Sean stood up straight, stepped back as though he’d lose his temper for real if he didn’t put some distance between the two of them. “Tell them there’s going to be an investigation over the shooting,” he said. “Tell them what you like. What does it matter?”
“You could always tell them the truth,” I said.
Gilby threw me an acid glance. “And what does that gain me, precisely?”
I shrugged. “You’ve got a good bunch of people out there,” I said, undeterred. “They may not be quite up to the standard you’re used to,” I couldn’t resist a sideways look to the three instructors as I said it, “but they still have a lot of valuable experience between them. Tell them the truth and you never know, some of them might decide to stay.”
I stood, unable to sit and do nothing any longer, and looked down at the Major. “Let’s face it,” I said, “at this stage you need all the help you can get.”
Todd rose also, muscled his way into the Major’s line of sight. “What about Rebanks? He’s a useful man and he’s probably the best shot we’ve got.”
I caught the flicker of the Major’s eyes in my direction, and knew he was remembering that day on the CQB range, but he didn’t point that out to the stocky phys instructor.
“How can I rely on him when he was cheating me so flagrantly?” he said instead. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze as he admitted, “Besides, he might also have been involved with Teddy Blakemore’s death.”
“There’s one way to find out,” Sean said, impatient now. “Ask him.”
From the other side of the room I heard O’Neill swear under his breath. “You’re serious aren’t you?” he said. “What makes you think for a moment that he’ll tell you the truth.”
The look Sean passed over the Irishman was cold and flat. “I don’t know,” he said. “Does he enjoy pain?”
***
Gilby led the way down to the cellars. There was a doorway under the curving staircase that I’d always assumed was a store cupboard. It turned out that it dropped straight down a set of stone steps that were rough almost to the point of being crude in their construction. The architects of the Manor had not wasted their talents on finesse for an area they only ever expected the servants to see.
Once we were down a level, the Major moved off confidently along a narrow corridor, snapping on unshielded light bulbs as he went. Most of the men had to duck to avoid sending them swinging, but I didn’t have that problem.
Several generations of wiring additions were clipped to the bare walls and our feet crunched on years of dust and grit on the stone floor. It was a grim place, full of foreboding. I couldn’t resist the urge to keep checking behind me, making sure I could recognise the way out when the time came.
Eventually the Major paused by a small heavy wooden door, secured by an iron bolt that was so decorated it was almost ornamental. He shot it back, pushed the door open, and stepped through.
Inside the cellar, Rebanks was sitting on an unmade camp bed wedged up against the back wall. He half came to his feet when Gilby walked in, but when he saw the other three instructors, then Sean and me, he dropped back again. His eyes had panic in them, but he put on a good show of being unconcerned.
He looked small and scruffy, unshaven so that he’d sprouted the beginnings of a ginger beard that didn’t suit his narrow face. There was a big livid bruise across his throat and when he spoke his voice was rusty with it.
“Well well, Major, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he said, aiming for a light casual note and just failing to carry it off.
Gilby stood and stared at him for a while, not trying to mask his distaste. “Venko’s coming,” he said, “but I’m sure you knew that already, seeing as you’ve been supplying him with the armaments to attack us.”
Rebanks waved a tired hand in the Major’s direction, as though he’d heard all this before and was bored with it. “Yeah well,” he drawled, “at least his credit was good.”
Gilby’s features locked down tight. He took a quick step forwards and backhanded Rebanks across the face, hard enough to send his former weapons’ handling instructor reeling.
And all of a sudden the atmosphere in that cramped cell had changed. I found myself parachuted in on the side of the interrogators and I didn’t like the view from there.
I moved in, put my hand on Gilby’s arm. “Valentine,” I murmured, deliberately using his first name, trying to humanise him. “This isn’t helping.”
For a second Gilby looked at me with that film of madness covering his eyes, then it lifted. He blinked a couple of times, came back to himself, rolled the tension out of his neck.
Rebanks checked out the inside of his mouth with his tongue and dabbed a couple of finger ends at his cheekbone. It had started to swell, but the blow hadn’t broken the skin. He was shaken, clearly, but still defiant.
“Since when did you start taking orders from a girl?” he jeered.
“Considering Charlie was the one who caught you in the act,” Sean told him, eyes narrowed, “I’d watch your tone if I were you.”
Rebanks swung his gaze back to me and I read part hatred, part fear there. The desire to be in a room alone with me for a short period of time was both an urgent desire and a phobia, all rolled into one.
“Why did you do it, mate?” Figgis broke in then, sounding saddened rather than angry.
Rebanks leaned back, aware he had his chance of an audience, and looked round the gathered faces. It was only me he avoided eye contact with. “The money, of course,” he said. When nobody responded to that he laughed. “Come on, we were all of us sick to the back teeth of the pay cheques bouncing every month.” He threw a disparaging look in Gilby’s direction. “Whatever else the army trained you for, Major, it certainly wasn’t accountancy.”
The Major’s face darkened again, but this time he didn’t make any moves towards him.
Rebanks eyed him for a moment, as if waiting to be sure before he continued. “I have contacts who can supply just about whatever you could wish for in the armaments line. That’s my job,” he said, almost boastful now. “And when you have those kinds of contacts, people get to know about it. I was approached by a buyer who wanted PM-98s. He offered good money to supply them, modified with heavier springs, and I took it, that’s all. I’d have been a fool not to. I didn’t ask any questions.”
“What about when Venko’s lot jumped us in the forest?” Figgis demanded.
“They might not have been the same guns,” Rebanks protested. “I mean, why the hell would a guy with Gregor Venko’s connections need to come to a comparatively small-time player like me for weapons. It didn’t make sense.”
“The heavier springs would make the weapons handle hollowpoint ammo with less chance of misfeeds,” Sean pointed out quiely. “Did that not ring any bells?”
Rebanks shrugged, in itself an admission.
“Blakemore knew they were Venko’s men, as soon as they jumped us,” I said, recalling his vicious words to the driver of the Peugeot. “Is that why you ran him off the road? Because he was getting too close to finding out about your little deals?”
Rebanks looked at me blankly for a second, then laughed. Really laughed, letting his head go back carelessly against the stonework behind him. He rubbed at it, rueful. “Wow,” he said at last. “I would have put you down as closer to being a redhead than a blonde, Charlie. But coming out with crap like that, are you sure you don’t dye your hair?”
He sat forwards then, let his eyes drift slyly across Gilby’s men. “Oh I can tell you who killed old Blakemore and I can tell you why,” he said. “But what’s it worth to you to know?”
Gilby let out an annoyed breath, little more than a hissing puff down his nostrils. “Don’t you know the penalties for gunrunning, Mr Rebanks?” he rapped.