Driscoll looked at Fleck. ‘You said he knew.’
‘I thought he did.’
Driscoll turned his attention back to Rebus. ‘Stands to reason Cafferty told you.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘But you were his—’
Rebus grabbed the front of Driscoll’s jacket, shaking him. The cigarette flew from the corner of Driscoll’s mouth.
‘I was never his anything!’ Rebus snarled.
‘Easy, John,’ Fleck said.
‘Loosen that fucking grip, old-timer,’ Driscoll said, baring his teeth. His eyes were glassy and there was rum on his breath.
‘Or what?’
The answer dawned on Rebus a moment too late as Driscoll’s forehead drove into the bridge of his nose. He reeled backwards, eyes brimming with tears. He could feel the warm blood begin to run from his nostrils down towards his chin.
‘Christ’s sake, Rob.’ It was Chris Agnew who spoke, hauling Driscoll a few steps away from the fray. Driscoll ignored him, pointing at Rebus instead.
‘Just keep the fuck away from us! We’re fighting fires in all directions and the last thing we need is an interfering old bastard like you!’
‘VIP welcome, I think you told me I’d get,’ Rebus said for Fleck’s benefit. Driscoll meantime was looking around for his cigarette. Having decided it couldn’t be saved, he dug another from the packet, all witnessed by Rebus through blurred vision. While he wiped at his eyes, Fleck produced a large white handkerchief, which he pressed to Rebus’s nose.
‘This isn’t how we go about things, Rob,’ Fleck declared.
‘It’s exactly how we go about things. I’ve known you do a lot worse in your day.’
‘What sort of worse?’ Rebus asked.
A blast of laughter escaped Driscoll as he arched his face skywards. ‘He just won’t give up, will he?’
‘I really won’t,’ Rebus confirmed. He had taken control of the handkerchief with one hand and was pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.
‘Come on, Rob,’ Agnew was saying, tugging at his colleague’s arm.
‘Keeping you from something, are we, Chris?’ Driscoll teased. ‘Or should that be someone?’ He jabbed a finger into Agnew’s chest as he spoke. ‘You’re looking for people who didn’t get on with Francis, here’s exhibit one.’
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Agnew said, releasing Driscoll’s arm. ‘You’re well out of order.’ He began to march back towards the pub.
‘Tell me something I don’t know!’ Driscoll called out to him, before turning towards Rebus and Fleck. ‘There goes a bastard who can’t take a joke.’
‘Probably because he didn’t think you were joking,’ Fleck responded.
‘Alan, you’ve got a face like a skelped arse.’
‘Whose fault is that, do you think?’
‘Oh aye, blame me. Is that where this is all headed? You don’t think it’s enough I’ve got a murder inquiry on my back?’ When Fleck failed to respond, some of the fire seemed to leave Driscoll, and he turned his attention to Rebus. ‘Lost it there for a second, John. No hard feelings, eh?’ He held out a hand, which Rebus studiously ignored until Driscoll took the hint and retracted it. ‘I won’t be anybody’s fall guy, Alan,’ he said, his voice low and controlled. ‘If anyone tries, they’re dead meat, understood? You old fuckers can plot all you want between you, but you’re not taking me down, not without a fight that’ll make you wish you’d never started it.’ He nodded to himself as if to stiffen his resolve, then, finally lighting the cigarette that had been bobbing in his mouth, he began to follow Agnew back towards the pub.
Rebus lifted the handkerchief away and studied the blobs of scarlet. The flow had slowed to a trickle. He kept up the pressure with his thumb and forefinger.
‘Just a silly laddie, John,’ Fleck commented. ‘Francis’s death, it’s got us all...’ He broke off. ‘I’ll see to it that he apologises properly.’
‘Will he try fobbing me off with a ton?’
‘Why? Do you need it?’
‘What I need is not to have short-fuse merchants getting in my face.’
‘You’ve got to understand, Rob was Francis’s best friend — or at least assumed he was. He’s been feeling the betrayal more than most.’ Fleck was staring at the retreating figure. ‘He’s a good kid really.’
‘They’re not kids, though, or laddies. They’re fully grown men who know what they’re doing.’
‘As if you never did anything daft when you were young.’
‘Nothing as stupid as ripping off a gangster.’
‘Some of which you took for organising the meet with Cafferty.’
‘I wish to hell I’d never set foot inside Tynecastle, or let you worm your way into my life.’
Fleck’s face darkened. ‘Remember, nothing you heard tonight goes anywhere, or there’ll be payback.’
Rebus bunched up the handkerchief and stuffed it into Fleck’s breast pocket. ‘One last question,’ he said. ‘What happened to the guy in jail?’
Fleck thought for a moment. ‘Did his time and broke free of the drugs — Christ knows how. Runs a pub these days and gives Cafferty a cut.’
‘Which pub?’
‘The Moorfoot in Craigmillar. He’s called Kenny Beecham.’
‘That wasn’t the name of the licensee last time I was there.’
‘Ex-cons tend not to get alcohol licences, John. There’ll be a second party involved.’ Fleck was holding out a hand towards Rebus, same as Driscoll had done. Rebus stared at it.
‘Is this you telling me it’s either truce or consequences?’ The hand was still there as he turned away, digging a tissue from his pocket and tearing it into clumps, which he shoved into either nostril. ‘Worth it, though, all the same,’ he told himself, wiggling his nose a little. It wasn’t broken, which counted as a bonus under the circumstances. Chris Agnew had told him he’d been close mates with Francis Haggard, but Driscoll seemed to think otherwise. Rebus thought of Agnew’s reputation and nickname — the Swordsman. Maybe he’d tried turning on the charm for Haggard’s other half. Either that or there was some other reason for their enmity — always supposing Driscoll had been telling the truth. Had Agnew denied it? He had not, though Driscoll himself had called it a joke.
If so, no one had been left laughing.
Clarke met Gina Hendry at a wine bar on George Street. The liaison officer already had the dregs of one cocktail in front of her and was being served another as Clarke arrived.
‘As bad as that?’ Clarke said, ordering a G and T from the waiter.
‘Just felt like it,’ Hendry explained. ‘I’ve spent most of the afternoon with Cheryl and Stephanie.’
‘Cheryl’s still at her sister’s?’ Clarke shrugged off her coat and got comfortable.
‘Can’t bring herself to go back to her flat. She says the break-in just adds insult to injury. Meantime there’s a funeral to arrange.’
‘Though we won’t be releasing the body just yet.’
Hendry nodded. ‘I made sure she knows. Then I broke the news that my role was done and dusted.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘She said she’d miss me. Stephanie tried to press a bottle of wine on me.’ She peered at Clarke above the rim of her glass. ‘Anyway, how’s your day been?’
‘Lots of interviews with the deceased’s erstwhile colleagues. I don’t suppose any of them have offered condolences?’