by Ian Rankin
‘Everything and nothing.’
‘More wisdom from your philosophers?’ Lilley nodded towards Laidlaw’s desk drawer. Laidlaw stared at him.
‘Know why they’re there, Bob, those books?’ The words tumbled from his mouth. ‘It’s because in a room full of detectives, they’ll be seen as clues to my character, and while everyone’s busy trying to decipher their role and meaning, I can get some work done unhindered.’ He had a fevered look to him as he stared at his colleague. ‘I think we’ve been following a string of MacGuffins that’s only got longer as this case has unfolded.’
‘Who the hell’s MacGuffin?’
‘It’s not a who, it’s a what. Alfred Hitchcock uses them all the time. It means a deflection, a false lead. You’re so sure it’s important that you ignore everything around it.’
‘Are you telling me you think you’ve worked it out?’
‘I think I’m maybe close, but I need to find Milligan to be sure.’
‘He’s questioning Archie Love.’
‘Why’s he doing that?’
‘Remember three days ago, Jack? When Love was on our list because he wouldn’t have been happy about his daughter seeing Carter?’
‘Things have moved on.’ Laidlaw made to pass Lilley on his way to the door, but Lilley gripped his arm, just above the elbow. Laidlaw was surprised by how firm the grip was. Bob Lilley had muscle to him as well as heft. It would have served him well back in the days when he had trodden the beat as a constable.
‘After I’ve spoken with Milligan, we’ll go grab a drink,’ Laidlaw said. ‘I’ll tell you my theory then. Deal?’
‘And we’ll set up a night for a meal round at ours?’
‘You strike a hard bargain, Bob.’ Laidlaw looked to where his arm was still being held, waited while the pressure eased and his colleague released him. ‘Noon sharp in the Top Spot.’
Lilley stared at Laidlaw’s back as he left, even half thought of following him. But you didn’t interfere with a force of nature, not if you knew what was good for you.
34
They weren’t gathered in the meeting room of the Coronach Hotel this time, but in the drinking club where Laidlaw had found them playing cards. No card games today, just a table set with a single chair on which sat Cam Colvin. Every other chair in the room had been stacked, giving the clear hint that they were to stay standing. The barman, who had unlocked the door to let them in, had left by that same door. Spanner Thomson looked to Panda Paterson while Mickey Ballater and Dod Menzies exchanged questioning shrugs. Colvin had a mug of coffee in front of him. He took a slurp, placing it on the table afterwards as if repositioning a precious object in its display case.
‘To say I’m disappointed would be the understatement of the year,’ he began, weighing each word by the ounce. ‘One of our best friends and closest colleagues is dumped behind a scabby pub and a week later we’re no further forward. We’ve got to ask ourselves if that’s because one of us isn’t giving it a hundred per cent, which leads me to wonder why that might be the case.’
Mickey Ballater’s attention was on Spanner Thomson. He seemed taken aback when he realised everyone else was looking not at Spanner but at him. They were doing so in imitation of their boss. Ballater met Colvin’s eyes.
‘What’s the game here?’ he asked, brow furrowing.
‘I should be asking you that, Mickey. Have you got a wee thing for the widow, eh? Fancy your chances there now Bobby’s out of the picture?’
Ballater took a step towards Spanner Thomson, both hands curling into fists.
‘Easy, Mickey,’ Colvin commanded.
‘Fuck’s sake, Cam. You’re the one who fancies her – once that dawned on me, I backed all the way off. This is Spanner trying to turn the tables because you’ve got me watching him!’
‘And how did he find out about that, Mickey? I’ll tell you: you and your big fat trap!’ Colvin rose slowly to his feet and came out from behind the table. Both his overcoat and suit jacket had been hung on pegs next to the bar. He was undoing his cufflinks and rolling up his shirtsleeves as he advanced on the group. ‘I need people around me I can trust. Neither of you seems to be fitting that particular bill.’
