‘It was mentioned at the interview. I notice it’s not public knowledge.’
‘Despite which, seems every bugger knows.’ Rebus paused. ‘Steele reckons you and me did it.’
‘You and me?’
‘He’s got it into his head that we might have killed Bloom.’
‘Steele’s the one I warned you about? The one at the meeting between Cafferty and Maloney?’
‘That’s him.’
‘He sounds like a shitbag.’
‘No argument here.’ Rebus slurped at his tea. ‘You didn’t, though, did you?’
‘I didn’t like the lad, John, but that’s as far as it went. Christ, it was bad enough when Derek came out as gay. Looking back, I can see the guts that took, but you know yourself, cops weren’t quite as touchy-feely back then. I knew I’d take some stick, and that was the problem right there — it was me I was thinking of rather than Derek. Even so, it’s one thing when your son tells you he’s gay, but when you see them holding hands, a peck on the cheek...’ Shankley took a deep breath and released it. ‘I wasn’t comfortable, John, not at all comfortable. Then when Stuart turned out to be a private investigator...’
‘You got more stick.’
‘Boss had a few sharp words — if he got wind that I’d ever leaked anything to Stuart...’ Shankley made show of running a finger across his throat.
‘You never did, though,’ Rebus stated.
‘I never did,’ Shankley confirmed.
‘Apart from the occasional warnings about Rogues, obviously.’
‘Those were to Derek rather than Stuart.’
Rebus tilted his head in a show of agreement. ‘Derek’s going to be back under the microscope again — our lot and the media. Think he’ll handle it okay?’
Shankley gave a confident nod. ‘He’s stronger these days — and he wants whoever did it caught. That’s how I know he’s got nothing to hide. For years he’s mulled over what could have happened.’
‘You’re certain he doesn’t know?’
‘Same names keep coming up.’
‘Brand and Ness?’
‘I almost got tired of hearing them.’ Shankley looked at Rebus. ‘He didn’t have anything good to say about the investigation either.’
‘Our bedside manner could have been better,’ Rebus agreed. ‘Having said which, you know yourself that we had to treat him as a suspect as well as a witness.’
‘And now?’
‘I don’t sense any pointing of fingers.’
‘Will you get into trouble, John?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Telling me about those raids; buying drinks for reporters so they’d lay off Derek...’
‘All part of the service, Alex.’
‘Will it come to light, though?’
‘I doubt Police Scotland will want to make anything of it. They’ve got plenty wildfires they’re busy fighting.’
‘Seems the wrong word or look gets you accused of bullying. Wouldn’t have happened in our day, John.’
‘Might have been better if it had,’ Rebus said ruefully, draining his cup.
21
The team briefing took place in the MIT room, Bill Rawlston and Derek Shankley both on their way home. Reid, Gamble, Leighton, Yeats and Crowther were seated. Clarke, having just made her report, was standing in front of Graham Sutherland’s desk. Fox had slipped into the room and positioned himself just inside the door.
Sutherland was digesting what Clarke had just told them.
‘Do we know the whereabouts of Madden and Speke?’ he asked.
‘If they’re still working, it shouldn’t be difficult,’ Clarke said. ‘Place to start would be Jackie Ness.’
‘Except then we’d be tipping him off,’ Callum Reid cautioned. Clarke noticed that he had been busy with his wall and whiteboard: thumbnail crime-scene photos added to the map; more details of players in the drama; even a small copy of the promotional poster for Zombies v Bravehearts. Now that the civilians had left, photos of the handcuffs had been brought out of hiding. Phil Yeats had circulated the list of names he’d compiled with Derek Shankley’s help. It was lengthy and incomplete, and would tie up Yeats and maybe even Gamble for the next day or two. Fox and Leighton meantime had made progress with the case files without having much to add by way of new information or supposition. Madden and Speke, however, were new information, which was why Clarke sensed their boss was excited by it. The long working day was drawing to a close with too little otherwise to show for it.
‘I want you to run with this, Siobhan’ he announced. ‘Emily can help. Find them and talk to them.’ He turned towards Tess Leighton. ‘They don’t feature at all in the original inquiry?’
Leighton checked with Fox before shaking her head.
‘One more screw-up to add to the growing list.’ Sutherland rubbed his eyes.
‘Any further news on the car or the handcuffs?’ Fox asked from the back of the room.
‘Hopefully tomorrow.’ Sutherland checked the time on his phone. ‘Let’s give it another half-hour before calling it a day. If anyone wants to stay later, that’s fine, too. But tired minds aren’t much use to me, so make sure you take breaks as necessary. I’ll be heading to the same pub as before. There’ll be a drink behind the bar for each of you.’ He picked up his phone and placed a call. ‘But before all that, I’d better update DCS Mollison. He’s planned a press conference in the morning, and an email update to go to media outlets tonight.’ Pressing the phone to his ear, he turned away from the room, which was their cue to get back to work. Tess Leighton wandered over to the door and opened it, Fox following.
‘She’s taking the babysitting role seriously,’ Crowther whispered to Clarke.
‘More to it than that, you think?’
‘I’d say he’s her type.’
‘And what type does Tess go for usually?’
‘Sentient,’ Crowther answered with a smile.
Clarke stayed for just the one drink with the team. Whenever cops got together, it was the usual slew of stories and anecdotes about stupid criminals, ineffective fiscals, cases won and lost. Then there were their fellow officers, the daft ones, the savvy ones, the ones who’d got locked out of their cars or inside a cell. Clarke kept the smile pinned to her face. She didn’t mind really; such stories signalled their shared past and cemented their current status as a group, a gang. Fox told his fair share, and they accepted that he’d earned his place. Clarke wondered if Leighton had maybe dropped a hint to the others: he’s okay, we can trust him. She definitely seemed to have relaxed around Fox, even leaning in towards his ear now and again to tell him something. They remonstrated when Clarke said she had to go. George Gamble was readying to get another round in.
‘You’ll be witnessing history, Siobhan,’ Emily Crowther teased. ‘George’s wallet probably needs WD-40, it opens so seldom.’
‘Just for that, I’m only getting you a half,’ Gamble retorted.
But Clarke was already on her feet, sliding her arms into her coat. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘nobody get breathalysed. If you need a designated driver, Malcolm’s your man...’
Fox was starting to remonstrate as Clarke left the pub. She walked back to her car and drove up Leith Walk, stopping and heading into an Italian restaurant just around the corner from Gayfield Square. Some stage musical was playing later at the Playhouse across the street and the place was busy, but the staff knew her and found the quietest table they could. She checked her phone while she ate: texts and emails, social media and news. She was trying to remember when she’d last read a book; time was, she’d have carried one with her. These days she was as likely to read them on a screen.