‘You’ve got a bit of breathing space, though — use it wisely.’
‘By concocting a story?’
‘Or just tell him the truth — I wanted to speak to you about ACU and why they were waiting for you outside this very police station.’ Rebus paused. ‘Not sure that would go down too well with your boss, but if that’s the way you want to play it...’ He began to descend the staircase.
After a moment’s pause, Fox followed. ‘Why not just call Gartcosh, ask to be put through to the ACU office?’ he asked.
‘Would my call be logged?’
‘Probably.’
‘There’s your answer then.’
‘John, you have to realise that if you hold any kind of meeting with them, or even just speak on the phone, someone somewhere is going to wonder why.’
‘And they’ll see a conspiracy where none exists.’ Rebus shoved at the door, exiting on to the pavement, Fox following close behind. Seagulls were raucous on the chimneypots opposite.
‘The misper inquiry is riddled with holes,’ Fox was saying. ‘I’ve only had a couple of days with it and even I can see that. Tess Leighton knows, too. Notes were amended, dates and times are erroneous, officers not following up where they should, then covering their arses with more lies and half-truths. Plus, the investigation was far too cosy with the media — and not very sympathetic to Bloom’s family or his circle of friends.’
‘Human failings, Malcolm.’ The two men were facing one another on the pavement, their feet only eighteen inches apart.
‘Added to which,’ Fox ploughed on, ‘knowing their connection to Adrian Brand, your friends Steele and Edwards should never have been within fifty miles of that inquiry.’
‘Ah, but we didn’t know, not at the start.’ Rebus slid a lozenge of gum from its packet and popped it into his mouth.
‘It was up to them to come forward.’
‘They did that, didn’t they?’
‘Not nearly soon enough. Jesus, John, this isn’t rocket science.’ Fox shook his head at Rebus’s offer of gum. ‘If I can see it, so can others. They won’t all be on your side.’
‘Do what you have to do, Malcolm. We’re all grown-ups, we can deal with the consequences.’
‘You’re retired, though, John. You’ve not got as much to lose as some.’
Rebus nodded. ‘Which is why the Chuggabugs are desperate to know where you’re going with it. They’ve spent year after dirty year climbing to the giddy heights of ACU.’ He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled menthol. ‘I’d help if I could, you know that. If I had anything from back then, anything I could prove...’
‘Is that the whole truth, John?’
Rebus gave a thin smile. ‘Just keep digging, Malcolm. Maybe what you need is somewhere in those boxes, buried deep.’ He paused. ‘Now, I did say you owed me a favour.’
‘Did you?’
‘For covering your arse with Sutherland. Just Steele’s number will do. I get the feeling Edwards has yet to progress to joined-up sentences, never mind joined-up thinking.’
Fox sighed, dug out his phone and got busy on the screen. Rebus’s own phone let him know the information had been received. ‘Buy you that mug of tea?’ he asked, gesturing towards the café on the opposite corner.
‘I’d better get back in.’ Fox seemed to hesitate. ‘Is there any point in my warning you to tread carefully?’
‘I always do, Malcolm. Plenty dog shit on the pavements around here.’ Rebus gave a wave of the hand as he started walking towards his Saab.
18
Cafferty had several mobile phones on the go at any one time. He ditched numbers regularly, added and deleted accounts and providers. Same went for his email. The broadband in his duplex was extra-secure and checked fortnightly for attempted breaches. Even so, he preferred the old ways — face-to-face meetings in public places with plenty of background noise. The new technologies were fine — in many ways they had aided his various businesses — but you didn’t learn about people from them, not the way you did when your eyes drilled into theirs, your senses alive to their gestures and tics. A bead of sweat; a quickening of the breathing; a nervous sniffle; the crossing and uncrossing of legs. He had never played poker but he knew he’d be good at it. His chief fear was there would always be someone better. He would end up annoyed, and needing some sort of payback.
When one of his phones rang, he checked to see which, and knew straight away who the caller was. He had only met Conor Maloney once, a summit of sorts held at a hotel near Glasgow airport. Maloney had booked the meeting room for a whole day. The receptionist had checked on her list to confirm that Cafferty — aka Mr Coleman — was there at the correct hour. Other appointments were listed, though Cafferty had no way of knowing whether they were merely a smokescreen. All he knew was, Maloney was booked on a flight back to Dublin that same afternoon.
Cafferty lifted the phone. ‘You’re a hard man to speak to,’ he said by way of greeting.
‘I’m a hard man full stop. What can I do for you, Morris?’
No one but his mother and a few school teachers had ever called Cafferty that; he suspected Maloney knew it, and used it to try to get a reaction from him.
‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘Now why would you want to know that?’ The accent would always retain its soft Irish lilt, but there was gravel in there too. ‘Let’s just say I’m some place that requires a cold beer, and that beer’s getting warm as we speak.’
‘Stuart Bloom has turned up.’
‘Fighting fit, I trust.’
‘Dead in his car and wearing a set of handcuffs.’
‘Handcuffs? So the boys in blue did away with him after all.’ Cafferty stayed silent. ‘Ah, come on now, Morris. Are we still playing that game? I told you twenty dozen times I had nothing to do with it.’
‘Same as I told you it wasn’t me. Doesn’t mean one of us wasn’t lying.’
‘It’s history, Morris. Leave it to the coppers.’
‘They’re dusting off the original missing person case.’
‘And the best of Irish luck to them.’
‘We both get a mention.’
‘So bloody what?’ Maloney held the phone away from his face while he spoke to someone in what sounded like French. He was back a few seconds later. ‘You and me did well to stay out of that little skirmish — end of.’
‘Do you ever hear from your old friend Sir Adrian?’
‘Not in a long time.’
‘The story’s all over the media; you know what that means.’
‘It means we keep our heads down. Easier for me than you — I hear you came out of retirement.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’
‘Hotels is where you want to be, not bars. Plenty money sloshing around.’
‘Thanks for the advice.’
‘Morris, I’m telling you, there’s nothing to worry your pretty little head over. Everyone had an alibi that night, didn’t they?’
‘An alibi used to be an easy thing to arrange.’
‘You’re right about that. Bloody phones and CCTV these days, a man never knows who’s watching him. Here, do you still use a computer?’
‘On occasion.’
‘And that advice I gave you?’
Cafferty glanced at the notebook sitting open on his desk. ‘Sticky tape over the camera, don’t worry.’
‘Can’t be too careful. And remember: the only way to ensure your phone can’t be hacked is not to have a phone in the first place. Speaking of which, they’ve almost had enough time to trace this.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘I’d be here all day if I started. Take good care of yourself, Morris. We’re none of us getting any younger.’
The phone went dead. Number withheld, naturally. It had taken Cafferty five calls to get the message out that he wanted to speak. He wondered if Maloney had changed much from the stocky, bull-necked man he’d met. The demeanour had been cheery enough — the professional Irishman bit — but the eyes had remained serious as a stroke. Despite searching online, Cafferty hadn’t found any photos of the man taken less than five years ago. When they’d met at the hotel, there’d just been the two of them, Maloney’s two ‘associates’ waiting outside with Cafferty’s own man. Then again, Cafferty’s man had been an off-duty cop, so that evened things up a bit. There had been coffee and water and some biscuits and pastries, and a quiet chat about the feud between Brand and Ness, and how choosing sides might lead to ‘awkwardness’. Wasn’t it better to call a truce of sorts and focus on cooperation — Maloney and Cafferty seeking joint ventures rather than rivalry?