Ballater’s eyes were on Thomson again, his mouth as thin and firm a line as you would find along the bottom of a ledger. He seemed to make up his mind, throwing himself forward. He had given too much warning, however, and Thomson was already retreating a few steps, his hand sliding inside his coat. As the spanner emerged, wrapped in his fist, Ballater reached into his own pocket, pulling out a cut-throat razor, which opened with a flick of his wrist. Colvin snatched at Ballater’s right arm and twisted it, pulling it up behind Ballater’s back until the man’s knees buckled, a silent cry escaping his throat. The razor clattered to the floor. The forefinger of Colvin’s free hand was pointing in Thomson’s direction.
‘Back in your pocket, Spanner,’ he ordered.
‘It’s John Rhodes’s pocket he’s in!’ Ballater called out.
Spanner Thomson ignored this, his attention focused on the man he’d known longer than anyone else in the city, longer even than his own wife.
‘I need you to back me up here, Cam,’ he said. ‘I need to hear you say it in front of everyone.’
‘Say what, Spanner?’
‘That you trust me.’
‘Doesn’t seem the wisest of moves to trust anyone right now.’ Colvin glanced behind him. Paterson and Menzies had moved to the bar and armed themselves with bottles, ready to smash them, leaving jagged necks only. ‘Easy there, boys,’ he warned, scooping up the razor.
‘Nobody touches my blade!’ Ballater roared. ‘It was my dad’s!’
‘Do him while you can, Cam,’ Thomson spat. ‘Ask yourself who’s more likely to have done away with Bobby. Who’s hungry to sit in that chair next to you? And believe me, even that won’t satisfy him for long.’
‘The pair of you need to shut the fuck up!’ Colvin gave Ballater a shove, stepping away from his immediate orbit, his hand still clasped around the razor’s scuffed ivory handle.
Panda Paterson was at Ballater’s side, helping him to his feet. ‘Easy, Mickey, easy.’
‘I’m not the one that’s tooled up, Panda.’
Dod Menzies had put himself between Thomson and the others. He was holding both hands up as if in surrender, though one of them still held an empty mixer bottle.
‘None of this is helping,’ he said.
‘Cutting that bastard might, though,’ Thomson snarled. Menzies’ free hand had begun reaching towards the raised spanner. The tool came down hard across his knuckles, causing him to gasp. He dropped the bottle, which shattered against the stone floor, and bent over, nursing the injury, muttering curses through gritted teeth.
‘You’re out of order, Spanner,’ Colvin said, his voice hoarse from the sudden adrenaline.
‘As far as I can see, Cam, I’m the only one around here not out of order. And if that’s the way it is, I suppose the only thing left to say is: fuck the lot of you. I don’t want to hear from any of you after today, and if you come looking for me, you better be carrying heavy artillery.’
‘Spanner . . .’
Thomson looked at Cam Colvin. ‘Lot of history, Cam. And you’ve pissed all over it. I’m out.’ He turned and headed for the door.
‘Good fucking riddance,’ Ballater called after him, rotating his shoulder as he checked it for damage.
‘Spanner,’ Colvin repeated without any real force, eyes on the closing door. Ballater had retreated behind the bar, pouring himself a whisky. Menzies was flexing his fingers and wrist, wincing in pain.
‘I need a check-up,’ he said.
‘Surgery’s open,’ Ballater informed him, setting a fresh glass on the bar next to the refilled ice bucket. Menzies plunged his hand into the ice. Paterson arrived alongside him, leaving Cam Colvin to stare at the door as if he could bring his old friend back by sheer force of will.
‘You’re better off without
him,’ Ballater said. He had already regained a measure of composure, as if buoyed by Thomson’s exit.
‘He just needs a bit of time to think,’ Paterson speculated.
‘That would be a first,’ Ballater said.
‘You talk a lot of shite sometimes, Mickey, and you’re transparent with it.’ Colvin was approaching the bar.
‘Sorry, boss.’ Ballater poured another measure before holding out his hand, palm upwards. Colvin hesitated before passing him the razor, its blade folded again. He gave Ballater the hardest of stares, not relaxing until the razor was back in Ballater’s pocket. Then he turned his attention to Menzies’ hand.
‘You okay?’
Menzies lifted his fist from the ice bucket. The knuckles were swelling and beginning to discolour. ‘I think some-thing’s broken.’ He gestured towards Ballater for a refill.
‘When you’ve done that, Mickey,’ Colvin said, ‘I’ve got a job for you.’
