He sat back, happy to close his mouth and let his words sink in. After a few moments of silence, he turned towards Leighton again.
‘Need me to repeat any of that for you, sweetie?’
‘I think I got it all,’ Leighton said, tearing the sheet from her notebook and ripping it slowly and methodically to pieces in front of him.
37
Sir Adrian Brand had been questioned at home, in the same garden room where Clarke and Crowther had met him. Sutherland had taken Crowther with him, armed with the information on the break-in. This time Brand had his wife by his side, his hand held in hers, while Glenn Hazard stood at a distance, arms folded, ready to pounce whenever he didn’t like the line of questioning.
‘He flat out denied it,’ Sutherland told Clarke when he called her immediately afterwards.
‘He’s lying.’
‘You’re sure this Huston character is reliable?’
‘Gamble and Yeats are with him right now. Let’s see what they say. Meantime, did you ask Brand about what Ness is supposed to have said to him?’
‘He was a bit vague; says he’s no reason to doubt his wife’s version.’
‘Why does he think Ness used those exact words?’
‘He’s no idea.’
‘Lying again?’
‘Not twelve hours ago he suffered a blow to the head. His wife is after a second opinion — private this time. She’s worried the scan might have missed something.’
‘If he pegs it, at least we can put Ness away for something.’
‘Jesus, Siobhan, don’t even say that.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ She gave Sutherland a brief update on the interview with Hanratty.
‘Interesting about the handcuffs,’ he concluded.
‘I’m going to watch the DVD later. At this rate, I’m going to be an expert in lousy movies.’
‘We all need a break, one way or another — either in the case or from the case.’ He exhaled noisily from his nostrils. ‘Hang on, I’ve got another call coming in. It’s the lab, better take it. We’ll be back there in ten minutes tops.’
Clarke put her phone back in her pocket. Tess Leighton was coming up the stairs towards her, having deposited Hanratty in a taxi.
‘Quite the piece of work,’ she commented.
‘Nice touch with the notebook, though.’
‘A page of doodles from earlier.’
‘Well, I’d better let you get back to Malcolm. He’ll be missing your company.’
Leighton gave her a look. ‘It was just dinner, Siobhan.’
Clarke held up a hand. ‘I didn’t mean anything, Tess. I was just teasing. Forget I said it, okay?’
Leighton eventually nodded. Her eyes went over Clarke’s shoulder. ‘Talk of the devil,’ she said. Both women watched as Malcolm Fox approached. He was holding his headphones and the memory stick with the Newsome audio.
‘Singularly unenlightening,’ he confessed. ‘Thank God we’ve moved on from dinosaurs like that.’
‘And like John Rebus, too?’ Clarke enquired.
‘John’s old chum Newsome tries to take a dump on him. He’s not shy about the friendship with Alex Shankley, the drinking, and the history with Cafferty.’
‘Well, at least you have something to tell the Big House.’
Fox fixed her with a look. ‘Don’t worry, any report I make will focus on the facts rather than the fiction.’
‘We were just being accused of doing the opposite,’ Leighton informed him.
‘Oh aye?’
They were interrupted by more footsteps on the stairs. Too soon for it to be Sutherland and Crowther, which could mean only one thing.
‘Nice to see a welcoming committee,’ Brian Steele said, Grant Edwards only a couple of steps behind him.
The Chuggabugs had arrived for their grilling.
Rebus had taken Brillo with him to Restalrig, figuring he looked less suspicious that way. And a few schoolkids did stop now and then to give the dog some attention, attention all too gratefully received. Brillo or no Brillo, however, he learned precious little to add to his store of knowledge about Ellis and Kristen. Darryl Christie had hinted that Cafferty was back in the dope business, always supposing he’d ever left it. Rebus had called Fox, asking for a name at the Organised Crime Unit. He’d then phoned Gartcosh and spoken with Fox’s contact. Cafferty was on their radar, of course he was, but they had no evidence and no surveillance operations against him currently under way. Nothing for it then but to phone the man himself. Cafferty picked up on the fifth or sixth ring.
‘Hell do you want?’ he demanded to know.
‘You sound out of breath.’
‘I’m at the gym. You should try it sometime. Might help you conquer those stairs of yours.’
‘I’m enjoying a spot of exercise right now, actually, walking the gilded streets of Restalrig.’
‘What the hell’s in Restalrig?’
‘It was Ellis Meikle’s patch.’
‘The kid who killed his girlfriend? I’m no further forward.’
‘It’s become a bit of a hobby, digging into old cases.’
‘A solved case, though — where’s the fun in that?’
‘A few ends were left dangling. Maybe I can neaten them up.’
‘And how am I supposed to help?’
‘Ellis and Kristen both indulged recreationally...’
‘Doesn’t exactly put them in a minority round those parts.’
‘Maybe so, but I’m wondering who the seller would have been. After all, who knows you better than your own dealer?’
‘Sounds to me like you’re clutching at straws rather than threads.’
‘I have something to trade.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘If you think you can get me a meet...’
‘Maybe you better tell me what you’ve got first.’
‘I know about Larry Huston.’
‘Now there’s a name from the past.’
‘Jackie Ness asked you if you knew anyone who could crack a safe. You gave him Larry Huston and Huston broke into Adrian Brand’s office. Stuart Bloom took away everything they found.’
‘So what?’
‘So you might have wanted to know what was inside that safe. In any case, MIT are going to want a word. If they knew I’d just tipped you off, they’d buy me a ticket to Siberia.’
‘They can ask me anything they like. I don’t recall anybody reporting a break-in at the time.’
‘Which only makes it all the more intriguing, no? What was it Brand didn’t want anyone knowing had been taken from him?’
‘Maybe you should go and ask him — once he’s recovered from the thumping Ness gave him.’
‘But meantime...’
‘You in your car?’
‘With my faithful mutt for company.’
‘Keep an eye out for a text, then. It could take a while.’
But in fact it was less than ten minutes later when a message arrived. Alley behind Singhs.
Rebus walked with Brillo back to the corner shop where he’d bought the Sunday Post on his previous visit. The alley wasn’t quite a dead end. A high fence separated it from a piece of waste ground at the back of a disused warehouse, the alley itself a dumping ground for discarded TVs and mattresses, at least one of which had been set alight at some point in the recent past. There were two large container bins, obviously belonging to the shop, although one of them, its lid missing, had become home to a trolley from a distant supermarket. A young man stood next to this bin, smoking, using it as an ashtray. He had his phone in his free hand and was texting with a dexterity Rebus could only marvel at. A black hoodie covered the youth’s head and face. He wore faded denims and fashionable-looking trainers that were probably the envy of anyone who knew the brand and price tag.