Saints of the Shadow Bible ir-19

by Ian Rankin

  As Bairstow explained it, the cars had arrived around closing time. One — a red Renault — was cleaner than the other. The drivers of the two vehicles weren’t the ones in charge, however.

  ‘There was another car — the one they all drove off in afterwards. Guy behind the wheel was the one who did the talking and handed over the cash.’

  ‘What did he look like?’ Rebus asked.

  ‘Maybe six feet, well built, short black hair with sort of a widow’s peak.’

  Rebus had only seen photos of Rory Bell, but that was just how he would have described him.

  ‘No name?’ he enquired.

  ‘Not that I heard.’

  ‘What was he driving?’

  ‘New-looking BMW X5. Black bodywork and tinted windows.’

  ‘You didn’t happen to get the licence number?’

  Bairstow shook his head. ‘Wasn’t personalised or anything.’

  They were standing in front of the cars. Rebus recognised the Citroën — the line was still there where he had dragged a finger across its bodywork. The dust sheet that had been covering the Renault was visible through its rear window.

  ‘What about the other drivers?’

  Rebus listened to Bairstow’s description. One was almost certainly the guard from the multi-storey, the one who had left Rebus with a bruise the size of a tea plate.

  ‘They left the keys?’

  Bairstow dug in his overalls and held them up.

  ‘Have you taken a look yet?’

  The man shook his head.

  ‘Sure about that?’

  ‘Completely.’

  ‘Then let’s get both boots open and see what we’ve got.’

  They unlocked the Citroën first. Rebus could smell some sort of oil. There were strips of cloth inside and he lifted one to his nose.

  ‘What do you think?’ Fox asked.

  ‘Been wrapped around something. Maybe guns.’

  ‘Guns?’ The blood drained from the mechanic’s face.

  Rebus lifted the carpeting but found nothing except a spare tyre. Fox meantime had opened one of the rear doors and was feeling around beneath the seats.

  ‘Got any plastic bags?’ he asked.

  ‘In the office,’ Bairstow said.

  ‘Go fetch some.’

  When the mechanic had moved off, Fox told Rebus they really needed a forensics team.

  ‘Agreed. You finding anything?’

  ‘I’ll show you in a minute.’

  Rebus opened the driver’s door and reached across to open the glove box. Nothing inside but a spare set of bulbs. The floor was clean and the door pockets were empty. Bairstow had returned with some small clear bags, the kind bank staff used when counting coins. Fox placed his hand into one of them and used it to pick something up from the floor, folding the bag back over the item, trapping it. Then he held it up for Rebus to examine. An unused shotgun cartridge.

  ‘Boom,’ Rebus said, patting his colleague on the back. He took the second key from Bairstow and unlocked the Renault. Again, there was nothing obvious in the boot, other than the remains of some fine white powder.

  ‘Looks like a bag maybe burst,’ Rebus commented.

  ‘Or someone needed a taste,’ Fox added.

  Rebus dabbed at a little and rubbed it against his gum. ‘Bit of a burn,’ he said.

  Bairstow’s eyes widened further. ‘I didn’t. . If I’d known. . They’ll kill me, won’t they?’ He was beginning to twitch.

  ‘Your name won’t even feature, Reese — don’t worry.’ Rebus took out his phone. The signal was weak, but he got through to Torphichen and asked to speak to Nick Ralph. ‘And I know you probably hear it all the time, but this really is urgent.’

  When Ralph was eventually found, Rebus laid everything out for him. ‘Bell is in a black BMW X5 with tinted windows. We need to grab that car. There’s a good chance it’ll have some goodies in the boot. Plus a few baddies in the front.’

  Rebus watched Fox roll his eyes at the pun. He mouthed the words Get used to it and added a wink. Then, to Ralph: ‘We also need a search warrant for the multi-storey in Livingston. Has to be right away, because there’s some CCTV footage there we can use, if we get it before it self-erases. It’ll probably show the stuff being transferred from the two cars to the BMW.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, John,’ Ralph said. ‘And a forensic team to the scrapyard, yes?’

  ‘Absolutely. Checking for prints and trace evidence.’

  ‘And you’re sure you’ve cleared this with DCI Page?’

  ‘He agrees with me, sir — it’s all the one case.’