Ballater was suppressing a thin smile as he turned from the optics with Menzies’ glass. ‘Anything you say, boss.’
‘That’s good, because what I’m about to say is London.’
Ballater’s face was suddenly a creased question. ‘London?’
‘Couple of business associates there. A deal’s going down and I need eyes and ears in the room.’
Ballater took a moment to process the information. Was this the back of the net or a sending-off? His face said he didn’t have an answer.
‘It’s not for long,’ Colvin assured him.
‘But with Spanner gone, you’re already two men down.’
‘Plenty firepower in reserve, Mickey, don’t you worry.’ Colvin glanced at his watch. ‘There’s a train at noon – gives you time to go home and pack, if you start right now.’
‘Boss, I need to know—’
‘No, you don’t. I’ll have someone meet you off the train. They’ll take you to a hotel and I’ll phone you.’ Colvin paused. ‘Always supposing that’s okay with you?’
Paterson and Menzies were twitching, neither man able to work out if this meant the empty chair had been filled.
‘You’ll be back here before you know it,’ Colvin said. ‘But I need you to be on your way.’
‘If that’s what you want, Cam.’
‘It is, Mickey.’
Ballater considered for a further moment, then finished his drink. ‘I’ll see you around, lads,’ he said to Paterson and Menzies, giving them a wave as he made for the door.
‘Watch out for Spanner,’ Menzies called to him. ‘The man doesn’t forget.’
‘Me neither, Dod, and I’ve yet to see a razor lose a fight . . .’
There was silence in the bar after he’d gone, as if a suspect device had been carted away. Colvin approached the optics and refilled each glass.
‘Are you sure about this, Cam?’ Panda Paterson asked.
‘Time to regroup, lads. I want you to fetch me some fresh blood. Give me your best names and let’s gather them around a table. I want them clever rather than stupid, able to give someone a fright but not Neanderthal. I appreciate it’s a tall order . . .’
‘I might know one or two,’ Paterson conceded.
‘Me, too,’ Menzies added.
‘By the end of the day, then, before the jungle drums start announcing recent departures.’
‘In the meantime, what do we do about Bobby?’
‘Keep digging, keep asking. Somebody out there knows something.’
‘And John Rhodes? After what he did to Betty’s taxis? We’re due him some payback, no?’
‘Are my ears burning?’
They all looked towards the doorway. A man with a heavily scarred face was holding it open while John Rhodes stood there silhouetted by the daylight behind. Both men walked in, the door rattling closed after them.
‘This is unexpected, John,’ Colvin said.
Rhodes was studying Menzies’ hand as it emerged from the ice bucket. ‘Which one did you punch, Spanner or Mickey?’ He smiled for Cam Colvin’s benefit. ‘I was in the car outside, weighing up my options. One of them was to have Gerry here hold shut the door while I torched the place.’
‘I had nothing to do with what happened at the Gay Laddie,’ Colvin stated.
‘And I believe you.’ Rhodes nodded to himself. ‘Which is why I decided jaw-jaw was better than war-war. Now who do I have to French-kiss to get a drink here?’ He had begun walking across broken glass towards the bar.
Colvin looked at the array of bottles below the row of optics. There were only two malts. He lifted the fuller one and released the cork stopper, pouring an inch into a glass and sliding it towards Rhodes.
‘Have one yourself,’ Rhodes said. Then, turning towards Paterson and Menzies: ‘Not you two, though. You can fuck off outside. Gerry will keep you company. If you get bored, you can start comparing cocks. Got to warn you, though, his dad must have been more horse than man.’
The two men looked to Colvin for their instructions. When he nodded, they made for the exit, the scarred man following them out. Colvin was refilling his own glass. He and Rhodes hoisted their drinks at the same time.
‘Here’s to business,’ Rhodes said, eyes fixed on Colvin’s. He took his time as he nosed then sipped and savoured the malt. ‘The taxis had nothing to do with me,’ he said eventually.
‘Who then?’
‘I’ve got my suspicions.’
‘Matt Mason?’
Rhodes gave a look that could have meant anything. ‘I’m hoping to know for sure by the end of the day. I’ll keep you posted.’
