A cheap pink plastic lighter. Fuller had probably used it to ignite the whisky on Rebus’s arms, dropped it afterwards. Rebus picked it up, looked around. There was a lot of booze down here. No way out except the ladder. He found a rag, opened a bottle of whisky and stuffed it into the neck. Not quite a petrol bomb, but a weapon at any rate. One option: ignite it and toss it into the club, get the fire alarm going and wait for the cavalry. Supposing they came. Supposing that would stop Judd Fuller...
Option two: think again.
He looked around. CO2 cylinders; plastic crates; runs of rubber tubing. Hanging on the walclass="underline" a small fire extinguisher. He grabbed the fire extinguisher, primed it, got it under one arm so he could carry the whisky bottle up the steps.
The club looked dead, dimly lit. Someone had left a glitterball turning, throwing glass jewels across walls and ceiling. He was halfway across the dance floor when the door flew open, Fuller standing there, lit from behind by the foyer. He had a set of car keys between his teeth, dropped them as his mouth opened. He was reaching into his jacket pocket when Rebus got the rag lit, tossed the bottle two-handed. It turned in the air, shattered in front of Fuller. A pool of blue flame spread across the floor. Rebus was still coming, fire extinguisher ready. The gun was in Fuller’s hand as the spray caught him full in the face. Rebus followed it up with a head-butt to the bridge of Fuller’s nose and a knee hard into the groin. Not exactly textbook stuff, but powerfully effective. The American sank to his knees. Rebus kicked him in the face and ran, pulled open the door to the outside world and almost fell into Jack Morton.
‘Christ Almighty, man, what have they done to you?’
‘He’s got a gun, Jack, let’s get the fuck out of here.’
They sprinted for the car. Jack got the keys from Rebus’s pocket. Into the car and accelerating away, Rebus feeling a bewildering mix of emotions, chief among them elation.
‘You smell like a brewery,’ Jack said.
‘Jesus, Jack, how did you get here?’
‘Took a taxi.’
‘No, I mean...’
‘You can thank Shetland.’ Jack sniffed. ‘That wind up there, I’ve got a cold coming. Went to get the hankie out of my trouser pocket... no car keys. No car in the car park, and no John Rebus tucked up in bed.’
‘And?’
‘And reception repeated the message they gave you, so I phoned for a taxi. What the hell happened?’
‘I took a beating.’
‘I’d say that was an understatement. Who’s got the gun?’
‘Judd Fuller, the American.’
‘We’ll stop at the nearest phone, get an armed response unit over there.’
‘No.’
Jack turned. ‘No?’ Rebus was shaking his head. ‘Why not?’
‘I was taking a calculated risk, Jack.’
‘Time to buy a new calculator.’
‘I think it worked. Now all we need to do is give it a bit of time.’
Jack thought about it. ‘You want them turning on each other?’ He nodded. ‘Never were one to play by the book, were you? The note was from Eve?’ Rebus nodded. ‘And you thought you’d leave me out. Know something? When I saw the keys were gone, I was so angry, I almost said “Stuff it, let him do what he wants, it’s his neck”.’
‘It almost was.’
‘You’re a stupid bastard.’
‘Years of dedicated practice, Jack. Can you stop and untie me?’
‘I like you better tied up. Casualty or a doctor call-out?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ The nosebleed had already stopped; there was no pain from the dead tooth.
‘So what did you do there?’
‘I fed Fuller a line, and I found out Hayden Fletcher hired Allan Mitchison’s killer.’
‘And you’re telling me there wasn’t an easier way?’ Jack shook his head slowly. ‘If I live to be a hundred, I swear I’ll never understand you.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Rebus said, leaning his head back against the seat.
Back at the hotel, they decided it was time to leave Aberdeen. Rebus had a bath first, and Jack checked his injuries.
‘Strictly an amateur sadist, our Mr Fuller.’
‘He did apologise at the start.’ Rebus checked his gap-toothed smile in the mirror.
Every bit of his body ached, but he’d live, and he didn’t need a doctor to agree with him. They loaded the car, signed out without fuss, and got back on the road.
‘What an end to our holidays,’ Jack commented. But his audience of one was already asleep.
When he had narrowed the list to four individuals, four companies, it was time to use the ‘key’ — Vanessa Holden herself.
More of the suspects had turned out to be too old, or not right in some other way: one, first name Alex, had turned out to be a woman.
Bible John made the call from his own office, door closed. He had his notepad in front of him. Four companies, four individuals.
Eskflo
James Mackinley
LancerTech
Martin Davidson
Gribbin’s
Steven Jackobs
Yetland
Oliver Howison
The call was to Vanessa Holden’s company. A receptionist answered.
‘Hello,’ he told her, ‘Queen Street CID here, Detective Sergeant Collier. General question: I was wondering if you’d ever undertaken any work for Eskflo Fabrication?’
‘Eskflo?’ The receptionist sounded dubious. ‘Let me put you through to Mr Westerman.’
Bible John wrote the name on his notepad, circled it. When Westerman answered, he repeated his question.
‘Is this to do with Vanessa?’ the man asked.
‘No, sir, though I was sorry to hear about Ms Holden. You have my deepest sympathies — same goes for everyone here.’ He looked around the walls of his office. ‘And I’m sorry to have to call at such a distressing time.’
‘Thank you, Detective Sergeant. It’s been a great shock.’
‘Of course, and rest assured, we’re following up several lines of inquiry concerning Ms Holden. But my present request concerns a suspected fraud.’
‘Fraud?’
‘Nothing to do with yourselves, Mr Westerman, but we’re investigating several companies.’
‘Including Eskflo?’
‘Indeed.’ Bible John paused. ‘You’ll appreciate that I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence?’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘Now, the companies I’m concerned with are...’ He made show of shuffling some papers, eyes on the notepad. ‘Here we are: Eskflo, LancerTech, Gribbin’s, and Yetland.’
‘Yetland,’ said Westerman, ‘we did some work for them recently. No, wait... We pitched for a contract, didn’t get it.’
‘And the others?’
‘Look, can I get back to you? I’m going to have to go to the files. I seem to be having trouble concentrating.’
‘I understand, sir. I’m due out on a call... how about if I phone again in an hour?’