by Ian Rankin
‘We have unidentified partial prints on the handcuffs used to restrain Stuart Bloom. If they did turn out to be the ones Hanratty gave you …’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide, Inspector.’
‘Which is why I’m grateful for your cooperation. Was Mr Madden the cameraman on the shoot?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any notable extras among the cast? Stuart, maybe, or his friend Derek?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Well, thanks for getting in touch.’ Clarke ended the call. She was standing by the open doorway of the room commandeered by Fox and Leighton. Fox was seated in front of his computer, headphones on as he listened to the Newsome interview.
‘Must be nice to have everything given to you on a plate,’ she said, knowing he couldn’t hear her. He was jotting in his notebook, a look of absolute concentration on his face. A dapper-looking man of around sixty was being led up the staircase by a constable. Ralph Hanratty, she presumed.
‘Your timing is impeccable,’ she told him, holding out her hand.
36
Hanratty was seated in the interview room, Tess Leighton across the table from him, when Clarke returned with his requested mug of black sugarless tea.
‘Shabby chic,’ was his summary of his surroundings. Hanratty himself was a peacock by comparison – tailored suit with crimson lining, white shirt and emerald-green tie, gleaming black brogues. His dark hair had had the grey taken out of it. There had maybe even been some cosmetic work done to his face. The skin looked tight, the eyes a little narrower than seemed completely natural. He had brushed a large folded handkerchief across the seat of his chair, and was now rubbing at the rim of the mug, prior to his lips touching it.
‘You used to own Rogues, Mr Hanratty,’ Clarke began. Leighton had opened a new notebook – identical to Fox’s, Clarke noticed – and was ready with a ballpoint pen.
‘That’s correct.’
‘You knew Stuart Bloom and Derek Shankley?’
‘Socially? Not really.’
‘They were regulars at your club, though?’
‘Along with a few hundred other beautiful people.’
‘What were your thoughts when Stuart went missing?’
Hanratty flicked a speck of dust from one trouser leg. ‘I’m not sure I had any particular thoughts.’
‘I’ve seen some photos of Rogues in its heyday – it was quite something.’
Hanratty smiled. ‘It certainly was.’
‘Must have been vexing that the authorities showed so much interest.’
‘It went with the territory, my dear. The council were always trying to find us breaking noise limits; and as for the officers of the law …’ He rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Despite some of your own rank-and-file of the time being among my best customers.’
‘Care to name any names, sir?’
‘I’m not that type, dearie.’
‘These raids, though – you were always warned in advance, no?’
‘Omertà,’ he said, miming running a zip across his mouth.
‘That’s not really acceptable in a murder inquiry, Mr Hanratty.’
‘Well then, let’s just say that the names have been erased from my memory. I met hundreds and hundreds of people; I can’t be expected to remember them all.’
‘But it’s possible that some of the very officers who would raid your club were also part of your clientele?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘We happen to know someone tipped you off, sir.’
‘And you can prove that?’ Hanratty smirked. ‘Of course you can’t. And none of it has any bearing on poor Stuart’s death.’
‘So why do you think he died?’
‘I’ve not the faintest idea.’ He gave Leighton a look. ‘Make sure you record those words exactly as spoken.’
‘You work as a porn merchant these days, is that right?’ Clarke asked.
Another roll of the eyes. ‘Online erotica,’ he corrected her.
‘DS Leighton here did a quick check of Companies House. Seems the other major shareholder in your business is William Locke – would that be the same Billy Locke who was co-owner of Locke Ness Productions?’
‘It would.’
‘So presumably you know Jackie Ness?’
‘I know he needed good-looking people for his films, and sometimes found them at Rogues.’
‘Mr Ness was one of your clients?’
‘God, no. But word would get around that extras were needed for certain scenes. When you tell people they’re going to be in a movie, they sign up gratefully, despite there being no fee, no expenses – sometimes not even a hot meal.’ He paused. ‘Though of course there were benefits.’
‘What sort of benefits?’
‘Let’s just say people tended to be a bit glassy-eyed after.’
‘You’re talking about drugs?’
‘Not unknown in the film industry.’
‘Might explain why Stuart and Derek looked so giggly in the clip I watched. The biggest dealer in the city at that time would have been a man called Cafferty, is that right?’
‘You tell me.’
‘We know he was a friend of Jackie Ness’s. Would he also have supplied your club, Mr Hanratty?’
‘No illicit substances in Rogues, Inspector.’ Hanratty held up both hands in a show of innocence.
‘One young person died of an overdose, I believe …’
Hanratty wagged a finger. ‘Be careful of libel. There was never any evidence those drugs came from anywhere near my club.’
‘The victim had been to your club, though, as had the others who fell ill.’ Clarke paused meaningfully. ‘Bit of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’
‘World’s full of coincidences,’ Hanratty said blithely.
‘Coincidences and connections,’ Clarke stated. ‘Tell me, did you ever appear in one of Ness’s films yourself?’
‘Never.’
‘But you did help out on occasion. For example, Colin Speke asked if you had any handcuffs he could borrow.’