‘And I’m supposed to trust you?’
‘That’ll be up to you. But the way you’re haemorrhaging men, any fight between us would be pretty one-sided.’
‘Don’t count on that.’
Rhodes allowed himself a smile. ‘You might like a scrap, but you’re not the fighter you used to be – if you ever were.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘The knife between your shoulders, the one thing everyone knows about you. Funny that when I went asking, no surgery or receptionist knew anything about it. Not that that matters – print the myth, as they say in the trade. But a myth lasts only so long.’
‘And you’re immortal, are you?’
‘Not at all. That’s what separates us, Colvin – I know I’m only as good as the day I’m living.’ Rhodes tapped a meaty finger against the bar top. ‘Meaning this day right here.’ He watched Colvin try to process what he was saying. ‘Bit too philosophical for you? All right, change of tack – what’s the score with Thomson and Ballater? Neither looked too thrilled when they stomped out.’
‘I know you talked to Spanner.’
Rhodes offered a shrug. ‘I like to know what’s going on. CID had him on their radar. I needed to find out how serious that was.’
‘And also whether he was ripe to switch sides.’ Colvin’s eyes were on the door. He was wishing he hadn’t given Ballater back the razor; doubted a broken bottle would be enough against Rhodes. The man had rested one buttock on a stool while Colvin remained on the serving side of the bar, fists bunched on top of a drip tray.
‘You probably think I should have been to see you earlier,’ Rhodes said, ‘paying my respects and keen to convince you Bobby Carter’s death had nothing to do with me?’
‘Not really,’ Colvin answered. ‘Steering clear meant you looked confident, like you could afford to float above it all.’
‘I always knew you had your wits about you,’ Rhodes drawled. ‘Makes me wonder why you insist on surrounding yourself with the people you do.’
‘Same as you and Scarface, maybe. Neither of us likes competition.’
‘That may be a factor,’ Rhodes conceded before finishing his drink. ‘So what do we do now, you and me? Bit of naked wrestling on the floor? Pistols at dawn in Bellahouston Park?’
‘I still need to know who killed Bobby.’
‘I’m not sure I can help you there.’
‘You posi
tive about that?’
‘The stuff that’s been happening since, I’m going to get to the bottom of, but not Bobby Carter. If I take care of that bit of business, do we call a truce?’
‘I’m not totally convinced I believe you about Bobby.’
Rhodes peered into his drink and gave a sigh that would have passed muster on the stage of the Theatre Royal. ‘You know he was thinking of setting up on his own? Bobby, I mean. He wanted to discuss it with me.’
‘Why you rather than me?’
‘Makes sense – if he could get the likes of me and Matt Mason on his side, it would make talking to you that bit easier.’
Colvin shook his head. ‘I’ll tell you what Bobby was doing – putting out feelers, because he had the notion someone was playing both sides.’
‘Are you sure about that? If you ask me, he’d seen too many Mafia flicks and thought the same shit would work in our Dear Green Place.’ Rhodes stared across the bar at Colvin. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if you really knew the guy at all. Maybe you just liked having him around because it meant you got to ogle his wife occasionally.’
Colvin’s eyes darkened and he squared his shoulders. Rhodes disarmed him with a smile as cold as a walk-in freezer. ‘You’ve been spotted at her house, Cam, that’s all I’m saying. Next time you’re there, ask to see Bobby’s map of Glasgow. He didn’t show it to me because I stood him up. But he did show it to Matt Mason. Apparently he was very proud of the way he’d only taken tiny bites out of Mason’s territory and mine. You didn’t fare quite as generously. That’s why he needed Mason and me on board before he brought it to you. You weren’t going to be happy about it, not happy at all. That’s the kind of man you seem willing to raze this city to the ground for. Bear that in mind, eh? Whatever else Bobby Carter was, he was not your Robert fucking Duvall.’
‘You need to leave now before I do something I won’t regret.’
Rhodes slid from the stool, drawing himself to his full height. ‘You come at me or mine, you better believe you’ll regret it.’ His eyes were drawn to the glass strewn across the floor. ‘Bit of tidying-up to do, Colvin. Don’t let me stop you fetching your dustpan.’