  ‘Then I’ll get on to it. Thank you, John.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Oh, by the way — have you pulled the three students in for interview.’

  ‘They were supposed to be here at nine. Tried their phones and sent an officer to Ms Traynor’s flat — no joy.’

  ‘Keeping their heads down.’

  ‘Pretty much as you predicted. Any more tasks for me before I get started with this lot?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Rebus ended the call and tapped his phone against his chin.

  ‘Job done?’ Fox asked him.

  ‘Not quite,’ Rebus decided. ‘But it’s up to you whether you want to see it through. Could get messy.’

  ‘I can always clean up after,’ Fox told him with a shrug.

  ‘Getting to like CID, Detective Inspector?’

  ‘It has its attractions,’ Malcolm Fox conceded.

  Every parking space on Great King Street was taken, so Rebus ended up on the single yellow again. He had explained to Fox that they were going to have a word with Owen Traynor. If he wasn’t there, hopefully Jessica or Alice Bell could provide his whereabouts.

  ‘Alice knew about the body in the boot?’ Fox asked.

  Rebus nodded. ‘Her uncle’s way of letting her know he was taking care of her.’

  ‘Not quite a birthday card with a tenner in it.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Rebus agreed.

  Rebus pressed the bell but there was no answer. He was trying a second time when Fox tugged on his sleeve. ‘Isn’t that. .?’

  He was pointing along the street, towards a black 4x4. Rebus led the way, walking around the car. Tinted windows. BMW X5. No parking fee had been paid and the wardens had already stuck a ticket on the windscreen.

  ‘Shall I phone it in?’ Fox asked.

  Rebus nodded, then tried the boot, though he knew it would be locked. Pressing his nose to the glass, he couldn’t see anything on the back seat. No boxes or bags.

  ‘Someone should stand guard till the cavalry gets here,’ he said, once Fox had ended the call.

  ‘And let you go upstairs on your own?’ Fox was shaking his head. ‘If Rory Bell is in there, his sidekicks might be too. What do you think they’re doing?’

  ‘Best-case scenario, having a pow-wow with Traynor.’

  ‘And worst-case?’

  ‘I don’t really want to think about it.’

  ‘Nobody’s answering anyway,’ Fox commented.

  But as they approached the building, a neighbour emerged, manoeuvring a bicycle ahead of her. Fox sprinted forward, holding the door open. The woman thanked him with a smile as she strapped on her helmet.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, ushering Rebus inside.

  They climbed the three storeys in silence. When they got to the door of Jessica Traynor’s flat, Fox indicated that it wasn’t quite closed. Rebus pushed it open an inch and listened.

  Silence.

  Another inch and he had a view of the hallway.

  No sign of life.

  He let it swing wide and walked in, calling out ‘Hello?’

  The varnished wooden floor creaked beneath him as he made his way along it, passing the bicycles belonging to Jessica and Alice. Again, the door to the living room wasn’t quite closed, so he opened it. Owen Traynor was seated in one of the chairs, head leaning back, hands draped over the sides. He was in shirtsleeves and looked pale and almost drugged
.

  ‘Mr Traynor?’ Rebus said, eyes taking in everything around him. No students, no Rory Bell.

  ‘How did I know I’d be seeing you again?’ Traynor’s mouth seemed parched, his voice brittle.

  ‘Any bother here?’

  Traynor looked at Rebus and shook his head. His eyes were hollow from lack of sleep.

  ‘Been here all night?’ Rebus asked.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Jessica and Alice?’

  ‘I sent them elsewhere. Forbes too.’

  ‘So you could talk to Rory Bell in private?’

  Traynor’s gaze grew more focused, but he decided not to answer. His fingers were beating out a silent rhythm against the sides of the chair. Rebus turned his head towards Fox and indicated that he should take a look around. Then he moved towards the chair and crouched down in front of it.

  ‘It didn’t do any good, you know — moving those cars out of the car park. We got them anyway.’

  ‘I don’t blame Alice, even though she told me I should — after all, she’s the one who got Jessica and Forbes interested.’

  Rebus heard the sound of a vehicle squealing to a stop in the street outside. He straightened up and walked to the window, peering down on to the roofs of two patrol cars, their lights flashing.

