Now he had Storey’s attention. ‘What?’
‘Seems they were bailed.’
‘Bailed by who?’
‘A variety of names, probably all of them fake. Fake contact addresses, too.’
‘Bullen?’ Storey guessed.
‘That’s what I’m thinking. It’s perfect — he bails them out, puts them to work. Any of them complain, Whitemire’s hanging over them like a noose. And if that doesn’t work, he’s always got the skeletons.’
Storey was nodding slowly. ‘Makes sense.’
‘I think we need to talk to someone at Whitemire.’
‘To what end?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘Lot easier to pull something like this off with a friend... how can I put it?’ Rebus pretended to search for the phrase. ‘In the loop?’ he suggested at last.
Storey just glared at him. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he conceded. ‘So who is it we need to talk to?’
‘Man called Alan Traynor. But before we get started with all that...’
‘There’s more?’
‘Just a little bit.’ Rebus’s eyes were still on the sheets of paper. He’d used a pen to draw lines connecting some of the names, nationalities and places. ‘The people we found in Stevenson House — and the ones on the beach for that matter...’
‘What about them?’
‘Some came from Whitemire. Others hold expired visas, or the wrong kind...’
‘Yes?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘A few don’t have any paperwork at all... leaving just a tiny handful who seem to’ve arrived here on the back of a lorry. A tiny handful, Felix, and no fake passports or other IDs.’
‘So?’
‘So where’s this vast smuggling operation gone to? Bullen’s this master criminal with a safe full of dodgy documents. How come nothing’s turned up outside his office?’
‘Could be he’d only just received a fresh consignment from his friends in London.’
‘London?’ Rebus frowned. ‘You didn’t tell me he had friends in London.’
‘I said Essex, didn’t I? Same thing essentially.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘So are we going to visit Whitemire or what?’
‘One last thing...’ Rebus held up a finger. ‘Just between the two of us, is there anything you’re not telling me about Stuart Bullen?’
‘Such as?’
‘I’ll only know that when you tell me.’
‘John... it’s case closed. We got a result. What more do you want?’
‘Maybe I just want to make sure I’m...’
Storey held a hand up in mock warning, but too late.
‘In the loop,’ Rebus said.
Back to Whitemire: passing Caro at the side of the road. She was talking into her mobile, didn’t so much as glance up at them.
The usual security checks, gates unlocked and locked again behind them. The guard escorting them from the car park to the main building. There were half a dozen empty vans in the car park — the refugees had already arrived. Felix Storey seemed interested in everything around him.
‘I’m assuming you’ve not been here before?’ Rebus asked. Storey shook his head.
‘Been to Belmarsh a few times, though — heard of it?’ Rebus’s turn to shake his head. ‘It’s in London. A proper prison — high security. That’s where the asylum-seekers are kept.’
‘Nice.’
‘Makes this place look like Club Med.’
Waiting for them at the main door: Alan Traynor. Not bothering to hide his irritation.
‘Look, whatever this is, can’t it wait? We’re trying to process dozens of new arrivals.’
‘I know,’ Felix Storey said, ‘I’m the one who sent them.’
Traynor didn’t seem to hear; too preoccupied with his own problems. ‘We’ve had to commandeer the canteen... even so, it’s going to take hours.’
‘In which case, sooner you’re rid of us the better,’ Storey suggested. Traynor let escape a theatrical sigh.
‘Very well then. Follow me.’
In the outer office, they passed Janet Eylot. She looked up from her computer, eyes boring into Rebus’s. She got as far as opening her mouth to say something, but Rebus spoke first.
‘Mr Traynor? Sorry, but I need to use the...’ Rebus had seen a toilet in the corridor. He was pointing a thumb in its direction. ‘I’ll catch you up,’ he said. Storey’s eyes were on him, knowing he was up to something but unsure what. Rebus just gave a wink and turned on his heels. Retraced his steps through the office and into the corridor.
And waited there until he heard Traynor’s door close. Popped his head into the doorway and gave a little whistle. Janet Eylot left her desk, came to meet him.
‘You lot!’ she hissed. Rebus put a finger to his lips and she lowered her voice. It still trembled with rage. ‘I haven’t had a minute’s peace, not since I first spoke to you. I’ve had police at my door... in my kitchen... and now I’m just back from Livingston police headquarters and here you are again! And we’ve got all these new arrivals — how are we supposed to cope?’
‘Easy, Janet, easy.’ She was shaking, eyes red-rimmed and watery. There was a pulse fluttering behind her left eyelid. ‘It’ll soon be over, nothing for you to worry about.’
‘Not even when I’m a suspect in a murder?’
‘I’m sure you’re not a suspect; it’s just something that has to be done.’
‘And you’ve not come here to talk to Mr Traynor about me? Isn’t it bad enough that I had to lie to him about this morning? Told him it was a family emergency.’
‘Why not just tell him the truth?’
She shook her head violently. Rebus leaned past her and peered into the office. Traynor’s door was still closed. ‘Look, they’ll be getting suspicious...’
‘I want to know why this is happening! Why is it happening to me?’
Rebus held her by both shoulders. ‘Just hang in there, Janet. Not much longer.’
‘I don’t know how much more I can take...’ Her voice was dying away, eyes losing focus.
‘One day at a time, Janet, that’s the best way,’ Rebus offered, dropping his hands. He held eye contact for a moment. ‘Take it one day at a time,’ he repeated, walking past her, not looking back.
He knocked on Traynor’s door, entered and closed it behind him.
The two men were seated. Rebus lowered himself into the empty chair.
‘I’ve just been telling Mr Traynor about Stuart Bullen’s network,’ Storey said.
‘And I’m incredulous,’ Traynor said, throwing up his hands. Rebus ignored him, met Felix Storey’s stare.
‘You haven’t told him?’
‘Waiting for you to come back.’
‘Told me what?’ Traynor asked, trying for a smile. Rebus turned to him.
‘Mr Traynor, quite a few of the people we detained had come from Whitemire. They’d been bailed out by Stuart Bullen.’
‘Impossible.’ The smile had gone. Traynor looked at both men. ‘We wouldn’t have let him do it.’
Storey shrugged. ‘There would’ve been aliases, false addresses...’
‘But we interview the applicants.’
‘You personally, Mr Traynor?’
‘Not always, no.’
‘He’d have had people fronting for him, respectable-looking people.’ Storey produced a sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘I’ve got the Whitemire list here... easy enough for you to check it.’
Traynor took the piece of paper and studied it.
‘Any of the names ring a bell?’ Rebus asked.
Traynor just nodded slowly, thoughtfully. His phone rang, and he picked it up.
‘Oh yes, hello,’ he said into the mouthpiece. ‘No, we can cope, it’s just going to take a bit of time. Might mean increasing the workload for the staff... Yes, I’m sure I could do a spreadsheet, but it might not be for a few days...’ He listened, eyes on his two visitors. ‘Well, of course,’ he said at last. ‘And if we could take on some new staff, or poach a few from one of our sister facilities...? Just until the new intake’s bedded in, so to speak...’