She tiptoed through the nearest gateway and glanced around a corner towards the entrance to the first of the modern apartment blocks. Its glass door was just rattling closed. She waited a moment, then moved towards the door, still cautious. Looking through the glass, she watched as the quartz display panel above the lift ticked over a series of numbers, pausing on a letter rather than a number.
P for penthouse.
Clarke met Brillo’s questioning eyes. ‘We know who lives there, don’t we, boy?’ she said in a whisper. Then, staring upwards, her neck arched: ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Malcolm. I really do...’
As soon as he left Cafferty’s block, Fox got on the phone to Jennifer Lyon.
‘It’s tame stuff,’ he informed her. ‘They’re in the Jenever Club. Upstairs at first, till a flunkey hands them a card. It confers VIP status, so they head to that area of the club.’
‘Go on.’
‘There’s a bit of dancing... kisses and cuddles.’ He cleared his throat.
‘Yes?’
‘That’s about the sum of it. They’re intimate, but there’s no actual...’
‘I get the picture.’
‘Cafferty says it wasn’t their only visit to the place, but my guess is, if he had anything more incriminating he’d have shown it to me.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘It really is fairly tame.’
‘Nevertheless, he was sleeping with her. If Cafferty releases the footage, Dennis would have some explaining to do.’
‘He could always deny it went any further.’
Fox heard her sigh. ‘I’ve looked up this man Scoular online. He seems perfectly legit. Did Cafferty give you any more of a clue why he’s interested or what he thinks we might find?’
‘None.’
‘Then let’s go ahead and buy ourselves some time.’
‘By digging a bit deeper into Scoular’s life?’
‘As a salient part of the bin Mahmoud inquiry.’
‘Whatever you say, ma’am.’
‘I appreciate this, Malcolm. Don’t think I’ll forget it.’
‘Thank you.’
When the call ended, Fox found he had a bit of extra spring in his step as he headed towards his car. One thing he didn’t think Lyon needed to know about — the brief foray by her husband and his lady friend into the alcove occupied by Scoular and his associates. The line of cocaine offered and accepted. Followed by champagne and laughter and the sheer look of relaxed pleasure on Dennis Jones’s face...
‘See when I phone you, Benny,’ Cafferty snarled into his mobile as he stood by his apartment window, staring out across the city, ‘I expect you to pick up on the first fucking ring. Do you understand? I don’t care if you’re in the middle of a shit or a shag, nothing’s more important than my time.’
‘Sorry, boss. Need me to bring the car round?’
‘What I need you to do is get off your fat arse and go talk to a few people. Chinese student was mugged last night and her phone taken. If it’s some wee fud from the schemes, he’ll be blabbing about it. You need to go to those schemes and find out who he is.’
‘What for?’
‘Because I’m telling you to!’
‘Sure, boss, absolutely.’
‘Attack happened in Marchmont, so maybe start in the south — Moredun, Gracemount... psycho country, in other words. You got any contacts there?’
‘Some, aye.’
‘Fuck are you waiting for then? News or no news, phone me in two hours.’
Cafferty stabbed at his mobile, ending the call. He waited for his breathing to return to normal. Maybe sixty or seventy per cent of his job was act and attitude. He wasn’t like some of these younger thugs who needed to be tooled up to get what they wanted. A look and a word was usually enough — or it had been in the past. It was getting harder, the world was changing. The younger model of gangster tended to have no boundaries and no off-switch. They were creeping north from places like Manchester and Liverpool, muscling in on cities like Dundee where the last thing the resident population needed was a cheaper but altogether more venal and threatening source of drugs. So far Cafferty’s reputation had protected much of his Edinburgh operation, but he wasn’t sure that would last much longer. Even so, he still had his club, the boutique hotel in the New Town, the car wash and the betting shop.
And then there were the flats he rented out, many of the classier ones to overseas students. Predominantly these days those students were Chinese. One of their number got attacked with no comebacks, they might begin to wonder if Edinburgh was the place for them. Wouldn’t matter so much if there were other nationalities to replace them, but with the uncertainty of Brexit... A large part of his income was clean these days and he wanted to keep it that way. Property had proven a solid investment, and he was considering moving into commercial land development — Stewart Scoular’s domain, to be precise. It was a world he hoped would bring him closer to people of quality, people like Lady Isabella and the bin Mahmoud family. People like Giovanni Morelli.
And further all the time from Benny and his ilk.
Cafferty cast his eyes around the room he was standing in.
‘Never enough,’ he said to himself.
No matter how much and how far, it was never anything like enough.
11
The main street of Naver was busier than Rebus had seen it. Knots of locals deep in conversation, cars cruising up and down, their occupants drinking in every moment and interaction. Rebus knew that the media would be on their way, too, ready to swell the ranks of gawpers. He unlocked his Saab and turned the ignition. The engine started first time but didn’t sound one hundred per cent. When he pushed down hard on the accelerator, eyes turned to look at him. He turned the engine off and got out again.
He kept his head down as he walked, ignoring the couple of questioning voices, people who obviously knew who he was. The house he wanted was towards the end of the street. He rang the doorbell and waited. A woman in her seventies, slightly stooped, opened the door and gestured him inside as if welcoming a refugee. She gripped both his hands in her own.
‘A terrible, terrible shock to all of us.’
‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice, Mrs McKechnie.’
‘Not at all, not at all. Please, this way. And call me Joyce.’
The sitting room was small and cluttered, china ornaments everywhere, framed family photos covering the walls. The fire was lit and seemed to be sucking all the oxygen from the confined space. There was a metal tray on the coffee table, cups, best china, and biscuits laid out. A man a few years younger than Mrs McKechnie had risen to his feet.
‘Edward Taylor,’ he said, shaking Rebus’s hand.
‘Sit down, the pair of you,’ Joyce McKechnie commanded. ‘Let me sort this out.’ She lifted the teapot. ‘Edward takes his black.’