  ‘We had a good long talk, all four of us,’ Traynor was saying, almost for his own benefit rather than Rebus’s. ‘Cleared the air. Alice really liked Forbes, but he belonged to Jessica. That was why she started seeing his father — it was the next closest thing. They’re just kids, yeah? They don’t always know what they’re doing. Forbes said he was sorry for leaving Jessica in the lurch the night of the crash. He was planning to run to his folks’ place and fetch help. There was nobody home, and by the time he got back to the Golf, Jessica was already on her way to A and E. .’

  ‘John?’ It was Fox’s voice. He was standing in the doorway. ‘Bathroom,’ he said.

  Rebus walked back along the hall until he found it. Rory Bell lay in the empty white porcelain tub. Fully dressed, his neck twisted at an unusual angle, eyes open and glassy. Rebus felt in the man’s pockets and pulled out a set of car keys. One trouser leg had ridden up, showing a pale, hairless calf. He tugged the material back down again, as if to add the smallest touch of dignity to the scene.

  A scene that would be photographed, swabbed for prints and gone over by a team of SOCOs. The SOCOs Rebus now needed to call. Heart pounding, he walked slowly towards and into the living room. Owen Traynor hadn’t moved.

  ‘Nobody scares my daughter like that, Rebus. Not if they want to live.’

  ‘He didn’t bring anyone with him?’

  Traynor shook his head. ‘Had to be the two of us — I was adamant about that.’

  ‘This was last night? Late last night? And you’ve been sitting here ever since?’

  ‘What else was I going to do?’

  Rebus turned towards Fox. ‘Get a couple of the uniforms from downstairs, will you?’

  Fox nodded and turned to leave. Rebus walked over to the window again.

  ‘He can’t hurt her now,’ Owen Traynor was intoning. ‘I’ve made sure everybody’s safe.’

  ‘When my colleague comes back,’ Rebus explained quietly, ‘you’ll be cautioned. Do you want to call Jessica first and tell her what’s happening?’

  ‘It was easy, you know. Almost too easy — there was no strength in the man. And it almost wasn’t me at all; I was watching it happen from somewhere else. .’

  ‘You should call your daughter.’

  ‘I already did — maybe an hour ago. She said she’d come and help me. She said we could hide the body, or get rid of it somehow. But that wouldn’t do any good, would it?’

  ‘It wouldn’t,’ Rebus said. ‘Not in the long run.’

  ‘I thought about doing myself in, you know.’

  ‘Jessica will be happy you changed your mind.’

  ‘She’s the one thing that stopped me.’ Traynor had joined Rebus at the window. ‘That his car?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s so interesting about it?’

  ‘We’re hoping to find out. The man you killed was no saint, Mr Traynor.’

  ‘Can’t say I’ve encountered too many saints in my life.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Rebus agreed.

  Outside, he used Rory Bell’s key to open the boot of the X5.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Fox gasped.

  A couple of shotguns and their cartridges. A holdall filled with bags of white powder. Thick bundles of what looked like counterfeit cash. Plus a laptop, Rolexes, necklace and brooch — the proceeds from the break-in at the McCuskey house.

  ‘If I didn’t know better,’ Fox mused, ‘I’d say Owen Traynor just did the world a favour.’

  ‘Lucky you know better, then,’ Rebus responded, closing the boot and readying to wait for the SOCOs.

  ‘You two look pretty chirpy,’ Siobhan Clarke said as Fox and Rebus marched into Torphichen police station. She had been waiting for them, so that all three could report to DCI Ralph.

  ‘How’s Maggie Blantyre?’ Rebus asked.

  ‘Shell-shocked.’

  ‘And Dod?’

  ‘His nephew’s coping. Meantime. .’ She fixed her eyes on Malcolm Fox. ‘Solicitor General wants a nice long debrief from you — Philip Kennedy, Billy Saunders, Summerhall. .’

  Fox tried not to look in Rebus’s direction. ‘There’s not much actual evidence. A lot’s going to remain circumstantial.’

  ‘Tell her that,’ she said, leading the way to Ralph’s office. He was behind his desk, but got up to shake hands before gesturing for them to sit down.

