Steele exhaled more smoke, making sure it avoided Fox. The man was tall and broad with an unexceptional face and short black hair spiked with gel. ‘Plenty of time for that, Malc. It was you I wanted to see.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re on the same side. You were Complaints, I’m ACU. Neither of us likes dirty cops. I know you’ll have heard some of the stories about me — bending the rules, pulling a few stunts. I’ll bet similar things were said about you when you were Complaints. Nobody likes us, nobody trusts us, so they need their lies and rumours.’
‘I’m not much clearer on why you’re here.’
Steele took a step closer. ‘Reopening the old case is an opportunity for more lies, more mud-slinging. I’d just appreciate the odd update, confidentially. In return, I’ll owe you one. Ask around, I’m a good friend to have.’ He finished the cigarette and flicked it halfway across the road. ‘And if you do need sacrificial lambs, I can give you those too. Skelton, Newsome, Rebus — take your pick.’
‘None of them worked for Adrian Brand back then, though, did they?’
‘Plenty cops had side jobs, Malc. It still happens, you know that. But when it came to policing, I gave one hundred per cent, same then as now. Many didn’t do half as much.’
‘Rebus?’
‘More likely to be found in a pub than anywhere else. Half drunk or else hung-over. We covered for him, same as for Mary Skelton.’
‘What did she do?’
‘Her mum was sick; she kept nipping off to visit her. Except everybody knew it was a bloke she was seeing, afternoon delight and all that. I’ve never seen a woman more in heat.’
‘And Newsome?’
‘Doug Newsome was a waste of space. Half the interviews he said he’d done never happened, and the ones he did deign to do, he made stuff up when he transcribed them.’
Fox studied Steele. ‘You were in the ranks at the time. Unusual for a uniform to know so much about the CID side of things.’
‘I was conscientious. And I made friends. That’s how you get ahead, Malc. It got me here, didn’t it?’ He smiled. ‘So what do you say, a quick pint and a quiet chat now and again?’ Steele broke off. ‘What am I saying? You’re a recovering alcoholic — apple juice is your thing, isn’t it? When you’re being sociable, I mean. Mostly you just like quiet nights at home in Oxgangs, when you’re not keeping an eye on your sister, making sure her gambling habit’s under control.’ He was still smiling, but his eyes were as hard as marbles.
‘You’ve done your research,’ Fox conceded.
‘It’s how the world turns.’
‘So tell me, what did you think when you heard Stuart Bloom had been found?’
‘I thought it was an interesting location, especially if someone was trying to make sure we focused on Jackie Ness or Adrian Brand.’
‘Were you one of the original search team?’
‘In the woods?’ Steele nodded. ‘Only took us half a day, mind. The woods, the house and its grounds. More likely he’d met a bit of rough and been done in.’
‘Did you visit Rogues at all?’
‘Not then, no.’
‘But other times?’
‘We went in once or twice, acting on tip-offs. Drugs; underage kids.’
‘Find anything?’
‘Doesn’t mean nothing was happening.’
‘I’m guessing the tip-offs were anonymous?’
‘Not every concerned citizen wants to stick their head above the parapet.’ Steele was growing impatient. ‘Sounds like I’ve already done my interview, doesn’t it?’
‘I doubt we’ve even scratched the surface.’
‘My ears aren’t picking up the warm sounds of a burgeoning friendship.’
‘Nothing wrong with your hearing then.’
Steele looked down at the pavement between them. ‘You’ve been known to hang around with John Rebus, Malc — is he a friend? Because he’s probably got more to lose than most, you know.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The boozing was the least of it. Bear that in mind when you bring him in for questioning. See, old cases can be like stripping wallpaper — you don’t know what problems you’re going to find beneath, kept hidden by the thinnest of coverings.’ Steele held up his thumb and forefinger, so that a millimetre gap remained between them. ‘I’m a hell of a friend to have, Malc, but I can be the exact opposite, too. Remember that.’ He turned to leave, but then paused. ‘Oh, and don’t think of going running to your boss at Major Crime — Jen Lyon’s got enough to deal with if the stories I hear are true.’
‘What stories?’
‘Bit of gardening leave coming her way. At this rate, you or me might be running the show before too long.’
He started to cross the road, and for the first time Fox noticed the large black Audi parked there. The driver’s window slid down, giving him a clear view of Grant Edwards. Edwards was known for the perpetual smile he wore. His face was that of an oversized infant, almost cherubic. Fox got the feeling the man would have the same demeanour whether he was helping an old lady with her shopping or thumping someone in a bar fight. Interesting that he had stayed in the car, though. Steele had wanted to befriend Fox rather than intimidate him; that had been the plan. Besides which, Edwards wasn’t known for either intellect or subtlety. Waiting in the car would have been Steele’s decision. Fox sent a little wave of farewell in the Audi’s direction as he headed back indoors.
Clarke had found two scenes where Stuart Bloom and Derek Shankley appeared as extras. Their job was to look fierce as they prepared for an imminent attack by the English, then scream and flee as the zombies appeared. The scenes seemed to have been shot in twilight, so it wasn’t easy to pick them out from the other actors, but it helped that they always stood next to one another. When she watched for a third time, she thought she noted amusement in their eyes where fear should have been, as if they’d been sharing a joke between takes.
Always supposing the director bothered with more than one take.
Neither Bloom nor Shankley was listed in the closing credits. The director (and also co-writer) was Alexander Dupree. From an internet search Clarke knew that this was a pseudonym used by Jackie Ness to disguise how few people were involved behind the camera in his productions. Cheaply made, his films had still earned him substantial sums, at least until recently. If a thriller made it big at the international box office, a quick knock-off version courtesy of Locke Ness Productions would be in circulation within a matter of weeks. In interviews, Ness was particularly proud of this guerrilla approach. Get it out quick, and make sure both violence and at least partial nudity appear within the first ten minutes. ‘Fear and desire,’ he’d been quoted as saying, ‘are what drive us. I just hold up a mirror so we can watch ourselves.’
From what she could glean from the nerds on the internet, the film had been made only a month prior to Bloom’s disappearance. She supposed it was to Ness’s credit that he hadn’t tried to capitalise on the PI’s newsworthiness at the time the film was released. Whenever he was asked by interviewers about Bloom’s disappearance, he gave versions of the same answer: ‘It would have been a great studio — great for film, great for Scotland. But that dream died.’ She had mulled those words over. He was tying Stuart Bloom’s disappearance to his own struggle with Adrian Brand. Without naming him, he was effectively blaming his rival.
Her phone buzzed: incoming call. She checked the name on the screen and slipped out of the office, pressing the phone to her ear as she closed the door.
‘I’ve got nothing for you, Laura.’
‘Okay,’ Laura Smith said. ‘But maybe I’ve got something for you.’