‘Roger that,’ Agnew said, stiffening his shoulders.
‘I assume there’ll be a debrief this evening? You still using that pub on Fountainbridge?’ Rebus watched Agnew nod, then looked around as if taking in his surroundings. ‘Shame there are no chairs. If I know Siobhan Clarke, you’re in for a long stand.’
Agnew reached out and touched Rebus’s arm. ‘Word outside, John?’ After Rebus had nodded, he turned towards Turnbull. ‘Don’t let them take you upstairs without me.’
‘Understood.’
He led the way out onto the pavement. Rebus asked him what was on his mind.
‘You knew Francis, John,’ Agnew said, checking no one else was within earshot. ‘We all thought we knew him better than we did. Never thought he’d be one to squeal.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I didn’t see that coming at all. This was a guy I’d hang out with — dinners with the wives and girlfriends; nights at the boxing; trips to the football. We were mates — him, me and Rob. Proper buds, not just work mates.’
‘These parties and nights out, who else would be at them? Alan Fleck?’
‘Alan, aye, and a few others.’
‘Any bad boys invited? Or were they maybe the hosts?’
‘Ach, you know what it’s like. You’re getting a box at Ibrox, you don’t always want to know whose wallet’s responsible.’
‘Cafferty sometimes, I’m guessing.’ Rebus paused. ‘And latterly, maybe Fraser Mackenzie?’
Agnew studied Rebus’s face. ‘What’s going on here, John?’
Rebus held up his hands in a show of innocence. ‘Nothing up my sleeves, Chris. I’m a civilian these days, remember? It’s just that some of your lads were at a nightclub last night where the resident DJ happens to be Mackenzie’s daughter.’
‘Gaby?’ A smile spread across Agnew’s face. ‘Tried to have a wee go there myself one time, but she wasn’t having it. And I suppose you could call her the resident DJ, if you were feeling ungenerous.’
Rebus’s eyebrows contracted. ‘Well, what is she then?’
‘The owner,’ Agnew told him. ‘Lock, stock and profit-making barrel.’
‘Should I have asked Rob Driscoll’s lawyer to stick around?’ Alan Fleck asked Clarke as she settled on a chair across from him in IV2.
‘Depends how guilty you want to look.’
Fleck shrugged. ‘Rob knows the score. He was angling to meet Francis and Francis had agreed. Stands to reason he’s a person of interest. I’m just not sure I qualify.’ He broke off as the door opened and Malcolm Fox strode in carrying a mug of coffee for himself. Fleck managed a wry smile. ‘How many times have you rehearsed that entrance?’ he asked.
Fox ignored him, sitting down and placing a hand on the two bulging and antiquated manila folders on the tabletop.
‘You know DI Fox here has already been to see me at my place of work?’ Fleck informed Clarke before either detective could say anything. ‘Almost counts as harassment, the way he carries on, same as when he was Complaints.’
Fox had been busying himself on his phone. He found what he was looking for, Fleck making show of peering at the screen.
‘This is you and Rob Driscoll,’ Fox stated, ‘after you’d convened a meeting of the Crew, yes?’
‘I didn’t “convene” anything.’
‘I’m sure it was Driscoll’s idea, but he takes his cue from you, doesn’t he, “Sarge”?’
The smile returned to Fleck’s face, though he looked anything but amused. ‘You think you’re Prince Golden Balls, don’t you? But the way I hear it, you’re nothing but Jen Lyon’s poodle. Everyone at Gartcosh says so.’ He turned to Clarke. ‘You know as well as I do, in any big institution shite tends to get hoisted upwards.’
‘None of this is going to get us very far,’ Clarke commented, keeping her tone neutral.
‘She agrees with me,’ Fleck said to Fox. ‘And she should know — she learned from one of the best.’
‘Why did you have this little get-together?’ Fox said, unwilling to be diverted. He waggled his phone in Fleck’s face.
‘Francis was readying to tell a pack of lies about his colleagues. Stands to reason those colleagues might want to talk tactics.’ Fleck studied the ceiling. ‘No air in this place. You sure it’s COVID-safe?’
‘COVID is the least of your worries,’ Fox said. ‘You’d tried talking to Francis Haggard yourself, hadn’t you?’
‘Had I?’
‘According to his phone.’ Fox made show of studying the list in front of him. But Fleck had turned his attention back to Clarke.
‘You know Wee Malky here tried to kick your old friend John off the force on more than one occasion? John’s in bad enough shape as it is, but can you imagine him stripped of his pension? That’s the type of slug you’re sitting beside right now.’
‘When we spoke at your showroom,’ Fox countered, ‘you seemed pretty keen that I look at John Rebus’s past exploits rather than your own.’
‘That’s not my recollection, DI Fox.’
‘Francis Haggard’s phone.’ Clarke nudged Fleck, hoping to avert a staring contest.
‘Yes, all right.’ He seemed to concede. ‘I tried getting in touch. I was concerned about him.’
‘About what he’d say?’
‘About what he was going through,’ he corrected her. ‘His life had turned from bed of roses to field of pish in an absolute bloody instant.’
‘So you reached out to him, but he ignored you — that can’t have made you feel good.’ Clarke paused. ‘Tell me, when you found out he was abusing his wife, did you similarly reach out to him — or was it only when you got wind that your past exploits were to be his defence?’
‘Does it matter?’
She took the list from Fox. ‘Seems you only started trying to contact him after he’d begun talking to us.’
‘What was I supposed to do — slap him about for hitting his wife?’
Fox cleared his throat. ‘You’ve slapped people about for less.’
‘So how come I retired with an unblemished record, DI Fox? Despite your frenzied efforts, I mean?’
‘You had the Crew backing you up and repeating your lies. But now with Francis Haggard in the mortuary, they’ve got a lot more to lose. Are you confident you can still depend on them? I know I wouldn’t put money on it.’
Fleck cupped a hand to one ear. ‘I’m not hearing any evidence here that puts me within half a city’s distance of Francis when he got topped.’ He paused, meeting the stare Fox was giving him. Fox slapped his palms against the tabletop and, leaving them there, pushed himself upright, leaning across towards Fleck.
‘That smug self-satisfaction of yours is about to get a hefty dose of paint-stripper. The car-smuggling, the death of Kyle Weller, the crippling of Tony Barlow and everything else — you’re going to be made to pay for the lot.’
‘I look forward to seeing your evidence. I get the notion I might be six feet under first, though.’
‘Are you forgetting we’ve got Haggard’s computer? His killer wasn’t sharp enough to take it. I’d like to say that narrows down the possible suspects, but Tynecastle’s brimful of halfwits who’d have done what you told them. Then there are the notes he left behind in a drawer in Newhaven — whoever broke into the family abode only did half a job, messing the place up rather than searching it.’
‘We’ve got those same men on CCTV,’ Clarke improvised. ‘You’d be amazed what modern technology can do with just a pair of eyes.’
Fleck seemed to be chewing the inside of his cheek.
‘Feel free to do a line if you think you need one,’ Fox said, lowering himself back onto his chair. ‘Your boys seem to be reliant on the stuff. Shame the supply’s been choked off recently.’