‘Malcolm was with me.’
‘That’s some choice of dance partner.’
‘On our way out, some of the Tynie lot were heading in.’
‘I’m sure Malcolm proved equal to the moment.’
‘He didn’t back off, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘The world is full of surprises.’
‘One of the doormen calmed things down. Seemed pretty pally with the Crew.’
‘Doormen can be a good source of information. I had a few on my books back in the day.’
‘They can be sources of other things too, though?’
Rebus saw what she was getting at. He gave a slow nod.
‘You’ll probably be pulled in for questioning,’ Clarke went on, changing tack, ‘if only so that Malcolm can have some fun. We’ll be talking to Alan Fleck, too. He’s a car dealer now. Must have required a chunk of start-up money. Lives in a big house in Gullane — that wouldn’t have come cheap either.’
‘And Haggard had a swish flat on the Newhaven waterfront — what’s your point?’
‘Funding must have come from somewhere.’
‘The Scots are canny, Siobhan, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?’ Rebus started to manoeuvre himself out of the booth. He had popped two indigestion tablets from their blister pack and was crunching down on them. ‘I just hope you don’t find my Caribbean hideaway and SLP.’ He straightened up, angling his gaze down towards her. ‘I do appreciate the heads-up, though.’
‘It’s Fleck Malcolm wants. He told me himself — not that he’d thank me for adding you to the circle of trust.’
Rebus mimed zipping his mouth closed and started to make his way out of the café.
‘And go see a doctor,’ she called out to him. As she stuffed her bacon roll into her bag and made to follow suit, the owner called her back.
‘Eight pounds fifty,’ he announced.
Clarke squeezed past the line of workmen, listening to their tuts of disapproval. Well, of course John Rebus had left her with the bill. What else was he going to do?
Out on the pavement, she called Laura Smith. Rebus was walking towards Bruntsfield Links. His shoulders were hunched, and he seemed to be finding each step ponderous. Her heart sank slightly, remembering him as he had once been.
‘I’m okay,’ Smith assured her.
‘Are you going to do anything about it, though?’
‘I’m writing it up right this minute for the Courant. It’ll go live in about an hour. No names, obviously, but at least it’s on the record.’
‘Meaning Pelham will probably see it. You’re sure he knows? If he doesn’t, you’re not leaving him in any doubt.’
‘That’s why the wording’s important. So what have you got on today?’
‘Interviews mostly.’
‘The victim’s friends and associates? That’ll be fun.’ Clarke could hear Smith typing as she spoke.
‘It’s given you your mojo back, hasn’t it?’ she asked. ‘The Courant, I mean.’
‘It really has. Sooner I can monetise my way out of print journalism, the better.’
‘Any blowback from that photo of the Crew?’
‘An email from a certain car dealer’s solicitors, sent via the website.’
‘Cease and desist?’
‘The way they worded it, they might as well have been using a quill.’
‘You’re going to ignore it?’
‘Yep.’ Smith seemed to hit one final key of her computer with a flourish. ‘Worth my while heading to Leith to get a shot of the Tynecastle lot when they start arriving?’
‘My guess is, they’ll be on the lookout for exactly that.’
‘Good point. I’ll maybe stay here with my coffee and biscuits then.’
‘Just don’t get too comfortable, Laura. Ask yourself how James Pelham found out who you are. If he can do it, others can too.’
Leighton and Esson had been dispatched to interview Tommy Oram. When Clarke found out, she phoned Esson and told her to bring him in instead.
‘Isn’t the station going to be busy enough with the Tynecastle interviews?’
‘Always room for one more,’ she said, ending the call.
Fox stuck his head around the office doorway. ‘Ready when you are,’ he announced.
She was ready.
Rob Driscoll sat slouched in the interview room, legs splayed.
‘Interesting,’ Clarke said as she pulled out the chair alongside Fox.
‘What?’ Driscoll asked.
‘Francis Haggard sat in that chair the exact same way as you.’ She paused and watched Driscoll slowly draw himself upright, knees closing, unhappy perhaps to be too closely compared to his friend.
‘Everyone must be in shock,’ Clarke eventually said. ‘At the station, I mean.’
‘Obviously.’
‘And with this being a murder inquiry, we got the permission we needed to empty Francis’s locker.’
‘Find anything juicy?’
Fox extracted a sheet of paper from the file in front of him. ‘Couple of dodgy DVDs — nothing you’d classify as legal. And a passport belonging to a tourist who reported it lost three months ago. I hear there’s a bit of a market for those?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘We’ve also looked at Francis’s phone,’ Clarke continued. ‘DI Fox has a printout of his recent text messages. The very last one was to you, time-stamped the evening he was murdered.’
‘Aye?’
‘You didn’t think to mention it earlier?’
Driscoll shrugged. ‘Can’t see how it’s relevant.’
‘The meeting under discussion never took place?’
‘He failed to get back to me, as you’ll also know from his phone.’
‘And you’d no idea where he was staying?’
‘No.’
‘Absolutely sure about that?’
‘Categorically sure, DI Clarke.’
‘You seemed to think the meeting was urgent,’ Fox added.
‘You know as well as I do he was talking about making spurious claims about his workmates. Only natural we might want to discuss that.’
‘In a frank but friendly manner, I’m sure.’
Driscoll turned his head from Fox to Clarke. ‘Me and DI Fox have a bit of history — did he tell you that?’
‘Your Professional Standards file is in the next room. I’ve looked at it.’
A fresh wariness crept across Driscoll’s face. ‘Thought you’d moved on from Complaints,’ he said to Fox, who answered with a thin smile.
‘Look,’ Driscoll eventually said, ‘of course we wanted him to change his mind. We don’t piss on each other’s chips.’
‘What was your biggest fear?’ Fox asked.
‘In other words,’ Clarke added, ‘when he did start talking, who had most to lose?’
‘I think I need a lawyer,’ Driscoll said after a moment’s consideration.
‘Is that because you want to do a deal?’ Fox asked.
‘It’s because I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you, DI Fox. And right now, I’d throw you over a fence at the fucking zoo.’
‘I assume you’ve got a solicitor in mind?’ Clarke asked. Driscoll nodded and took out his phone.
‘Enjoy yourselves at Elemental?’ he asked them as he made the call.
Clarke and Fox left the room without replying.
They stood next to the kettle, each holding a mug of instant coffee. Most of the desks around them were piled high with box files, those that had been dealt with consigned to the floor by Jason Ritchie’s desk.
‘Tell me about Driscoll and you,’ Clarke said.
‘He rules the roost now, anointed by his old mentor. He’s probably never done anything without Fleck’s say-so. Every time we interviewed him, he’d been coached. But he was never exactly a firebrand — the break-in at Haggard’s, for example, I wouldn’t say that was his style.’