‘Just before he was kicked into touch.’
‘He said we’d behaved with “institutional arrogance” in the way we dealt with all their bloody complaints. The nerve of the man...’
‘Nobody ever proved we got the inquiry wrong, though,’ Rebus felt it necessary to add. Then, when Rawlston said nothing: ‘I seem to recall the mother was best described as feisty.’
Rawlston gave a hoot. ‘We worked ourselves into the ground, and not one bit of thanks.’
‘Quite the reverse, in fact.’
‘I loved my job, John, but by the end, I was as relieved as hell to walk away.’ Rawlston paused. ‘How about you?’
‘They had to drag me out. Even then, I went back in for a while, working cold cases.’
‘And now?’
Rebus exhaled. ‘Washed up seems to be the general consensus.’
‘So what brings you here?’
‘Just thought you should know. There’s a team already up and running. I spoke to them earlier, so now they know at least a bit of the story. But they’ll be dusting off the case files, and at some point they’ll interview the family... and the original inquiry team.’ Rebus’s voice died away.
‘We’re going to have to defend ourselves all over again.’ Rawlston seemed to be staring at something beyond the living room walls. ‘I think I knew from the start that it was one of those cases you take to the grave. In my case, sooner rather than later.’
Rebus took a moment to respond. ‘How long have you got?’
‘Six months to a year. I’m told I look as good as I ever did. I still exercise and eat my greens... take the various tablets.’ Rawlston managed a wry smile. ‘Never smoked in my life, but I spent thirty years married to someone who did. Would you credit it? And here’s what’s waiting for me at the end — all that old shite coming back to haunt me.’ He looked at Rebus. ‘You able to keep your ear to the ground, John? Let me know how it plays out?’
Rebus nodded. ‘I reckon I can do that.’
‘They’re out to bury us, you know. They don’t want the likes of us around. We smell of old days and old ways.’
‘You said earlier about a conspiracy with us in the middle...’ Rebus had placed his untouched mug on the carpet and was rising to his feet. ‘So what would you say if I told you the body in the car was wearing handcuffs?’
‘Handcuffs?’
‘Forensics will soon know if they were police issue. Doesn’t mean they came from a cop, of course.’
‘The Chuggabugs?’
Rebus gave a shrug. ‘You ever hear from them?’
‘They came to Beth’s funeral. Didn’t stay for the drinks, though.’
‘Are they still on the force?’
‘We didn’t really speak.’ Rawlston rose to his feet, straightening his shoulders and pulling back his head. But Rebus knew now, knew it was for show. The man was in pain, and the pain wasn’t going anywhere.
‘I was conscientious, John,’ he said quietly. ‘I did everything I could to the best of my abilities. Maybe that was never going to be enough for some people, but if there’s anything you can do... anything to stop them flushing my reputation down the crapper...’
Rebus found himself nodding slowly, the two men locking eyes, knowing neither was being completely truthful at this meeting.
‘Not just your reputation, Bill,’ Rebus said, watching as Rawlston stepped in so close he feared for a moment that a hug was imminent. But there was a pat on the forearm instead.
‘I’ll see you out,’ Bill Rawlston said quietly.
Having finally found a parking space for his Saab, Rebus was a few steps from his tenement on Arden Street when he heard a car door open behind him.
‘Wondered when I’d be seeing you,’ he said to Siobhan Clarke.
‘Can I come up?’
‘Brillo needs a walk.’
‘Then I’ll keep you company.’
He reached a hand out towards her, his keys dangling from one finger. ‘His lead’s hanging in the hall. Keech bags in the kitchen drawer beneath the kettle.’
She took the keys. ‘What’s the matter, old-timer — stairs too much for you?’
‘Can’t see the point when there are younger legs available.’
Clarke unlocked the tenement door and headed in. She was right, though — the two flights of unforgiving Edinburgh stairs were becoming a definite issue. More and more he’d have to pause at the first landing, maybe for a puff from the inhaler. He’d considered selling up and buying something at ground level, either a main-door flat or a bungalow. Maybe he still would.
Brillo was barking with excitement as Clarke led him back down to where the outside world with its plethora of sights and smells was waiting.
‘The Meadows?’ she guessed, attempting to hand the lead to Rebus.
‘The Meadows it is,’ he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking off.
‘I’m not great with dogs,’ Clarke cautioned, as Brillo strained against his leash.
‘You’re doing fine,’ Rebus assured her. The sky was clear, the temperature not much above zero. A group of students passed them, swinging carrier bags filled with bottles.
‘Your flat could do with a tidy,’ Clarke stated.
‘You were only supposed to go in the kitchen.’
‘Your kitchen could do with a tidy,’ she corrected herself.
‘Are you offering?’
‘I’m a bit busy these days. I just thought maybe with Deborah and everything...’
‘Professor Quant and myself are taking a bit of a break.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s not that we fell out or anything. In fact, I should probably blame you.’
‘Why?’
‘For keeping her so busy.’ Rebus paused. ‘Your man Sutherland looks pretty useful.’
‘No complaints so far.’
‘Only day one, Siobhan — plenty fuck-ups ahead. What about the rest of his crew?’
‘They seem fine.’
‘Shouldn’t you be with them right now, bonding over a few post-work drinks?’
‘You know why I’m here, John.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I want to hear the whole story.’
‘You don’t think that’s what I gave Sutherland?’
‘First time for everything, I suppose.’
‘I didn’t lie, though, give me credit for that. Any progress since I left?’
‘Not really.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So Stuart Bloom was a private eye, employed by a man called Jackie Ness to find out about a land deal. Ness had a long-time rivalry with another businessman called Adrian Brand...’
‘Now Sir Adrian Brand.’
‘Brand wanted a chunk of green-belt land so he could build a golf course; Ness reckoned the same land would be perfect for a film studio. He thought Brand might be lining pockets to clinch the deal, but he needed proof...’
‘Enter Stuart Bloom.’
‘Trained as a journalist, studied computers and how to hack into them. Was in a fairly open relationship with a lecturer called...’
‘Derek Shankley.’
‘Shankley’s father Alex was Glasgow CID...’
‘Murder squad to be precise.’ They had reached Melville Drive. The Meadows lay before them, a large tree-edged playing field with the old infirmary and the university beyond it. Rebus reached down and unclipped Brillo’s lead. The small, wiry dog bounded off. Clarke and Rebus stayed where they were, half watching as Brillo slowed and began nosing his territory.
‘The night Bloom went missing,’ Clarke continued, ‘he’d just made a report to Jackie Ness at Ness’s home.’
‘The palatial Poretoun House,’ Rebus agreed.
‘Which happens to be next to Poretoun Woods. And it turns out those woods are where Bloom’s body has been lying all these years.’