by Ian Rankin
‘You’ll want your solicitor present, of course.’ Clarke turned her attention to Kelvin Brodie. Three hours of B movies played on a laptop with Jackie Ness for company. The look the lawyer gave her would, Clarke knew, warm her during many a long dark night.
43
Rebus sat in his Saab, watching the Meikle house, radio playing softly. After twenty minutes and half a pack of gum, Dallas Meikle emerged, getting into his car and driving off. Rebus locked the Saab, walked to the front door and rang the bell. Seona Meikle opened up, cigarette in hand. The look she gave him was the opposite of welcoming.
‘Do I know you?’ she rasped.
‘I was here a few days back. You saw me chatting to Dallas.’
‘He said you drank at McKenzie’s, but that was pish. I can tell every time he lies.’
‘Had a bit of experience, then?’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’
‘I’m ex-CID. I’ve been given the job of looking at your son’s conviction. I’m assuming Dallas hasn’t said anything.’
She took her time folding her arms, the cigarette hanging from a corner of her mouth. ‘No,’ she finally admitted.
‘Well, Dallas was harassing one of the detectives on the case. She brought me in to help.’
‘Help what?’
‘Examine the evidence; dig down a bit deeper than maybe happened at the trial.’
‘Trying to get him off, you mean?’ Her eyes narrowed as the smoke hit them.
‘Trying to establish what actually happened, and why.’
She shook her head. ‘Bloody Dallas. I knew he couldn’t let it rest.’
‘You think your son did it, Mrs Meikle?’
‘Who else?’
A fair question, but not one Rebus felt like answering. Instead, he slipped his hands into his pockets, keeping his stance casual. ‘I’ve been studying some of the family’s social media,’ he said. ‘Just working out relationships, stuff like that.’
‘Is that legal?’
Rebus fixed her with a stare. ‘I’m wondering why you call yourself Chizzy, Mrs Meikle.’
‘Eh?’
‘When you’re pretending to be a pal of your daughter’s. When you’re having a bit of a snipe at her.’
‘Go fuck yourself.’ She had unfolded her arms and plucked the cigarette from her mouth.
‘She won’t be too happy when she finds out, I dare say.’
The woman had taken a step back and was starting to close the door on him.
‘It’s because she chose her father over you, isn’t it? That’s what’s pisses you off.’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ she repeated.
‘And now you don’t even have Ellis,’ Rebus pushed on. ‘Just you and your brother-in-law, all nice and cosy. But not really cosy at all …’
His last words were called out to a door that had clicked shut. He leaned down and prised the letter box open, withdrawing his fingers rapidly as the cigarette was stubbed down towards them.
‘Attempted assault, Mrs Meikle,’ he called out, receiving in response the familiar refrain, this time from deeper inside the house. Seona Meikle was done with him.
‘That went well,’ Sutherland told Clarke when they returned to the MIT room. Clarke just nodded and told Phil Yeats to take a laptop and the two DVDs to the interview room. Seated behind her desk, she remembered a call she had to make. She found Derek Shankley’s mobile number on the list next to her computer.
‘Yes?’ he answered.
‘It’s DI Clarke, phoning from Leith. I hope I’m not disturbing you?’
‘I’m marking coursework.’
‘I won’t keep you. I was just wondering if the name Larry Huston meant anything to you?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘We think he helped Stuart break into Adrian Brand’s office and steal from the safe there.’
‘Really?’ Shankley sounded bemused.
‘Stuart probably met or spoke with Huston sometime before the break-in. The break-in itself happened just a couple of nights before his disappearance.’
‘Stuart never really talked about work.’
‘No?’
‘He always said what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.’
‘Two nights prior to his disappearance, were you maybe waiting for him at his flat?’
‘Let me think … Yes, probably.’
‘He wouldn’t have got back till late.’
‘His line of work often took him out at night.’
‘Having got the contents of the safe, I’d think he might be elated, a bit more than usual even?’
There was silence on the line while Shankley thought back. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he eventually said. ‘He was quivering all over. Poured himself a whisky, which was unusual. I remember now. I thought he was feverish or something.’
‘And he had a carrier bag with him?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary in that.’
‘Not shopping, though; maybe something he was reluctant to show you?’
‘Could be, I don’t really recall. I know he stayed up late. I woke up when he came to bed. He seemed … a bit cast down. Maybe just tired, I thought. He was okay in the morning.’
‘Did you see the bag after that time?’
‘I don’t think so … Is it important? Maybe it got taken in the break-in.’
Clarke felt her stomach lurch. ‘What break-in?’
‘A week after Stuart vanished, I got a call from a neighbour. Someone had kicked in his door.’
‘What did they take?’
‘Actually, I’m not sure they took anything. I mean, nothing I could identify as missing.’
‘The bag?’
‘I don’t know if it was still there.’
‘Why didn’t you report this, Derek?’
‘The neighbours beat me to it. Police were there by the time I arrived.’
‘Which police?’
‘The kind who wear uniforms and ask to see your ID.’