Hanratty glowered at her. ‘Where are you going with this?’
‘You know that Stuart Bloom was found with his ankles cuffed? Doesn’t that strike you as a little … perverse?’
‘I ran a club that was popular with the gay and lesbian community. I wasn’t operating a fucking dungeon!’
‘But you did toy with the idea, didn’t you? A little bit of mainstream bondage? That was why you were able to lend Speke the handcuffs for the film he was helping to make.’
‘And I got them back, too!’
‘Did you?’ Clarke nodded to herself. ‘Mr Speke couldn’t quite remember. So what happened to them?’
‘I’ve honestly no idea.’
‘You kept them, threw them out, loaned them to someone else?’
Hanratty gave a hoot of laughter. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is too fucking delicious. You’ll do anything to throw people off the scent, won’t you?’
‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘Handcuffs means police – everybody outside these four walls knows that. You get wind of a pair of toy fucking handcuffs that might have been within half a mile of Jackie Ness and his crew, and suddenly you think you just might be able to make a gullible public swallow the lie. Who will you leak it to, Inspector? See, you may have used the internet to find out all about me, but that works both ways. When poor Stuart’s body was found, I began to devour the various news reports. And then your name came up, and you’d recently been in trouble for passing confidential information to a journalist at the Scotsman. You’ve been a naughty young lady, Detective Inspector Clarke. So you take your story to the papers and I’ll take mine, and we’ll see who’s the more credible. Nobody believes you any more; nobody trusts you.’
He sat back, happy to close his
mouth and let his words sink in. After a few moments of silence, he turned towards Leighton again.
‘Need me to repeat any of that for you, sweetie?’
‘I think I got it all,’ Leighton said, tearing the sheet from her notebook and ripping it slowly and methodically to pieces in front of him.
37
Sir Adrian Brand had been questioned at home, in the same garden room where Clarke and Crowther had met him. Sutherland had taken Crowther with him, armed with the information on the break-in. This time Brand had his wife by his side, his hand held in hers, while Glenn Hazard stood at a distance, arms folded, ready to pounce whenever he didn’t like the line of questioning.
‘He flat out denied it,’ Sutherland told Clarke when he called her immediately afterwards.
‘He’s lying.’
‘You’re sure this Huston character is reliable?’
‘Gamble and Yeats are with him right now. Let’s see what they say. Meantime, did you ask Brand about what Ness is supposed to have said to him?’
‘He was a bit vague; says he’s no reason to doubt his wife’s version.’
‘Why does he think Ness used those exact words?’
‘He’s no idea.’
‘Lying again?’
‘Not twelve hours ago he suffered a blow to the head. His wife is after a second opinion – private this time. She’s worried the scan might have missed something.’
‘If he pegs it, at least we can put Ness away for something.’
‘Jesus, Siobhan, don’t even say that.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ She gave Sutherland a brief update on the interview with Hanratty.
‘Interesting about the handcuffs,’ he concluded.
‘I’m going to watch the DVD later. At this rate, I’m going to be an expert in lousy movies.’
‘We all need a break, one way or another – either in the case or from the case.’ He exhaled noisily from his nostrils. ‘Hang on, I’ve got another call coming in. It’s the lab, better take it. We’ll be back there in ten minutes tops.’
Clarke put her phone back in her pocket. Tess Leighton was coming up the stairs towards her, having deposited Hanratty in a taxi.
‘Quite the piece of work,’ she commented.
‘Nice touch with the notebook, though.’
‘A page of doodles from earlier.’
‘Well, I’d better let you get back to Malcolm. He’ll be missing your company.’
Leighton gave her a look. ‘It was just dinner, Siobhan.’
Clarke held up a hand. ‘I didn’t mean anything, Tess. I was just teasing. Forget I said it, okay?’
Leighton eventually nodded. Her eyes went over Clarke’s shoulder. ‘Talk of the devil,’ she said. Both women watched as Malcolm Fox approached. He was holding his headphones and the memory stick with the Newsome audio.
‘Singularly unenlightening,’ he confessed. ‘Thank God we’ve moved on from dinosaurs like that.’
‘And like John Rebus, too?’ Clarke enquired.
‘John’s old chum Newsome tries to take a dump on him. He’s not shy about the friendship with Alex Shankley, the drinking, and the history with Cafferty.’
‘Well, at least you have something to tell the Big House.’
Fox fixed her with a look. ‘Don’t worry, any report I make will focus on the facts rather than the fiction.’
‘We were just being accused of doing the opposite,’ Leighton informed him.
‘Oh aye?’
They were interrupted by more footsteps on the stairs. Too soon for it to be Sutherland and Crowther, which could mean only one thing.
‘Nice to see a welcoming committee,’ Brian Steele said, Grant Edwards only a couple of steps behind him.
The Chuggabugs had arrived for their grilling.
