‘How do you mean?’
‘Semper vigilo, Malc. I’ll catch up with you soon.’
Fox must have heard something in Rebus’s voice. ‘How soon?’ he asked.
‘Depends on the traffic,’ Rebus said, ending the call.
52
He parked at Leith Links — it was the closest he could get. Media vans, a couple with satellite dishes on their roofs pointed skywards, had taken all the spaces nearer the police station. Rebus watched from the corner. He’d caught the local news on his Saab’s radio, so knew reporters had also been dispatched to Poretoun Glen Farm.
Eventually, DCS Mark Mollison emerged and was immediately mobbed. He had a statement to make, but couldn’t start until everyone had calmed down. Rebus made his move, squeezing past the scrum around Mollison and entering the station. A uniform stood just inside the door, ready to eject unwanted visitors. Rebus held up both hands.
‘I’m not press,’ he said. He didn’t recognise the officer behind the desk so asked to see Detective Inspector Fox.
‘He’s busy — they all are, if you hadn’t noticed.’
‘I’m an ex-cop myself,’ Rebus explained. ‘I’ve been helping on a case and I need a word with Fox or DI Clarke.’
‘I stopped listening after “ex”,’ the officer said, turning away. Rebus was aware of the uniform at his shoulder, ready to usher him out with a firm touch. He got out his phone and sent a text upstairs.
‘One minute,’ he told the uniform. ‘If nobody comes down, I’ll go.’
‘I’ve already started counting,’ the uniform warned him.
Fifty seconds later, Fox arrived, pushing open the inner door. He didn’t look exactly welcoming.
‘Okay?’ the uniform asked.
Eventually, Fox nodded stiffly. Before he could change his mind, Rebus crossed the threshold with a muttered ‘Thanks.’
As they climbed the stairs, Fox asked if anyone had spotted him.
‘Feeding frenzy around Mollison — I’m not daft.’ Rebus stopped, turning to face Fox. ‘Look, there’s something you need to know. Rawlston’s not a well man. A few more months and he won’t be here.’
‘You’re asking me to censor my report? Turn it into fake news?’
‘I’m asking you to take your time finalising it. Tell your boss you need to track down a few more people for interview. You’re being thorough, that’s all.’ Fox started climbing again, Rebus breathing heavily at his heels. ‘Fuck’s sake, Malcolm, nobody’s building a pyre around you. It would be a kindness, that’s all. I’m not even asking you to lie.’ Rebus caught Fox glaring at him. ‘Okay, a white lie to your boss maybe. Will you at least think about it?’
They had reached the first-floor landing, where a grim-faced Siobhan Clarke was waiting. ‘Just had a text from Laura,’ she said, holding up her phone, ‘asking what John Rebus is doing here.’
Fox turned towards Rebus, who was busying himself with his inhaler. ‘Not daft, I believe you were saying.’
‘So what the hell are you doing here, John?’
‘Being nosy,’ Rebus eventually replied. ‘Promise I won’t get in the way.’
Clarke turned to Fox. ‘And I thought I heard that you’d been recalled to Gartcosh?’
‘Just packing up my things,’ Fox told her.
‘What things?’
‘Whatever they are, it’s taking me a little bit longer than anticipated.’
Clarke rolled her eyes and turned away, disappearing into the MIT room before re-emerging.
‘Malcolm,’ she said, ‘I’m putting you in charge of John. Try not to let him slip his collar.’
Fox nodded and led Rebus to the cramped room that had been his office for the past week.
‘I thought the farmer was in here,’ Rebus said.
‘He’s been released,’ Fox said. ‘With conditions.’
‘Meaning not enough evidence to charge him?’
‘Oh, he’ll definitely face charges — we’re just not sure yet what they’ll be, and meantime we want him to keep cooperating.’
‘So what’s he spilled so far?’ Rebus accepted the chair Fox offered him. He picked up a sheaf of paper — all relating to the 2006 inquiry.
‘Please don’t do that,’ Fox said. ‘Anyone walks in and sees you here...’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word about you inviting me up here to help you massage your report.’
‘You ever thought about stand-up?’
Rebus put the sheets back. ‘You were about to tell me about the farmer,’ he prompted.
‘He was friends with Graeme Hatch, had been since school. Then Hatch went off to college. Flunked first year and came home to Poretoun, but he’d picked up a new skill while away.’
‘Selling dope?’
‘Not massively, according to Carlton, but enough to make a living. Pubs and clubs around Edinburgh, plus the village and others like it. When a film was being made, that was always a good market.’
‘And all of this under Cafferty’s nose?’
‘We did ask Carlton if Hatch was working for anyone, but he reckons he was all on his own.’
‘Must have got the stuff somewhere.’
‘The internet apparently.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Ordered from China and elsewhere via the Dark Web.’
‘Was Carlton a client as well as a user?’ Rebus asked.
‘Just a few uppers to keep the party going.’
Rebus grew thoughtful. ‘Interesting phrase, Malcolm.’
Fox’s brow furrowed. ‘Is it? Why?’
‘That spate of overdoses — the connection with Rogues. Cafferty says it was all down to a seller called Graeme.’ Rebus paused. ‘So what does Carlton say about the car?’
‘Just that Hatch turned up with it one night and said he needed to leave it there.’
‘Did he ask why?’
‘Says he joked about it being stolen. Hatch was adamant — no questions. They took it to the corner of the field, made sure it was surrounded by junk, and draped a tarpaulin over it. He says the interior looked empty. Hatch had a bag with him; Bloom’s laptop and phone could have been inside.’
‘Plus the papers from Brand’s safe?’ Rebus guessed. Fox just shrugged.
‘We know Stuart Bloom’s body was kept in the boot. It’s feasible the farmer never took a peek.’
‘Hatch isn’t saying?’
‘He’s still being questioned, not twenty feet from here.’
‘Lawyered up?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘The car was moved two or three years back?’
Fox nodded. ‘Around the time Carlton told his old pal he was considering selling the farm. They towed it out of the field, jump-started the battery and put a bit of air in the tyres.’
‘It was still working after all those years?’
‘German engineering,’ Fox agreed. Hazard drove off in it and that was the last Carlton heard of it.’
‘He knew, though, right? Knew who it belonged to?’
‘I’d say so, or else why panic when he saw Siobhan?’
‘But what does he say?’
‘He denies it. Never watched the news, so was only vaguely aware someone had gone missing.’
‘He must be lying.’
‘Of course he’s lying.’
‘So his old pal turns up again a few years later having added a bit of weight and with a new haircut, new attitude. And they never talk about the car? Carlton never goes near it?’
‘Allegedly.’
‘And when it turns up again in Poretoun Woods with Stuart Bloom’s remains inside...?’
‘He still doesn’t watch the news.’
‘Aye, right.’ Rebus gave a snort.
‘That’s his story.’
‘Well, it stinks worse than a freshly laid cowpat. And cooperation or no cooperation, if he knew what he was doing, he’s headed jailwards.’