‘Talking of waiting,’ Turnbull said, ‘your wee pal Clarke kept us hanging around almost the whole day. Waste of time and the taxpayer’s money.’
‘When we’re so many bodies down from the ’rona,’ someone else piped up.
‘Oh aye,’ Rebus said, ‘I can see how seriously you all take public health. There’s probably more germs than oxygen in this room. In fact, I’d bet on it.’
‘You calling us germs?’ one of the younger drinkers growled.
‘If the diced cap fits,’ Rebus answered with a shrug.
‘Careful, John,’ Fleck said in warning. ‘Some of us know we’ve got things to be grateful to you for, but goodwill goes only so far.’
‘If you mean Kyle Weller’s death in custody, I know the feeling is I magicked the evidence away, but I really didn’t. Stuff gets lost, it’s a fact of life.’
‘Not just Kyle Weller, though,’ Fleck stated quietly.
‘Well then, let’s talk about Cafferty. But that requires some chat about Fraser Mackenzie first. Your old colleague Francis Haggard needed a place to stay, and he went straight to Mackenzie. I’ve been pondering why, and the simplest answer is that he knew he’d get a good deal. All he had to do was say he was a cop from Tynecastle. Now, I’ve started hearing some stories about Mackenzie, and things are clicking into place. Same sort of deal you had with Cafferty you now have with Mackenzie. But here’s the thing — someone took a photo of Francis Haggard in that flat on Constitution Street and sent it to Cafferty. Why would they do that? Is it to do with Haggard or the flat? Or maybe a bit of both?’
Rebus waited in silence, biding his time, until Alan Fleck rose to his feet, seemingly with infinite slowness, and nodded towards the door.
‘Best take this outside, John,’ he stated, leading the way.
By the time Rebus joined him, he was ten yards along the pavement from the pub, standing by a low wall belonging to a car wash. The car wash itself was closed, its forecourt unlit. Fleck had pulled up the collar of his coat. As soon as Rebus arrived, he began to talk.
‘Before we start, I need to know this goes no further. We’re clearing the air here, putting your mind at rest. If it gets back to Fox, Clarke or anyone else, I’ll know the source.’
‘Say what you’ve got to say.’ But Rebus saw that Fleck was prepared to wait. ‘Okay, just between us, then.’
‘You’d swear on your granddaughter’s life?’ Fleck saw Rebus’s face turn stony. ‘Theoretically, I mean.’
‘I’m giving you my word. Time was, that would have been enough.’
‘Things have changed, though, haven’t they, and people with them?’ Fleck paused, looking to left and right. ‘It was seven years back,’ he began. ‘You remember that meeting I had you set up with Cafferty? What I didn’t tell you was I wanted you there as protection.’
‘Protection from what?’
‘There was this addict we’d pulled in; a spell behind bars loomed. But he had something to trade, a rumour about where Cafferty stashed at least some of his ill-gotten gains.’ He paused again. ‘An everyday flat in a tenement on Constitution Street. The one property he owned that was never rented out. So we went and took a look. The door it had on it was like something out of Fort Knox. That’s when we knew we weren’t being spun a line. How to get in, though, that was the question. Wait until someone came along and unlocked it? Francis had a better idea. We went around the back of the building. Nothing much there but a shared drying green and a lot of bins. Francis took one look at the drainpipe and knew it was the route in. He was bloody fit, I’ll give him that. Said he’d always been a dab hand with the climbing ropes in the school gym. Up he went, pulled on a glove and punched the window in. We kept lookout, but you know what it’s like — nobody saw or heard anything. Francis clambered inside. He told me after, it was candy from a baby. Bin bags stuffed with banknotes. He dropped them down to us, then shinned back down the pipe.’
‘How much did you get?’
‘Plenty. We all decided when we split it that Francis should get a bit extra for his efforts. And that was that.’
‘It wasn’t, though, was it?’
Fleck exhaled loudly through his nose. ‘I’m not sure how, but Cafferty started hearing who it was that might’ve ripped him off. I knew I had to go have a word.’
‘With me riding shotgun?’
‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it. I made it clear to him that any reprisals would be very bad news for him. He should think of it as a business write-off. Chalk it up to experience and maybe put some bars on that window.’
‘He couldn’t have been thrilled.’
‘He wasn’t.’
‘No payback, though?’
‘The junkie, the one who told us? Someone tipped off Organised Crime that he had a stash of weapons in his flat. There was a raid. Half a dozen shonky handguns retrieved. He went down for it, swearing they’d been planted. He’d only been inside a couple of weeks when someone walked into his cell and tried cutting his throat.’
‘Tried?’
‘He pulled through. Got himself cut again a few months later, survived that too.’
‘Cafferty taking it out on the one person who couldn’t retaliate?’
‘I always thought you knew,’ Fleck mused.
‘About the money?’ Rebus shook his head.
‘I reckoned that was why you never felt the need to ask about it.’
Rebus grew thoughtful. ‘Would the Mackenzies have known?’
‘About Francis specifically? I don’t think so.’
‘But they know the flat’s history?’
‘Well, Cafferty owned that flat for a long time, so one of them probably does.’
‘Beth, you mean?’ Rebus watched Fleck nod. ‘And is it true that Tynecastle now has an arrangement with Fraser Mackenzie?’
‘I’m a car dealer these days, John.’
‘But Mackenzie’s business is a front for dope-pushing — your pals in the Crew won’t have kept that nugget from you?’
‘I probably hear the same stories you do.’
‘Thing is, I hadn’t heard any stories, not until a few days back.’
‘City was just lying there legs open after Cafferty got shot. Someone was bound to take advantage.’
‘So what’s this photo all about?’ Rebus asked.
‘I’m every bit as intrigued as you are.’
‘Someone who reckoned Cafferty would recognise Haggard and decide to make him pay for what he’d done?’
Fleck seemed to consider the possibility. ‘One more thing, John,’ he eventually said. ‘You might not have helped us with Kyle Weller, but there’s still the Tony Barlow case. It was you who gave us the guy’s name. We went after him thinking he was a paedo. He wasn’t, though, was he? He was just someone Cafferty wanted to see get hurt. He had us in his web after that — you as much as me and everyone else. That pissed me off. In fact, it’s probably why I sanctioned the break-in. Some of the cash we took went towards Barlow’s physio.’
‘You’re all heart, Alan.’
Fleck was looking over Rebus’s shoulder. Rebus turned and saw that Driscoll and Agnew were on the pavement outside the pub, Driscoll’s face illuminated by his lighter as he lit a cigarette. The two men began to saunter towards Rebus and Fleck, trying to look casual for the benefit of passing traffic.
‘Everything all right, Sarge?’ Driscoll asked.
‘Tickety-boo,’ Fleck assured him. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, John?’
‘I’d say I’m probably a thousand light years away from agreeing,’ Rebus countered. ‘Because chances are, when I stepped into that little cabal of yours, I was in the presence of whoever murdered Francis Haggard, and that realisation gives me whatever the opposite is of a nice warm glow. Now I learn that you stole a slab of cash from Big Ger Cafferty...’