‘She never did with me.’
‘But you knew the stories?’
‘Kids these days aren’t like my generation — or yours.’
‘In some ways that’s true, in others not so much.’ Rebus got to his feet, folding the newspaper and stuffing it into his coat pocket. He handed Meikle a scrap of paper with his phone number on it. ‘I’m going to visit Saughton tomorrow — if you can get word to Ellis, it would help. Get back to me after, and use your mobile rather than one of those phone boxes, eh?’
He exited the bar without looking back.
27
Brian Steele walked into the Devil’s Dram with his girlfriend Rebecca on his arm. She had probably overdone it for this part of town — clinging floor-length emerald-green dress, slit up the side almost to her navel, and with a plunging neckline to boot. Her blonde hair fell in thick waves around her shoulders, and she wore three-inch stilettos. Not too much make-up — she really didn’t need it — and just the right amount of high-end jewellery. As they had stepped from the cab, jaws had dropped, eyes lingering. The doormen knew Steele and held the door open for Rebecca.
‘Everything okay, Shug?’ he asked one of them, slipping a twenty into his palm.
‘Fairly quiet, Brian.’
And then they were in. They’d been a couple of times before, including once under Darryl Christie’s ownership. Steele liked all the theme stuff — devils and demons and imps scaling the walls and peering down from the dark red ceiling. There was usually a good DJ if you wanted to dance, and quiet booths if you’d rather sit and drink and eat. Steele had booked a table upstairs, overlooking the dance floor. Rebecca swayed to the rhythm as they climbed the glass staircase.
Once seated, Steele perused the whisky menu. It ran to eight pages, but he saw that more than a few offerings now had been scored through in black pen. Looking around, the place didn’t seem quite as upmarket as it had once been: a corner of fraying carpet here, a broken light bulb there. There were fingerprints on the glossy table and the food menus were tacky to the touch.
After a long wait, a waiter dressed in red appeared, a bellboy’s hat strapped to his head.
‘No scallops tonight, I’m sorry to say,’ he began. ‘And no lobster or sea bass.’
Another waiter appeared behind him with a tray balanced on one outstretched hand.
‘Compliments of the management,’ he explained, placing flutes of champagne in front of them. Rebecca cooed, her eyes sparkling.
‘And would management happen to be on the premises this evening?’ Steele asked, receiving a nod in reply.
He sat back and studied the menu. After they’d ordered, Rebecca got busy on her phone, pouting for a selfie she could share with her circle. She began sending out texts with a dexterity that always amazed Steele, bearing in mind the length of her elaborate fingernails.
Rebecca owned a couple of nail bars in the city. Steele had helped with the seed money, but business was good. She complained sometimes that she had to pay higher wages than her competition, most of whom seemed to use labour from Vietnam or the Philippines. But she had plans for a third branch and a redesign of her flagship. Brains as well as beauty — about the only thing Steele didn’t like about her was the incessant need to be on her bloody phone.
After their starters, a new waiter arrived at the top of the stairs and gestured towards Steele. He dabbed at his mouth with the napkin and told Rebecca he wouldn’t be long.
Cafferty was waiting for him in a cordoned-off section of the basement bar. No music down here, other than piped lounge-style piano. Cafferty was on his own, arms stretched out along the back of a banquette.
‘Take a pew, Brian,’ he said.
‘Rebecca’s waiting upstairs,’ Steele said as he sat opposite.
‘I saw her. Christ knows what she sees in you, son.’ Cafferty shook his head ruefully.
‘Someone who shows her a good time, maybe.’
‘Plenty of us could do that.’ There was a whisky in front of Cafferty, and another waiting for Steele. He lifted the glass and sniffed.
‘Highland Park 18,’ Cafferty announced, lifting his own glass in a toast. Steele sipped and savoured, then nodded his appreciation.
‘You do a good impression of a man who likes his malt,’ Cafferty told him. ‘But we know you prefer cooking lager, don’t we?’
‘I was brought up on cooking lager,’ Steele confirmed.
‘We all were, son, and look at us now.’ Cafferty smiled and drained his glass, exhaling noisily as he replaced it on the table. ‘But let’s not keep the delightful Rebecca waiting, eh?’
Steele checked that the room was still empty. Even so, he leaned forward, lowering his voice a notch. ‘Those cuffs I told you about? Turns out Jackie Ness left his prints on them.’
‘That wasn’t very clever of him. Who was it told you?’
‘Malcolm Fox.’
‘I know Fox — what’s he got to do with anything?’
‘Gartcosh have got him looking for fuck-ups in the original inquiry.’
‘So he’s at Leith, and feeding the juicy stuff back to you?’ Cafferty digested this information. ‘Do we know why Sutherland let Ness go?’
‘Fiscal’s yet to be convinced there’s enough for a trial.’
‘I’d say a fingerprint isn’t a bad start, though.’
‘Agreed.’
‘A quick conviction would be nice for all concerned.’
‘Trial’s a trial — lot of stuff’s bound to bubble to the surface.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got the jitters?’ Cafferty’s eyes were all but invisible in the dim light. He seemed to be made almost entirely of shadow.
‘Nothing in the Bloom case to make me jittery,’ Steele countered. He began to rise to his feet. ‘Best get back upstairs...’
Cafferty’s right hand descended like a guillotine and clamped around his wrist. ‘You go when I say you can, Brian. Don’t go getting above yourself. A fancy girlfriend and expensive threads don’t hide the fact that you’re just a cog — understood? Remember who’s been your helping hand all these years, hauling you out of uniform and all the way to ACU.’ He enunciated each letter slowly, showing teeth.
‘I’m grateful, you know I am. When have I ever let you down?’
‘Trust me, that’s something you don’t want to happen.’ Cafferty slowly released his grip. ‘You’ve not been interviewed yet?’
‘No.’
‘It’ll happen, though. Make sure you’ve got your story straight — you and Edwards both.’
‘No story to tell.’
‘Rebus knows I took you with me to that meeting with Maloney.’
‘So?’
‘So what else do you think he might be keeping locked away inside that impressively thick skull of his?’
‘The night Bloom disappeared, I was at the Police Club with my wife.’
‘Remind me: your second wife or your third?’
‘Second. We were there all evening, surrounded by dozens of witnesses.’
‘And Edwards was there with you.’ Cafferty sounded bored, having heard the story several times before. ‘Adrian Brand was being driven to some golfing weekend at Gleneagles, and I was sitting on my arse at home with a couple of old chums. Alibis galore, in other words.’
‘Not Ness, though — he didn’t see another soul once Bloom had left. Made a few phone calls to do with his latest project, but that’s about it. Bloom’s boyfriend was back in Bloom’s flat, allegedly, all by himself, getting the supper ready, and the boyfriend’s murder squad father was at some amateur boxing bout in Glasgow.’
‘Not everyone’s covered,’ Cafferty agreed. ‘Just most of us — so there’s nothing for us to worry about, no skeletons keeking out of closets.’ He paused. ‘Meaning we can all relax and enjoy ourselves. Now off you go before someone with a better suit and watch swoops down on Miss Nail Bar. What have you ordered anyway?’