‘Would that information have been passed to the squad investigating Stuart’s disappearance?’
‘How am I supposed to know that?’
‘You’re not,’ Clarke conceded.
‘Was there anything else, Inspector?’
‘Just one thing. Stuart and you were extras in Zombies v Bravehearts. I saw you on the DVD, remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t suppose the pair of you had taken anything? You seemed a bit … glassy.’
‘Better that than wooden.’
‘You’re not going to get in trouble, Derek. I just need to know.’
‘There was plenty of stuff on set, if that’s what you’re asking. Pills and weed mostly – coke for those who could afford it.’
‘Supplied by a man called Gram?’
‘Now that you mention it.’
‘Ever know his surname?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Could you describe him?’
‘Just … really ordinary.’
‘Local accent?’
‘I think so.’
‘Apparently he had a friend who might have been an extra alongside you.’
‘I can’t help. It was a few days, a long time ago, in a haze of whatever was on offer. Then when Stuart went missing …’ Shankley sighed. ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t remember.’
‘If you do, you know where to find me.’
‘Can you tell me what this has to do with Stuart’s death?’
‘Not at this exact moment. Goodbye, Mr Shankley.’
‘Inspector?’
‘Yes?
‘Would it help to take a look at Stuart’s flat?’
‘What?’
‘His parents hung on to it. I was allowed to c
lear out my stuff, but after that …’
‘They’ve still got it?’
‘According to Dougal Kelly.’
Clarke paused. ‘I didn’t realise you two knew each other.’
‘He interviewed me for the book he’s writing. Told me the place hasn’t been touched in twelve years. Family never wanted Stuart declared dead – maybe Catherine thought he’d come back to it one day.’
‘Could you get me the key?’
‘Best if it’s someone else who asks. I’ve been persona non grata ever since Stuart vanished.’
‘Yet you’ll be in the book?’
‘Not if Catherine gets the final say. I really think the only reason she keeps Kelly around is that he’s become a surrogate.’
‘For Stuart, you mean?’
‘You’ve noticed they look similar?’
‘Maybe.’
‘It’s the eyes, the mannerisms …’
‘I’ll ask Kelly if he can get me the key.’
‘I wouldn’t mind tagging along – if that’s okay. Just to refresh my memory.’
Kelvin Brodie was standing in the doorway, clearing his throat to announce his presence. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Clarke told Shankley, ending the call. She walked towards the lawyer.
‘Might have something for you,’ he said.
Through in the interview room, the film had been paused. Jackie Ness was on his feet, leaning over the laptop screen, palms pressed to the desk.
‘I’m pretty sure,’ he said. ‘Pretty sure.’ He lifted one hand and touched first one face and then another. ‘Those two there.’
Clarke peered at the screen. ‘The zombies with their faces caked in mud and gore?’
‘Real mud, fake gore.’
The eyes were just about discernible, but little else. Height and hair colour were almost impossible to guess.
‘Will they be in other scenes?’ Clarke asked.
‘Look,’ Brodie said impatiently, ‘you’ve got your identification. I’m not sure what further gains will be made by—’
‘It’s a good film,’ Jackie Ness broke in. ‘I’d forgotten that. Still an hour to run.’
‘And Cops v Demons after that,’ Clarke reminded him. ‘Another classic. So, please, do keep watching. Both of you.’ And with a fixed smile for the benefit of the solicitor, she made her exit.
Next stop: Malcolm Fox’s room. If anything, the mounds of paperwork around him had multiplied. He had loosened his tie and the top button of his shirt.
‘Still here, then?’ Clarke said.
‘Managed to convince ACC Lyon I wasn’t quite finished.’
‘Murder inquiry, Malcolm. Got to be more exciting than pushing paperwork around a desk at Gartcosh.’ She saw him sweep his eyes across the contents of the room and gave a smile. ‘Different then,’ she corrected herself. ‘But tell me, with that big forensic brain of yours, anything in this lot about a break-in at Stuart Bloom’s flat?’
‘When?’
‘Week after he disappeared. Neighbours phoned it in; our lot went out to have a look.’
Fox gave a frown of concentration. ‘I’m pretty sure there’s nothing here.’
‘So much for joined-up thinking.’
‘Nobody put two and two together?’
‘Probably reckoned it was opportunist – guy’s not at home, so the place is unguarded.’
‘What did they take?’
‘Derek Shankley reckons very little, if anything.’
‘Any idea what it means?’
‘Maybe that whatever they wanted wasn’t there. Or it was there and they took it.’
‘The contents of the safe?’
Clarke shrugged. ‘From what Derek says, whatever was in that safe didn’t exactly fire Stuart up.’
‘But someone still wanted it back?’
‘Or else didn’t know it was worthless.’ Clarke scanned the room again. ‘Always supposing he didn’t hand it over to Jackie Ness at their final meeting.’
‘What does Ness say?’
‘No break-in, ergo nothing to hand over. Where’s your babysitter?’
