‘Deltona,’ Rebus said.
Mathieson’s beard moved in what might have been a smile. ‘Then I hope he didn’t have plans this weekend. I’ve been promised that plant will work all weekend. I’m due a big order from them by midweek. I wouldn’t want to have to find a new supplier.’
‘How’s the work on LABarum progressing?’ Mathieson stared at him, then fed cartridges into the shotgun’s double chamber. ‘It’s going pretty well,’ he said. ‘Can I ask how you know about it?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘Word gets around.’
‘Does it?’ Mathieson snapped shut the gun.
‘Actually, I came across a copy of your business plan in a council house in Stenhouse.’
‘What was it doing there?’ Mathieson seemed calm enough.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ Rebus told him. ‘Someone had scrawled the word “Dalgety” on it.’ Mathieson flinched and dropped a cartridge.
‘Pull!’ Sir Iain called. A clay disc sprang into the air. There was an explosion, then another, and the disc shattered. Sir lain broke open his gun.
‘Damned good shot,’ commented Sir Colin Macrae.
‘You know, it’s unusual. Sir Iain’s Saturdays are normally corporate affairs, but today we’ve got two policemen.’ Mathieson looked like he wanted Rebus to tell him something, but Rebus didn’t know what.
‘Pull!’ More gunshots filled the air.
‘Not bad, Dugald, not bad!’
‘Tell me,’ Rebus asked Mathieson, ‘do you know a man called Derwood Charters?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’ve heard he helped finance PanoTech in the early days.’
Mathieson laughed. ‘You’re misinformed.’
‘Come on, Allan, you’re next!’
When Robbie Mathieson’s turn came, he missed the target with both barrels.
‘Not like you, Robbie,’ Sir lain laughed, glancing towards Rebus. He looked uncommonly pleased. Rebus felt he was being used; he still didn’t know why or how.
When his own turn came to shoot, he missed with both barrels. Sir lain insisted he try again straight away.
‘You’re a tyro,’ he said, ‘you need the practice. I’m sure we all missed a few in the beginning.’
This time, Rebus chipped a bit off the disc with his second shot.
‘See?’ said Sir Iain. ‘Now you’re getting the hang of it!’
Maybe he was at that.
Ears still ringing, Rebus joined the others at the Land Rover. There were flasks of Scotch broth, sandwiches in silver foil, hip-flasks of whisky and larger flasks of tea. Rebus’s sandwich was brown bread and smoked salmon. The salmon was sliced thick, and had been sprinkled with lemon juice and pepper. He took a small nip of whisky when the hip-flask came round, then drank two mugs of strong tea. With all the games he felt were going on, he wanted to clear his head. He wasn’t sure if he was a player, a counter, or the die. He’d been shown one thing, though — the game was dangerous, at stake his professional career, which was everything he lived for. Practically every man present had it within his power to push Rebus off the playing-board and off the force. He started to get angry: angry with himself for coming; angry with Sir Iain Hunter — so smug, so manipulative — for bringing him here. Rebus knew now that he hadn’t just been brought here so he could be warned off. He swallowed the anger down and held it in his gut. It was hotter than tea, stronger than whisky.
They were almost back at the house when Sir Iain gripped Rebus’s elbow and led him towards the greenhouses.
‘We’ll catch you up!’ he called to the others. Then, to Rebus, still holding him by the elbow: ‘Have a nice chat with Robbie Mathieson?’ Rebus shrugged off Sir Iain’s hand. ‘And with Allan Gunner too, I noticed.’
‘Why am I here?’
‘I admire your directness. You’re here because I want to know if you’ve decided.’
‘Decided what?’
‘To stop your investigation.’
‘Are you willing to tell me why you’re so interested?’
Sir Iain’s gaze hardened. ‘I’m willing to tell you one thing, if you’re willing to listen.’
They were standing in front of one of the long greenhouses. Looking through the misted windows, Rebus could see trestle tables and empty flower-pots and seed-trays, but there was nothing growing in there, nothing at all.
‘I’m listening,’ he said.
‘Then I’ll tell you that Scottish jobs are at risk.’
‘At risk from what?’
‘From you, Inspector, if you continue stumbling blindly around. Let it take its course, that’s what I’m saying.’
Rebus turned to him. ‘Let what take its course? You’re not telling me anything, how am I supposed to know what to do and what not to do?’
‘You know what to do,’ Hunter said calmly: ‘stop your little private investigation. If it goes any further, hundreds of jobs could disappear. Do you hear me? Hundreds. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, I’m sure.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Rebus said.
Hunter looked at him with something near pity. ‘Yes, you do, Inspector.’
He did, too. It was in Hunter’s voice, in the way his frame shivered when he spoke. He believed what he was saying, believed it with a passion. Hundreds of jobs.
Sir lain started to walk towards the house. Rebus followed, making sure he never caught up.
As agreed, Rebus and Gunner left the house separately but met up at a hotel in Auchterarder.
‘I don’t usually drink,’ Gunner confided, washing down two aspirin with an orange juice. They sat in a corner of the quiet lounge bar. For a Saturday, the main street was quiet. The shoppers would all be in Perth, keeping warm in department stores and superstores. The TV was showing Rio Bravo, John Wayne doing his John Wayne walk.
‘I don’t usually shoot,’ Rebus said.
‘So now we’ve both seen how the other half lives.’ Gunner put down his glass and took a deep breath. ‘Let’s get down to business. Whatever you think, Inspector, I wasn’t there to “scare you off”. I got my invite in the mail, same as you did. I’ve been thinking, and my conclusion is that Sir lain wanted to play us off against one another. Or perhaps he thought that my presence would serve to unnerve you.’
Rebus nodded agreement. ‘One other option,’ he added. ‘We were both there to scare someone else. Mathieson didn’t like it that policemen were present.’
‘What are they so worried about?’
‘Hunter told me it has to do with jobs.’
‘Jobs? What kind of jobs?’
Rebus shook his head. How far could he trust Gunner? The man was the first person who’d tried to take him out of the game. ‘Are you going to own up about McAnally?’
Gunner examined his fingernails. ‘You’re right in just about every detail. I had McAnally moved to Saughton and into Charters’ cell. Then he went and got cancer, and wasn’t getting any information out of Charters, so I arranged for his early release.’
‘And he went straight to Councillor Gillespie and blew his head off in front of him.’
‘I don’t know why he did that.’
‘Why was McAnally in Charters’ cell?’
‘To see if he could talk himself into Charters’ confidence. I wanted to see what Charters was hiding. I knew he was hiding something, but couldn’t think what to do about it until Flower suggested McAnally.’
‘And what is Charters hiding exactly?’
‘Money, what else? I don’t mean he’s hiding it literally, though perhaps he is. But back in the mid-eighties he was coining it, and we weren’t sure where the cash was coming from. He had about half a dozen companies — legit, as far as the Fraud Unit could tell — but they made more money than they should have.’
‘I thought that’s what Thatcherism was all about. Was one of his companies called Mensung?’
‘Yes.’
‘And were all his companies involved in retraining?’
‘That sort of thing. Their paperwork was so convoluted — positively labyrinthine — that even our specialists couldn’t find a clear path through it. They were all agreed on one thing. Derry Charters had a genius for muddying the water. You could track a company of his for months and not get to the bottom of its financial status.’