‘Long enough.’
‘I was stationed here for a while when I was about your age. Place was falling down then, and nothing seems to have changed.’
‘Attitudes have,’ King offered.
‘Did you hear that, John?’ Fleck said. ‘That’s us being put in our place.’
Malcolm Fox was standing at the top of the stairs. He ignored Fleck, his attention fixed on Rebus.
‘What’s he doing here?’ he asked. Colour began to flood King’s cheeks.
‘Said he has a meeting with DI Clarke.’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Rebus offered. ‘You’d be summoning me eventually, so I thought I’d save you the trouble. Siobhan in there?’ He gestured towards the MIT office. ‘I’ll leave you to get acquainted with Mr Fleck, then.’
‘You can’t just...’
But Rebus already had. His eyes took in the box files, and the drawn looks on the faces of Gamble, Leighton and Esson. The murder wall had been added to. He studied it briefly, then turned his attention to Clarke’s desk. He could see her through the open doorway of the DCI’s private office. She had her back to him and was blocking any view of him the DCI herself might have. From the paperwork on her desk, she seemed to have been checking Francis Haggard’s finances. Flat worth half a million with no mortgage outstanding. About seventy K in various bank accounts, not including his accumulated pension.
As Clarke emerged from her meeting, she froze, turning her head to check her boss was busy on her computer. Then she pulled Rebus by the sleeve out of Trask’s line of sight.
‘How was your roll?’ he asked her. ‘I hope you didn’t waltz off without paying?’
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she hissed.
‘Waiting for my interview.’
‘You can’t just—’
‘Malcolm Fox said the exact same thing.’ He gestured towards her desk. ‘Haggard wasn’t exactly hurting, was he? Have you asked the widow where it came from?’
‘She reckoned he was just well paid — told her he did a lot of overtime.’
‘What as — a bank robber?’
‘We know plenty of the Crew were on the take.’ She waved a hand towards the box files. ‘Luxury holidays, flash cars and watches, designer clothes.’
‘My old Saab becomes my alibi,’ Rebus commented. ‘Who else have you been speaking to?’
‘We brought in Tommy Oram.’
‘Did he give you much?’
‘Not as such.’
‘But?’
‘His employer might have been using club doormen as muscle on anyone falling behind with their rent. One way for them to earn a crust when lockdown was at its height.’ Rebus nodded but stayed silent. ‘Remember I told you I watched the daughter do a DJ set last night? Doormen kept going up to talk to her.’
‘She’s the one doing the recruiting?’ he guessed.
‘Stands to reason.’ Clarke checked the time on her phone. ‘Your old pal Fleck should have been here by now.’
‘Malcolm’s got him in one of the interview rooms.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I arrived the same time as him.’
‘You shouldn’t be here.’ She took him by the arm again and led him into the corridor.
‘But you do need to question me?’
‘At some point, yes.’
‘Whenever you like, Siobhan — I won’t even demand a lawyer.’
Clarke gave a sigh. ‘And of course you’ve been talking to Rob Driscoll, too.’ She glanced in the direction of the two interview rooms.
‘You should be in there,’ Rebus advised.
‘Once I’ve seen you off the premises.’
‘I’ve not lost my sense of direction.’
‘You do have a tendency to wander, though.’ She gestured to the stairs with one hand. Rebus headed down.
‘You won’t get anything from Alan Fleck, you know,’ he told her. ‘He’s as savvy as they come, and he’s got a hide like a rhino.’
‘He’s also mentioned on every other page of those Complaints files. Maybe if we promise to go easy, he’ll become a bit more amenable.’
‘Fox has no intention of going easy on the likes of Fleck — you told me so yourself.’
‘Which is why I’m going to make my presence known in the interview room, just as soon as you’re safely off the premises. Don’t want Malcolm ignoring the bigger picture.’
She opened the door to the reception area, noticing two uniformed officers standing there shuffling their feet. She recognised one of them.
‘You still wanting that kiss?’ she demanded of him.
‘Thought you were Gayfield Square,’ he shot back.
‘I’m everywhere — and I’m particularly looking forward to asking you some questions.’ She saw another face she knew. ‘The queue at the nightclub last night?’ she said, pointing at the man. ‘I hope you’re as chatty today.’ The officer’s face began to colour. ‘Won’t keep you waiting longer than we have to.’
Clarke made eye contact with Rebus for a moment before heading back through the door. Rebus stood in front of the two uniforms.
‘All right, Chris?’
‘Long time, John.’ Chris Agnew angled his head towards his red-faced companion. ‘This is Deek Turnbull. He’s fairly new to the game. Deek, this is John Rebus.’
Turnbull’s eyebrows rose perceptibly. ‘It’s an honour,’ he announced, his hand shooting out to meet Rebus’s.
‘Don’t believe half the stories,’ Rebus cautioned. ‘Any relation to Billy Turnbull?’
‘My grandad.’
‘Good copper in his day, took no nonsense.’
‘He still likes to go look at the police box at the foot of Canongate. Says he spent more time there than at home.’
‘Probably some truth in that.’
Rebus turned to Agnew. He hadn’t seen him in four or five years, during which time the younger man had added too much weight around the middle and his hairline had started receding. He’d never been blessed with the best skin, and his face was blotchy and had an unhealthy sheen to it. Even back when Rebus had seen him on a more regular basis, he’d wondered if Agnew’s nickname — ‘the Swordsman’ — was ironic. Alan Fleck had sworn, however, that he had a knack for finding willing women. Rebus saw no sign of a ring on his wedding finger.
‘Still with Rosie?’ he asked.
‘You’ve a good memory, but I chucked her three years back.’
‘Watch out for this one,’ Rebus advised Turnbull. ‘He’s better at chat-up lines than actual policing.’
Agnew’s mouth twitched, his eyes on the door Clarke had disappeared through. ‘I heard they’d brought in Rob, and even Alan — didn’t know their net was being cast any wider.’
‘Anyone and everyone, it seems like.’ Rebus looked at Turnbull. ‘You’ve been briefed, have you?’
‘We’ve had team talks,’ Agnew answered for Turnbull. ‘Deek here knows when to keep his gob shut.’
‘Same goes for you, I dare say, Chris.’ Rebus paused. ‘Sounds like the pair of you have already managed to rub DI Clarke up the wrong way, though — that’s not a great start.’
‘Just a bit of banter, John. Surprised she couldn’t take it on the chin.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t her chin you were trying to kiss?’
‘It’s true I’m not the fussiest, but she’s not particularly my type.’ Agnew rubbed the underside of his jaw. Rebus didn’t like to think what scenarios he was imagining.
‘She happens to be a friend of mine,’ he said coldly. ‘She’s also fucking good at her job. So if you’re thinking of employing a charm offensive, take it from me — she won’t be charmed, and she will find it offensive.’