Rebus had taken Brillo with him to Restalrig, figuring he looked less suspicious that way. And a few schoolkids did stop now and then to give the dog some attention, attention all too gratefully received. Brillo or no Brillo, however, he learned precious little to add to his store of knowledge about Ellis and Kristen. Darryl Christie had hinted that Cafferty was back in the dope business, always supposing he’d ever left it. Rebus had called Fox, asking for a name at the Organised Crime Unit. He’d then phoned Gartcosh and spoken with Fox’s contact. Cafferty was on their radar, of course he was, but they had no evidence and no surveillance operations against him currently under way. Nothing for it then but to phone the man himself. Cafferty picked up on the fifth or sixth ring.
‘Hell do you want?’ he demanded to know.
‘You sound out of breath.’
‘I’m at the gym. You should try it sometime. Might help you conquer those stairs of yours.’
‘I’m enjoying a spot of exercise right now, actually, walking the gilded streets of Restalrig.’
‘What the hell’s in Restalrig?’
‘It was Ellis Meikle’s patch.’
‘The kid who killed his girlfriend? I’m no further forward.’
‘It’s become a bit of a hobby, digging into old cases.’
‘A solved case, though – where’s the fun in that?’
‘A few ends were left dangling. Maybe I can neaten them up.’
‘And how am I supposed to help?’
‘Ellis and Kristen both indulged recreationally …’
‘Doesn’t exactly put them in a minority round those parts.’
‘Maybe so, but I’m wondering who the seller would have been. After all, who knows you better than your own dealer?’
‘Sounds to me like you’re clutching at straws rather than threads.’
‘I have something to trade.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘If you think you can get me a meet …’
‘Maybe you better tell me what you’ve got first.’
‘I know about Larry Huston.’
‘Now there’s a name from the past.’
‘Jackie Ness asked you if you knew anyone who could crack a safe. You gave him Larry Huston and Huston broke into Adrian Brand’s office. Stuart Bloom took away everything they found.’
‘So what?’
‘So you might have wanted to know what was inside that safe. In any case, MIT are going to want a word. If they knew I’d just tipped you off, they’d buy me a ticket to Siberia.’
‘They can ask me anything they like. I don’t recall anybody reporting a break-in at the time.’
‘Which only makes it all the more intriguing, no? What was it Brand didn’t want anyone knowing had been taken from him?’
‘Maybe you should go and ask him – once he’s recovered from the thumping Ness gave him.’
‘But meantime …’
‘You in your car?’
‘With my faithful mutt for company.’
‘Keep an eye out for a text, then. It could take a while.’
But in fact it was less than ten minutes later when a message arrived. Alley behind Singhs.
Rebus walked with Brillo back to the corner shop where he’d bought the Sunday Post on his previous visit. The alley wasn’t quite a dead end. A high fence separated it from a piece of waste ground at the back of a disused warehouse, the alley itself a dumping ground for discarded TVs and mattresses, at least one of which had been set alight at some point in the recent past. There were two large container bins, obviously belonging to the shop, although one of them, its lid missing, had become home to a trolley from a distant supermarket. A young man stood next to this bin, smoking, using it as an ashtray. He had his phone in his free hand and was texting with a dexterity Rebus could only marvel at. A black hoodie covered the youth’s head and face. He wore faded denims and fashionable-looking trainers that were probably the envy of anyone who knew the brand and price tag.
‘No names, no shit.’ The voice w
as half muffled by the hood. Rebus realised there was a scarf under there too, wrapped around the face up to its nose. A BMX-style bike had been parked against the back wall of the shop, next to the solid metal delivery door. A security camera above had been draped with a polythene bag, rendering it useless.
‘I couldn’t care less about you,’ Rebus replied, slipping a piece of gum into his mouth. He scooped a few dog biscuits from his pocket and dropped them at his feet to keep Brillo busy. ‘I just want to know about Ellis and Kristen.’
‘What’s to know?’
‘They bought from you.’
‘Not much, not often.’ The fingers were still busy. Rebus wanted to snatch the phone away and crush it underfoot, but he guessed that might conclude the meeting prematurely.
‘What did you think of them?’
‘I try not to think.’
‘Maybe something you sold him sent him over the edge.’
The eyes met Rebus’s momentarily. ‘Don’t fucking think so.’
‘I hear weed’s stronger these days than it used to be.’
The head was being shaken slowly but determinedly. Rebus shuffled his feet.
‘So what were they like? You’re about the same age, went to the same school?’
‘Ellis was all right. Never talked much. Kristen was the one that wouldn’t shut up. Probably talk to the mirror if no one else was there.’
‘Was she seeing anyone apart from Ellis?’
‘I told her she should have been seeing me. Didn’t really mean it, though I wouldn’t have said no to a quickie.’
‘I hear she was the queen bee at school.’
‘You heard right.’
‘Meaning popular?’
‘Well, she had her gang around her.’
‘Not universally popular then?’
‘Tongue like a blade. Didn’t shy away from a scrap, either.’
‘Fists and tongue – she ever use anything else?’
‘A real blade, you mean?’ Another shake of the head.
‘How about Ellis?’
‘Seemed to get all his aggression out playing those games of his. Maybe that’s what you should be looking at – the effect of violent gaming on the teenage male brain. Me, I sell the antidote.’
