‘And after you’d finished with them...?’
‘Inspector,’ Brodie said, fussing with his watch’s leather wristband, ‘are you going to present any evidence that the handcuffs photographed here are actually the ones used in the crime?’
‘We’re gathering information, Mr Brodie.’
‘Admirable, I’m sure. But if they are the same, you must see that their appearance in one of my client’s films would explain precisely why his partial fingerprint ended up on them.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’ Clarke’s eyes were on Ness. ‘If we could prove they’re the same, it might save you from going to trial, Mr Ness.’
Ness snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering. ‘His first name was Gram.’
‘Gram?’
‘You know, like a gram of cocaine.’
‘And Gram was the dealer rather than his friend the extra?’
Ness nodded.
‘But you don’t know the friend’s name?’
‘Mr Ness is doing his level best here, Inspector,’ Brodie interjected.
Clarke ignored him. ‘This friend was an extra, Mr Ness? In Bravehearts? Cops v Demons? And Gram might have been onscreen too?’
‘I can’t be sure.’
‘It so happens I have both films here with me. Would you be willing to watch them and see if you can spot either man?’
Ness considered for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Probably safer here than outside — if it’s not the media stalking me, it’s Stuart’s bloody mother.’
‘You’ll want your solicitor present, of course.’ Clarke turned her attention to Kelvin Brodie. Three hours of B movies played on a laptop with Jackie Ness for company. The look the lawyer gave her would, Clarke knew, warm her during many a long dark night.
43
Rebus sat in his Saab, watching the Meikle house, radio playing softly. After twenty minutes and half a pack of gum, Dallas Meikle emerged, getting into his car and driving off. Rebus locked the Saab, walked to the front door and rang the bell. Seona Meikle opened up, cigarette in hand. The look she gave him was the opposite of welcoming.
‘Do I know you?’ she rasped.
‘I was here a few days back. You saw me chatting to Dallas.’
‘He said you drank at McKenzie’s, but that was pish. I can tell every time he lies.’
‘Had a bit of experience, then?’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’
‘I’m ex-CID. I’ve been given the job of looking at your son’s conviction. I’m assuming Dallas hasn’t said anything.’
She took her time folding her arms, the cigarette hanging from a corner of her mouth. ‘No,’ she finally admitted.
‘Well, Dallas was harassing one of the detectives on the case. She brought me in to help.’
‘Help what?’
‘Examine the evidence; dig down a bit deeper than maybe happened at the trial.’
‘Trying to get him off, you mean?’ Her eyes narrowed as the smoke hit them.
‘Trying to establish what actually happened, and why.’
She shook her head. ‘Bloody Dallas. I knew he couldn’t let it rest.’
‘You think your son did it, Mrs Meikle?’
‘Who else?’
A fair question, but not one Rebus felt like answering. Instead, he slipped his hands into his pockets, keeping his stance casual. ‘I’ve been studying some of the family’s social media,’ he said. ‘Just working out relationships, stuff like that.’
‘Is that legal?’
Rebus fixed her with a stare. ‘I’m wondering why you call yourself Chizzy, Mrs Meikle.’
‘Eh?’
‘When you’re pretending to be a pal of your daughter’s. When you’re having a bit of a snipe at her.’
‘Go fuck yourself.’ She had unfolded her arms and plucked the cigarette from her mouth.
‘She won’t be too happy when she finds out, I dare say.’
The woman had taken a step back and was starting to close the door on him.
‘It’s because she chose her father over you, isn’t it? That’s what’s pisses you off.’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ she repeated.
‘And now you don’t even have Ellis,’ Rebus pushed on. ‘Just you and your brother-in-law, all nice and cosy. But not really cosy at all...’
His last words were called out to a door that had clicked shut. He leaned down and prised the letter box open, withdrawing his fingers rapidly as the cigarette was stubbed down towards them.
‘Attempted assault, Mrs Meikle,’ he called out, receiving in response the familiar refrain, this time from deeper inside the house. Seona Meikle was done with him.
‘That went well,’ Sutherland told Clarke when they returned to the MIT room. Clarke just nodded and told Phil Yeats to take a laptop and the two DVDs to the interview room. Seated behind her desk, she remembered a call she had to make. She found Derek Shankley’s mobile number on the list next to her computer.
‘Yes?’ he answered.
‘It’s DI Clarke, phoning from Leith. I hope I’m not disturbing you?’
‘I’m marking coursework.’
‘I won’t keep you. I was just wondering if the name Larry Huston meant anything to you?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘We think he helped Stuart break into Adrian Brand’s office and steal from the safe there.’
‘Really?’ Shankley sounded bemused.
‘Stuart probably met or spoke with Huston sometime before the break-in. The break-in itself happened just a couple of nights before his disappearance.’
‘Stuart never really talked about work.’
‘No?’
‘He always said what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.’
‘Two nights prior to his disappearance, were you maybe waiting for him at his flat?’
‘Let me think... Yes, probably.’
‘He wouldn’t have got back till late.’
‘His line of work often took him out at night.’
‘Having got the contents of the safe, I’d think he might be elated, a bit more than usual even?’
There was silence on the line while Shankley thought back. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he eventually said. ‘He was quivering all over. Poured himself a whisky, which was unusual. I remember now. I thought he was feverish or something.’
‘And he had a carrier bag with him?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary in that.’
‘Not shopping, though; maybe something he was reluctant to show you?’
‘Could be, I don’t really recall. I know he stayed up late. I woke up when he came to bed. He seemed... a bit cast down. Maybe just tired, I thought. He was okay in the morning.’
‘Did you see the bag after that time?’
‘I don’t think so... Is it important? Maybe it got taken in the break-in.’
Clarke felt her stomach lurch. ‘What break-in?’
‘A week after Stuart vanished, I got a call from a neighbour. Someone had kicked in his door.’
‘What did they take?’
‘Actually, I’m not sure they took anything. I mean, nothing I could identify as missing.’
‘The bag?’
‘I don’t know if it was still there.’
‘Why didn’t you report this, Derek?’
‘The neighbours beat me to it. Police were there by the time I arrived.’
‘Which police?’
‘The kind who wear uniforms and ask to see your ID.’
‘Would that information have been passed to the squad investigating Stuart’s disappearance?’
‘How am I supposed to know that?’
‘You’re not,’ Clarke conceded.