‘If you do fancy joining us one day,’ Fleck went on, ‘I can promise you’d be treated royally.’
Rebus reached across and grabbed a handful of the man’s coat. ‘I’m sod all to do with any of it, Alan, got that?’
Fleck’s salesman veneer melted away. The ice Rebus remembered from incidents past was back in his eyes and his voice. ‘All those bottles of malt, John. The restaurant bills torn in half at the end of a blowout. Ringing any bells?’
‘I did you the occasional favour as a mate. End of.’
‘Well, obviously not end of or you wouldn’t be here.’ Fleck shrugged himself free of Rebus’s grip. ‘The Crew aren’t too happy about Francis, I can tell you. They’ve tried reaching out to him but been snubbed. Lot of discontent at Tynie.’
‘My heart bleeds.’
‘I assume he’s got as far as naming names, yours among them. Mine too, no doubt.’ Fleck exhaled noisily and at length. ‘So what do we do now, John?’
‘You tell me. There’s a warrant out for him so he’s gone silent and deep.’
‘Otherwise we could have one of our famous quiet words.’ Fleck leaned back in the leather-upholstered seat. ‘How are things otherwise? Managed to steer clear of the virus? Retirement suiting you?’
‘You need to take care of this, Alan,’ Rebus said quietly but determinedly.
‘Plenty other actors involved, John, some of them still on the force. I reckon you’ll be a footnote if you’re anything at all.’
Rebus was shaking his head. ‘The high-ups are taking an interest. They’ve brought a DI called Fox in from Gartcosh.’
‘I know Fox.’
‘Thought you might. Well, he’s no longer Complaints, but he still has the mentality, and that means he loves nothing better than using the likes of you and me as his personal crapper. Police Scotland want minimal collateral damage from this. Best way to achieve that is to zero in on a few old warriors. That way they can say lessons have been learned, we don’t work like that these days. We’ll be statues they can pull down to appease the mob.’
‘Point taken.’ Fleck was running his fingers up and down his clean-shaven face, staring through the windscreen as if studying a multi-routed signpost. ‘I can try phoning him again — though he’s taken to not answering. You’re sure he’s not at the flat?’
‘He’s renting a place on Constitution Street. There are eyes on it.’
‘Constitution Street? Why there?’
‘Family home’s off limits.’
Fleck thought for a moment. ‘His best mate at Tynie is Rob Driscoll. Could be sleeping on his sofa. I can ask.’
‘Now?’
‘Don’t think I’ve got his number on me, but I can find it easily enough. Leave it with me.’ He took out his phone. ‘Give me yours so I can let you know the upshot.’
‘It’s the same one I’ve always had.’
Fleck watched as Rebus held up his own phone. ‘Same handset, too.’ He gave a snort, but his smile quickly faded. ‘The Crew think of themselves as just that, John — a crew. United we stand, et cetera. The thought that Francis might start grassing them up... Could get very ugly, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘I’m relying on you to stop that happening.’
‘You say that, but I can’t help wondering...’
‘What?’
‘You, me and everybody else — best result all round is if Francis Haggard just stops talking. Giving him a fright might do that. You know I’m right, I can see it behind your eyes. I don’t suppose we’re the only ones thinking that way either. I’ve seen people try to cross the Crew before. It never turns out well for them.’ Fleck paused. ‘But then I don’t need to tell you that, John, do I?’
Rather than answer, Rebus got out of the Mercedes, leaving the passenger door open and walking along the row of covetable vehicles towards the relative safety of his old Saab.
8
Having led the two detectives up the staircase, Stephanie Pelham raised an open bottle of wine and gave it a waggle.
‘Bit early for me,’ Siobhan Clarke said with a meaningful glance towards Christine Esson.
‘How about a pot of tea?’ Esson said, taking the hint. ‘I’ll make it.’ She headed for the kitchen while Clarke walked towards where Cheryl Haggard was seated, knees tucked under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs, as if in an attempt to make herself as insignificant as possible. The chair she sat in was big and squishy and lacked arms. It sat in a corner of the room by the window, though she showed no interest in the panorama beyond.
‘You doing okay?’ Clarke asked her, receiving a slow nod of reply.
‘Neither of us got much sleep,’ her sister said. ‘Every hour I was checking the doors and windows. You’ve not found him yet?’
‘I wanted to take another look at the footage. Maybe you could talk me through what we’re not hearing?’
‘Swear to God, I’m getting someone in to wire the system for sound.’ Pelham looked around for her iPad, eventually spotting it under a TV remote. ‘To think that when James ordered it, I told him he was wasting his money.’ She sat at the table and busied herself finding the recording. Esson appeared carrying a tea tray.
‘Couldn’t find any sugar,’ she said.
‘Neither of us takes it,’ Pelham said.
‘Then we’re fine.’ Esson took a mug over to the chair. When Haggard showed no interest, she placed it on the floor next to her.
At the table, Pelham angled the iPad towards the two detectives.
‘This is from the outside camera. He climbed over the bloody gates while the four of us were in here. Hid himself behind the bins. Hang on, I’ll fast-forward.’ She did so, but overshot and had to go back. ‘That’s you and Gina leaving.’ She looked at Clarke. ‘He walks to the door, tries it, and then rings the bell. I thought you’d forgotten something, so I didn’t even check the spyhole. I won’t make that mistake again.’
She talked them through the home invasion, her jaw tightening as she relived the incident.
‘He seems to be listening at the bedroom door,’ Clarke commented at one point. ‘Is Cheryl talking to him?’
‘Telling him to sod off,’ Pelham stated. But Clarke had noticed Cheryl Haggard raise her head slightly to look in her sister’s direction.
‘Are you sure about that, Stephanie?’ Clarke asked.
‘Of course.’
‘I told him we’d talk — not right then, but sometime.’ Cheryl’s voice caused all three of them to turn towards her.
‘Which would be a huge mistake,’ Pelham stressed.
Cheryl unfolded herself, picked up her mug and joined them at the table. She seemed interested in the iPad.
‘You sure?’ her sister asked solicitously, receiving a nodded reply. Not that there was much more to see. The whole drama had lasted only a couple of minutes.
‘What’s happening now?’ Clarke enquired as Francis Haggard stabbed his finger towards his sister-in-law.
‘He’s warning me off,’ Pelham said, her free hand reaching to her neck. ‘I thought he was going to attack me. It had my stomach doing somersaults. I thought I was going to throw up on the spot.’ She drew in a deep breath. They all watched as Haggard wrenched the phone from her grasp, Stephanie touching her wrist at the memory of it. ‘And then he leaves,’ she said. ‘Back down the driveway and over the gates. So much for security, eh?’