‘Tess reckons I’m one of you lot now.’
‘Just the one dinner date so far?’
‘We had a drink last night. It was meant to be a film, but nothing took our fancy.’
‘I should have invited you round to mine for a DVD.’
‘Cops v Demons?’
‘The very same.’
‘Did you glean anything?’
‘Handcuffs very like the ones used on Stuart Bloom.’
‘And?’
‘We may have a lead on their supplier.’
‘A cop?’
‘No.’
‘But they are police issue?’
‘Of a certain vintage. Guy who provided them was a dope dealer.’
‘Cafferty?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He ran the trade back then.’
‘Except he’d gone quiet after those overdoses.’ Clarke paused. ‘So things are pretty hunky-dory with Tess, eh?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘She said anything about me?’
‘I’ve reassured her you’re one of the good guys.’
‘What about the rest of the team?’
‘They know that you and I go way back.’
‘Meaning they’re unlikely to open up to you?’ Clarke nodded her understanding.
‘Sutherland’s had a private word with each of them, though, according to Tess. He’s on your side.’
‘Might end up not being his call.’
Fox caught her meaning. ‘ACU?’
‘Heard anything from them lately?’
‘Steele wanted to know how his interview had gone down with MIT.’
‘Hope you told him: like a cup of cold sick.’
‘I was maybe a bit more diplomatic.’
Clarke pressed her hand against the nearest tower of paper. ‘Is there enough in here to see someone put on a charge?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘But not Steele and Edwards?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Skelton and Newsome?’ She watched him nod slowly. ‘Bill Rawlston?’ He let his hand waver in front of him, meaning maybe. ‘John Rebus?’
‘Oh, John for definite.’
‘Alerting Shankley to the raids on Rogues?’
‘For starters, yes.’
‘You mean there’s a main course?’
‘With cheese and petit fours to follow.’
‘Going to let me peruse the menu?’
‘I don’t think you can afford the prices, DI Clarke.’
‘My credit’s no good?’
Fox sighed. ‘John was trying his damnedest to tie Cafferty to Bloom’s disappearance, even if it meant feeding lies and half-truths to a friendly journalist or two. He was hoping to flush Cafferty out, I think. It didn’t work, but one of the journalists ended up in hospital.’
‘Cafferty’s doing?’
‘A street mugging. But reading between the lines, yes, Cafferty’s doing. The reporter made a complaint about John. John denied everything.’
Clarke digested this. ‘Cops and journalists, eh?’ Her eyes were fixed on Fox’s. ‘It can lead to all manner of complications.’
The silence lay between them until Fox broke it. ‘You know, don’t you?’
‘That it was you leaking to Laura Smith? Of course I know.’
‘She told you?’
Clarke shook her head. ‘Laura always protects her sources – we both know that. But you’re forgetting that it was me who introduced you to her. Who the hell else was it going to be?’
Colour had risen to Fox’s cheeks. ‘I was so sorry ACU went after you.’
‘Not sorry enough to own up.’
‘No.’
Clarke shrugged. ‘Steele and Edwards saw what they wanted to see. They knew I had a relationship with Laura. You were canny enough to keep yours well camouflaged. Then there was my history with John.’
‘They were trying to get to him through you?’
She shook her head again. ‘They want me because they’ve never managed to hook him.’
There was a further silence until Fox cleared his throat. ‘We still pals, Shiv?’
‘Unless you’re bumping me for Tess Leighton – then again, maybe you see her as more than just a pal.’
‘Time will tell. And meanwhile, if you need my help holding anyone’s feet to the fire …’
‘Flames are getting closer to Steele and Edwards,’ Clarke stated, nodding slowly.
‘Their kind usually has an extinguisher to hand.’
‘They might find they’ve all been emptied.’
‘By you?’
‘By John and me,’ she corrected him. ‘I just hope we get to them before they get to me.’ She fixed him with a stare. ‘Remember to keep all this to yourself – just for a change.’
She was watching the colour rise to Malcolm Fox’s cheeks once more when Graham Sutherland put his head round the door.
‘Our presence is requested at St Leonard’s,’ he said.
‘Mollison?’ Clarke guessed.
‘Mollison,’ Sutherland confirmed.
44
DCS Mark Mollison was seated behind the world’s tidiest desk in his office at St Leonard’s police station. There were awards arranged on the windowsill behind him and others on the walls. Siobhan reckoned some probably dated back to schooldays. He’d even framed what looked like his university degree. He offered a seat to neither her nor Graham Sutherland. He’d had time to prepare the frown on his face and the hundred-yard stare.
‘You had a meeting with this Kelly scumbag just before his outburst,’ he said without preamble. ‘A little warning would have been nice.’
‘DI Clarke has assured me—’ Sutherland began, but Clarke took half a step forward, not quite shouldering him aside.
‘Would I be wide of the mark if I guessed it was ACU who told you?’ He didn’t seem inclined to answer. ‘With respect, think about how they could possibly know.’
‘What is it you’re saying?’
