebus kept a grip of the window-frame. Kilpatrick turned to him.