  ‘We picked up Rory Bell’s goons,’ he said. ‘They’re in interview rooms one and two. With the charges hanging over them, I reckon at least one will end up telling us the story of the visit to the Justice Minister’s house. Looks like we all got results to be proud of — with the possible exception of DCI Page.’ Ralph was focusing on Rebus. ‘I know you’ve had your share of run-ins with him, but there’ll be a job for you somewhere. Meantime, I hope the three of you have planned a celebration of some kind.’

  ‘On Police Scotland’s tab?’ Clarke asked.

  ‘Doubtful — we’re supposed to be saving money, remember.’

  ‘Then it’ll probably be a Greggs pasty and a bottle of pop.’

  ‘As long as it’s not in office hours.’ Ralph smiled, flicking a hand in the direction of the door to let them know the meeting was over.

  Instead of leaving the station straight away, Rebus went in search of the interview room he wanted. He walked in, identifying himself to the officers who were questioning the guard from the Livingston car park. The man was no longer in uniform. He wore a camouflage jacket and matching trousers. His arms were folded and he was scowling. Seated alongside him was a lawyer, a downtrodden-looking individual holding a cheap ballpoint pen over a lined notebook. Rebus asked the detectives if he could have two minutes. They didn’t look happy about it, but he stood his ground and eventually they exited the room. The lawyer stayed, but that was fine with Rebus. He leaned his knuckles against the edge of the table and loomed over the man who had punched him.

  ‘Remember me?’ he asked.

  ‘You want to take a shot at me, go ahead.’

  ‘In front of your solicitor? No, I’ll get my satisfaction watching you in the dock. Only thing that’ll help you is grassing your boss. It’ll feel like a blow to the guts, but you’ll do it anyway, because it’ll bring your sentence down. But all the time you’re inside, the cons will know what you did. They’ll know you blabbed. That feeling in your guts won’t ever go away. .’ Rebus straightened up, his attention moving to the lawyer.

  ‘Don’t knock yourself out,’ he said, turning to leave.

  That evening, when he returned home, the only parking space on the street was next to a white Range Rover Evoque. As Rebus got out, so did Darryl Christie.

  ‘I heard about Rory Bell,’ Christie said.<
br />
  ‘He won’t be trying any more land-grabs,’ Rebus acknowledged.

  ‘I also hear you had something to do with his demise.’ Christie held out a hand. Rebus stared at it until the young man lowered his arm. ‘Whether you like it or not, I owe you a favour. Any time you want to call it in, I’m at the end of the phone.’

  ‘Right,’ Rebus said, locking his car and heading for his tenement. He paused at the door, key not quite in the lock, and turned his head back towards Christie.

  ‘Is that a serious offer?’ he called out.

  Epilogue

  At four the next afternoon, like clockwork, Peter Meikle emerged from the bookmaker’s on Clerk Street with a disappointed look on his face, a look which only intensified when he clocked Rebus.

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Again,’ Rebus agreed.

  ‘What if I say no?’

  ‘This is the last time, Peter. Just take this ride with me and that’s us.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  Meikle got into the passenger seat of Rebus’s Saab and fastened his belt. ‘Holyrood Park?’ he guessed.

  ‘Holyrood Park,’ Rebus confirmed. Then, signalling to move into the stream of traffic: ‘It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Has there ever been a day it didn’t prey on your mind?’

  ‘I didn’t kill Dorothy.’

  ‘Ach, Peter, of course you did. And in the old days, there would have been ways of dealing with that — for the police, I mean. But things have changed.’

  ‘You still seem to enjoy a bit of intimidation.’

  ‘Is that what this is?’ Rebus glanced at Meikle. ‘But I’m not smacking your head against a wall, am I? And I’m not framing you — planting evidence, altering paperwork. This is just the two of us, out for a drive, having a little heart-to-heart.’

  They were heading towards the Commonwealth Pool. Left at the lights and they would enter Holyrood Park.

  ‘Some stuff’s happened lately,’ Rebus went on, ‘and it’s got me thinking. The good guys are never all good and the bad ones never all bad.’ He offered a shrug. ‘I know that’s not exactly news. But there’s a place where the two meet, and that’s when it can get interesting. It’s like we’re all standing on the same carpet, without bothering to look down at the pattern.’ He glanced towards his passenger again. ‘Does that make sense?’