‘Who Cafferty says was seen in the vicinity of the QC Lettings office and whose son just happens to work for them,’ Rebus said.
‘Hang on,’ Gamble broke in. ‘I know that name — Cafferty had him topped four or five years back.’
‘Turns out not to be the case,’ Rebus enlightened him. ‘Jack Oram was living and breathing right here in Edinburgh three weeks ago. And by the way, the guy who owns QC Lettings, Fraser Mackenzie, was trying to get past the cordon earlier so he could check his property. Haggard was renting one of the best flats on the company’s books.’
‘Food for thought,’ George Gamble concluded, drumming his fingers against his shirt front.
Clarke checked a text that had just arrived. ‘On their way back from the fiscal’s office,’ she announced to the room. Her eyes fixed on Rebus.
‘Time to skedaddle, eh?’ he said. ‘Thanks for the tea, Christine. Keep practising.’ He rose to his feet, Clarke following him from the room.
‘What do you think it all means?’ she asked once they were out of earshot. He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Jack Oram,’ she persisted. ‘What is it Cafferty wants with him exactly?’
‘I thought I had half an idea, but now I’m not so sure,’ Rebus confessed.
‘What is it you thought you knew?’
‘He said he wanted to say sorry for making the guy’s life hell.’
‘Doesn’t sound like Cafferty.’
‘A tick-box exercise so he can show St Peter he’s tried his best.’
‘That’s the version he wants to sell you — are you still in the market?’
‘I’m thinking there has to be more to it.’
‘So are you sticking with it to track down Oram or to get to the bottom of why Cafferty asked in the first place?’
‘You’re not as daft as you look, are you?’
‘I have my moments. So Jack Oram connects to QC Lettings through his son — which is why you had me run a check on him?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘And where does Francis Haggard fit in?’
‘Right now, I’m not sure he does.’
She stopped in front of him. ‘You know what I’m going to say next?’
‘I need to leave it to the professionals, not get involved, not take a stick to any wasps’ nests?’
‘I knew I could save my breath, just as I know you won’t pay any heed. But John — just ca’ canny, eh?’
‘How do you think I’ve lived so long?’
‘Sometimes I think the answer to that is a vast amount of sheer bloody luck.’ She dug her phone out, opened a page, and held the screen towards him. ‘Taken last night, outside a bar in Fountainbridge. This is one reason why we’re fielding so many calls. I’m assuming you’ll know both faces.’
‘I know them,’ Rebus said, scanning the accompanying paragraph. ‘Let’s catch up for a drink later if you’ve got time.’
‘There’s a line in the sand, John, remember that. I’m the cop here, not you.’
‘I don’t know why people feel the need to keep reminding me.’
‘Don’t you?’
He gave her a parade-ground salute as he headed back down the staircase.
As Elizabeth Mackenzie turned into her street in Cramond, she reached down towards the storage area below the central console, her fingers picking out the little black box that opened her gates. When she looked up, however, a car was parked across her driveway, blocking entry. She stopped in front of it, knowing better than to get out. Instead, she watched as a tall young man emerged from the driver’s side. He wore an unthreatening demeanour and casual clothes, and approached as if their meeting like this was the most natural thing in the world, leaning down so his face was level with hers. Then he tried the door handle, but she had already engaged the locks. He gestured for her to lower the window. Eventually she slid it down a couple of centimetres, nothing like enough for an arm to reach in and grab her.
‘Mrs Mackenzie?’ he enquired politely.
‘What do you want?’
‘Mr Cafferty would like a word.’
She relaxed a little. ‘He can have several. I’m just not sure he’d want to hear them.’
‘You’ll appreciate that he’s not as able to get out and about as he once was, so I said I’d bring you to him.’
‘And how do you plan to do that?’
‘By being courteous?’ The smile slipped from his face. ‘At least to start with.’
Elizabeth Mackenzie narrowed her eyes. ‘I know who you are now. You used to work for Darryl Christie. When he got put away, you sold yourself to a man he loathes.’ She moved her face closer to the glass. ‘Does Darryl know you belong to Cafferty now? I hear he’s pretty well informed for a man spending life behind bars. Andy — that’s your name, right?’
‘Andrew,’ he corrected her.
‘Is that because you’re all grown up these days?’ She shaped her lipsticked mouth into a pout.
‘Mr Cafferty only needs five minutes of your time,’ Andrew persisted.
‘Then tell him to call me.’
‘He’d rather meet.’
‘Are you going to move that heap of junk?’ She gestured towards the car blocking the gates.
‘Only once you’re in the passenger seat.’
‘We’re going to be here a while then.’ She heard the noise of an approaching vehicle and glanced into her rear-view mirror. ‘Or maybe not,’ she said with a smile.
The Range Rover pulled to a halt behind her, her daughter emerging from the passenger seat. A couple of seconds later, the driver climbed out. He was broad-shouldered and shaven-headed, and he examined the man in front of him the way a predator would its prey, alert to any weakness.
‘What’s going on?’ Gaby Mackenzie asked. She was a good foot shorter than the man who was now backing away from her mother’s car, his eyes on her companion, who was moving with seemingly infinite slowness towards him, hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation. Elizabeth Mackenzie unlocked her door and stepped out.
‘It’s fine, C,’ she said, causing the shaven-headed man to pause. All three of them watched Andrew retreat into his car and reverse it onto the roadway. He didn’t give them so much as a glance as he drove away.
‘Mum?’ Gaby asked, brow furrowed.
‘It’s nothing,’ Elizabeth Mackenzie answered.
‘Oh, it’s definitely something.’
She touched her daughter’s cheek. ‘Let’s keep it between us for now, eh? No telling your father.’ She got back into her car, clicked the button, and waited for the gates to do their thing.
‘I know him,’ the man called C told Gaby Mackenzie as he stared along the road. ‘I’ve seen him around.’
‘Who is he?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Can you find out?’ She stared at him intently as he slowly nodded.
‘Good,’ she said, striding back to the car and climbing in.
Rebus had tucked the Saab in between two anonymous grey vans in the mortuary car park. Staff joked that the building was sited in the dead centre of Edinburgh, and they weren’t far wrong. Cowgate was central and yet easy to ignore, being a canyon over which both South Bridge and George IV Bridge passed, the mortuary itself an anonymous modern slab flanked by clubs and pubs. No one staggering late at night from any of these establishments could know that so many corpses lay in chilled stillness close by. The older Rebus got, the less he relished being in its vicinity. He was starting to think he might have to head inside when the staff door opened, Deborah Quant rummaging in her bag for her Lexus key fob.
Bingo.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said, climbing out of his car. She’d had her red hair cut short since they’d last met, a drink at a wine bar where she’d told him there was someone else in her life. ‘The new style suits you,’ he added, nodding towards her head.