‘Like what?’
‘Like which manufacturer was going to supply us?’
‘It would be the director of Corporate Services, wouldn’t it?’
‘But the DCC would have a say.’
‘Probably. Is it relevant?’
Rebus wondered. PanoTech put the computers together in Gyle Park West, and Gyle Part West was one of Councillor Gillespie’s files. Mensung was another. There was the story that Derry Charters had something to do with the early financing of PanoTech. And PanoTech’s boss just happened to be at Sir Iain Hunter’s, looking worried about something. And Allan Gunner was there too …
Wheels within wheels, he thought. Scotland was a machine, a big machine if you looked at it from the outside. But from the inside, it assumed a new form — small, intimate, not that many moving parts, and all of them interconnected quite intricately. Rebus knew he was still outside the machine, but he knew now that one reason why he’d been invited to the shooting party was that Sir Iain Hunter was inviting him in. They could make him part of the machine, a chip on the motherboard. All it took was friends in the right places.
After that, anything could happen.
They worked solidly till five-thirty.
‘I hope I’m being treated to dinner,’ Clarke said, stretching her spine.
‘Who’s taking you?’
‘You are,’ she said.
Rebus shook his head. ‘I’ve other plans tonight, sorry.’
‘Well, thanks a lot. I give up my precious Sunday to help you, and then you boot me out.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Got a date?’
She was attempting a peculiarly Scottish tactic: being serious while pretending levity.
‘I’m working,’ Rebus said.
‘Working?’
‘I’ve got to talk to someone.’
‘Anyone I know?’
Rebus shook his head. ‘But don’t think I don’t appreciate your help.’ He saw her to the door.
When the bell rang two minutes later, he thought she must have forgotten something. But it wasn’t Siobhan Clarke standing on his doorstep. It was Gill Templer.
‘Mind if I come in?’ she said, walking past him.
‘I was just on my way out.’
‘This won’t take long. I tried phoning, but it was engaged all afternoon.’
‘I had it off the hook,’ Rebus said, following her into the living room. She looked at the boxes of documents.
‘I see you’re really taking your furlough seriously.’
‘Come on, Gill, it was foisted on me. You were there, remember.’
‘I remember. The chief super had been getting incredible flak; in his shoes, I’d have done the same thing.’
‘This isn’t sounding like a social call.’
‘That’s because it isn’t one. The Lord Provost is your latest victim. He called the chief super and said you’d been rude to him.’
‘Did he mention specifics?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think he would.’
‘The Farmer will probably call you in the morning himself. I’d imagine it’ll be an official reprimand, maybe even a suspension.’ She turned to him, her eyes blazing. ‘How could you do this to me?’
‘What?’
‘I’m your immediate superior! I’m in the post barely a week, and already you’ve caused the most unholy ructions. How do you think that makes me look?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘Yes it bloody well has! It’s got everything to do with me. You’re one of my officers. How am I supposed to work, to get a feel for the job, when all the chief super does is fret about what grenade you’re going to chuck next?’
Rebus nodded his understanding. ‘That’s what this is about. You’re pissed off because the Farmer’s not paying you enough attention. You want to create a good impression, and you’re not making any impression at all.’
‘Now you’re just twisting my words.’
‘Am I?’ He grabbed her by the arms. ‘Look me in the face and tell me that. Tell me I’m not right.’
She shrugged free of his grip. ‘John,’ she said, more calmly. ‘I came here to warn you. Tomorrow morning could spell the end of your career.’
‘You think I care about that?’ He tried to sound casual.
She took a step towards him. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘I think you do.’ Her green eyes seemed to bore into him. ‘I think, beneath it all, you’re scared.’
‘Scared?’ He smiled. ‘Of course I’m scared. I wouldn’t mind if it was some big hard bastard who had me cornered in an alley, or if some kind of contract was out on me. But this is worse, this scares me to death.’
‘Then drop it. Say you’re sorry to a few people, and come back to work.’
He smiled again. ‘It would be that easy, wouldn’t it? You’d do it.’
‘Yes, I would.’
‘Well, I’ll think about it.’
She tried to measure his sincerity, but it was like measuring haar.
32
Big Jim Flett was nowhere to be seen.
‘Even the Big Man has to take a few hours off here and there,’ his deputy said, leading Rebus down one of the corridors inside Saughton Jail.
‘I’m sure,’ Rebus said, even though he was sure the governor was avoiding him. He had lied to Rebus, and now Rebus knew it.
‘Derry doesn’t get many visitors,’ the deputy said. He was a brisk, nervous man, ruddy-faced and jacketless with his shirt-sleeves rolled up.
‘You know him then?’
‘We’ve had conversations.’
‘I was told he didn’t mix.’
‘That’s true, but I’ve always found him pleasant enough.’
‘He hasn’t tried to sell you anything, has he?’
The deputy laughed. ‘No, not yet. He’d make a damned good salesman though.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Quiet for the most part, never gives us any trouble.’ They were nearing a metal door, beside which stood a warden. The warden unlocked the door and swung it open.
‘You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?’ the deputy asked Rebus. Rebus shook his head, but with a gracious smile. ‘Well, Munro here will take Derry back to his cell when you’re finished.’
‘Thanks again,’ Rebus said.
The door closed after him, the key rattling in its lock. Rebus was alone with Derwood Charters.
Charters was pacing the floor, arms folded, head bowed as if he was pondering some problem.
‘Do you play chess?’ Charters asked, without looking up.
‘No.’
‘Pity.’
Rebus looked around the room. There was a table, its legs bolted to the floor, and two chairs beside it. On one wall, a blackboard provided the room’s only hint of decoration.
‘Mind if I sit?’ Rebus said.
‘Make yourself comfortable.’ Charters smiled at his little joke. He continued to pace the floor, and Rebus studied him. Charters was in his mid-forties, tall and broad-shouldered. He was immaculately groomed, his hair parted just so, his face shiny and clean-shaven. His fingernails looked manicured.
‘Do you know what zugzwang means?’
‘Sounds German,’ Rebus said.
For the first time, Charters looked at him. ‘Of course it’s German. It’s a chess position. It’s when you’ve to play, only any move you make will spell disaster. Yet you’ve got to make a move. There was a chess puzzle in today’s paper, and I’m damned if I can solve it.’
‘The solution’s easy,’ Rebus said.
Charters stopped pacing. ‘What?’
‘Take up golf instead.’
Charters considered this, then smiled. He came and sat down opposite Rebus, folding his hands on the table. ‘May I see some identification?’
Rebus took out his warrant card. Charters examined it against the light, as though it might represent a particularly brilliant forgery.
‘On a Sunday night,’ he said, handing it back.
‘Pardon?’
‘I don’t get many visitors, let alone on a Sunday night. And a police officer at that.’
‘I’m here to ask you a few questions about Wee Shug McAnally.’