‘Which is why he’ll keep denying it.’
Rebus nodded in agreement. ‘So now you just have to play him off against Hazard.’
‘Exactly. Though there is just the one problem...’
Rebus nodded again. ‘Why did Hazard do it?’
‘Any thoughts on that?’
‘Put me in a room with him for five minutes and I might be able to help.’ Rebus watched as Fox gave a wry smile. ‘I’m serious, Malcolm,’ he said. ‘Deadly serious.’
53
They could hold Hazard for twenty-four hours without charging him. They were using that time to search his home and office, his computers and phone records. They were interviewing people from his past as well as his present. His lawyer meantime was making a bit of noise. What was it with MIT and unproven allegations? First the break-in and now a long-unsolved murder.
Sutherland had stared hard at the solicitor. His name was Francis Dean. He didn’t work at the same firm as Kelvin Brodie, but word had obviously got around.
Hazard’s fingerprints had been taken and he’d been swabbed for a DNA sample. They’d be re-examining the handcuffs, the Polo’s steering wheel and door handles, the tarpaulin and the various vehicles and bits of equipment surrounding the space where the Polo had lain. They’d asked Carlton, but his memory was that Hazard had worn gloves when they were getting the Polo going again. And Carlton himself? No gloves that he could remember. His prints and a cheek swab had been taken, too. The lab at Howdenhall had been told to pull an all-nighter if necessary. Sutherland had already arranged for a delivery of pizzas and soft drinks.
Eventually tiredness got the better of them. Glenn Hazard was taken to a cell at St Leonard’s, and Sutherland’s team were told to try and get a bit of rest. Not too much, though — the clock was ticking and they had plenty to do to convince the fiscal’s office that a murder charge was in order. Rooms had been found in a B&B on the links. Clarke had turned down the offer, insisting that her own flat was only a five-minute drive. Fox asked if he could take the sofa, and she agreed.
‘So that’s a chair for me,’ Rebus said, ‘unless you’re offering this exhausted old man your bed?’
Clarke stared at him. ‘What’s wrong with your own place?’
‘You might forget to call me if there’s a break in the case.’
‘And Brillo?’
‘Good point...’
Rebus drove to Marchmont to fetch Brillo. Meanwhile, Fox had been dropped off at a chip shop near the top of Broughton Street. By the time Rebus reached Clarke’s flat, his fish supper was tepid at best. But the kettle had been boiled and tea brewed, and Fox had brought a battered sausage for the dog.
‘He’d better not sick that back up,’ Clarke cautioned.
‘Me or Brillo?’ Rebus enquired, stuffing vinegary chips into his mouth.
They were seated in the living room. Fox had added cans of cola and Irn-Bru to his purchases, Rebus opening one of the latter.
‘Caffeine’s probably the last thing I need,’ Clarke said, sticking to the peppermint tea she’d made. Having eaten from the wrappings, she dropped them to the floor, leaned her head against the back of her armchair and closed her eyes.
‘You won’t sleep,’ Rebus told her. ‘This is the cops’ equivalent of Christmas Eve.’
‘What if the lab comes up short? Right now it’s just Carlton’s word against Hazard’s. If the farmer’s prints and DNA are all we find on the car...’
‘Jesus, you’re cheery. I thought I was supposed to be the cynical one.’
‘Shiv’s right, though,’ Fox said. ‘The car was on Carlton’s land; Carlton and Bloom were both extras in one of Jackie Ness’s films so maybe knew each other better than Carlton says.’
‘You saying the farmer’s a closet gay and that’s why he killed Bloom?’
‘Bloom spots him at Rogues. Maybe they even have a snog. Bumps into him again during filming. Carlton’s—’
‘So embarrassed he kills him?’ Rebus said, not bothering to hide his disbelief. ‘I don’t see that at all.’ Brillo had climbed on to his lap and was dozing, Rebus rubbing him behind his ears.
‘So why did Hazard do it then? A drug deal gone wrong? Money owed?’
Rebus held up one hand, fingers splayed, his meaning clear to Fox: five minutes with him...
‘Doesn’t matter why it happened,’ Clarke said sleepily, eyelids still closed. ‘We just have to show that one or the other of them did do it.’ She seemed to remember something, rousing herself a little, eyes suddenly on Rebus.
‘You had news for me, John.’
He nodded. ‘Ellis Meikle is covering for his sister.’
‘Billie?’
‘I probably couldn’t prove it in a court of law, but I know that’s what happened.’
‘What will you tell the uncle?’
‘We’ve already spoken.’
‘He’ll give us Steele and Edwards?’
‘Well, to be precise, he’ll make a complaint to PIRC, leaving you out of it as far as possible.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning he never acted on the Chuggabugs’ suggestion that he use your mobile number — a number they handed him — to harass you.’
‘His word against theirs?’
‘Not quite.’
‘You reckon they might not worm their way out of this one?’
‘Steele’s going down for something, Shiv, trust me.’
She stared at him. ‘What do you know that I don’t?’
‘Well for one thing, I can name every Rolling Stones B-side from the 1960s.’
‘Would you put money on it, though?’ Fox asked.
Rebus started counting on his fingers. ‘“I Want to Be Loved”, “Stoned”, “Little by Little”...’
‘Don’t encourage him,’ Clarke said to Fox. ‘It’s just his way of ducking the question.’
‘She knows me too well,’ Rebus agreed with a shrug in Fox’s direction. Then, to Clarke: ‘Has Hazard said anything at all that gets us closer to knowing what happened?’
‘He didn’t know Stuart Bloom, never met Stuart Bloom, never sold drugs, didn’t move away and change his identity because he was fleeing any sort of crime, has no idea why Andrew Carlton would concoct such a story — except that farmers everywhere are feeling the economic strain and maybe the balance of his mind has become disturbed.’
‘That last sounds like a lawyer talking.’
‘Most of what I’ve just said came from the lawyer. Hazard just sits there like he’s made of granite.’
‘He’s not, though, which means we can get to him.’
‘How?’
‘John here,’ Fox interrupted, ‘wants a bit of time alone with the suspect.’
‘Well that’s not going to happen,’ Clarke stated, closing her eyes again.
‘Not necessarily alone,’ Rebus reasoned. ‘One of you could come along for the ride.’
‘Hazard’s legal team would have a field day. This isn’t Miss Marple, John. You don’t get to walk all over the inquiry.’
‘I got a lot wrong last time, Siobhan. I’d just like the chance to make up for that.’
‘You can’t always get what you want.’
He stared at her, then at Fox. ‘B-side of “Honky Tonk Women”,’ he intoned. ‘Still want to take that bet?’
54
Just before midnight, having made up his mind, Rebus asked to be excused for an hour. Brillo’s ears pricked up, but Rebus shook his head. He left the flat on his own and headed for his car. It was a quick drive, the city quiet, lit by sodium and illuminated shop windows. A few drinkers were huddled outside their favoured bars, sharing cigarettes and stories. Rebus wished for a moment that he were among them. Instead of which, he switched one piece of gum for another and kept driving.