One thing nagged: Gerry Dip alone couldn’t have lured Gillespie into the trap. There must have been someone else, someone he trusted, someone he wanted to meet …
The Right Honourable Cameron McLeod Kennedy, JP, had a detached bungalow in what would have tried calling itself Corstorphine had South Gyle not taken off. The houses were descendants of the boxy bungalows on Queensferry Road. There weren’t many cars parked roadside; most of the bungalows boasted a garage, or at the very least a car-port. Rebus parked outside the Lord Provost’s home. The door was open before he had reached the garden gate. The Lord Provost stood in the doorway, his wife a little behind him.
‘You were so mysterious on the phone,’ Kennedy said, shaking Rebus’s hand. ‘Is there any news?’
‘The Lord will do as He sees fit,’ his wife burst out, the voice booming from her heavy frame. The Lord Provost ushered her back indoors and led Rebus to the front sitting room.
‘I’ve seen her,’ Rebus said.
‘Where is she?’ Mrs Kennedy snapped. Rebus studied her. She had wide unblinking eyes and small pudgy hands which she’d rolled into fists. Her hair had been coaxed into an untidy bun, and her cheeks blazed. Rebus guessed at West Highland stock; it wasn’t a wild stab in the dark to say she’d had a religious upbringing. For zeal, some of the Wee Frees could beat any Muslim Fundamentalists.
‘She’s safe, Mrs Kennedy.’
‘I know that! I’ve prayed for her, of course she’s safe. I’ve been praying for her soul.’
‘Beth, please …’
‘I’ve prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life.’ Rebus looked around the room. The furniture had been positioned with exact precision on the carpet, and the ornaments looked like the distances between them had been calibrated by a professional. Net curtains covered the two small windows. There were photos of young children, but none of anyone aged twelve or over. Hard to imagine a teenager passing her evenings here.
‘Inspector,’ Cameron Kennedy said, ‘I haven’t asked you if you’d like something to drink.’
Rebus guessed that alcohol would not be on the list. ‘No, thanks.’
‘We’ve ginger cordial left from New Year,’ Mrs Kennedy barked.
‘Thanks, but no. The thing is, sir, I’m not here primarily about your daughter. I’d like to talk to you about Tom Gillespie.’
‘Terrible business,’ the Lord Provost said.
‘May the good Lord take his soul unto Him in heaven,’ his wife added.
‘I wonder,’ Rebus said pointedly, ‘if we might have a word in private.’
Kennedy looked to his wife, who didn’t look like moving. Finally, with a sniff, she turned and left. Rebus heard a radio come on through the wall.
‘A terrible business,’ the Lord Provost repeated, sitting down and gesturing for Rebus to do the same.
‘But it didn’t come altogether as a surprise, did it?’
The Lord Provost looked up. ‘Of course it did!’
‘You knew the councillor was playing with fire.’
‘Did I?’
‘There’d already been that one attempt to scare him off,’ Rebus smiled. ‘I know what Gillespie was on to, and I know he approached you with the information, and made frequent progress reports thereafter.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Your little lunchtime meetings, we’ve records of them. He knew you’d be interested. For one thing, you’re the Lord Provost. For another, his findings related directly to Gyle Park West, which is in your ward. I don’t know what Gillespie’s idea was. If I were being charitable, I’d say he was working in the public interest and would eventually have gone public with his findings. But really, I think he was trying to pressure you into helping further his career. It could be that his findings would never have come to light, but somebody couldn’t be sure of that. Somebody tried scaring him, then decided to murder him instead.’
The Lord Provost sprang to his feet. ‘You surely don’t think I killed him?’
‘I’m pretty sure I could convince my colleagues that you’re a prime suspect. You’d have to explain the secret meetings and everything else.’
The Lord Provost’s eyes narrowed, his eyebrows meeting in the middle. ‘What is it you want?’
‘I want you to tell me all about it.’
‘You say you already know.’
‘But I’ve yet to hear anyone say the words.’
The Lord Provost considered, then shook his head.
‘Does that mean,’ Rebus said, ‘that your ward is more important than your own reputation?’
‘I can’t say anything.’
‘Because PanoTech’s involved?’
Kennedy’s face contracted as if he’d been punched. ‘It’s got nothing to do with PanoTech. That company is one of the largest employers in Lothian. We need it, Inspector.’
‘If it has nothing to do with PanoTech, does it still have to do with Robbie Mathieson?’
‘I can’t say anything.’
‘Who’s Dalgety? Why does he scare you so much? Kirstie told me she heard you talking about him with someone. And when you saw she’d written his name on the LABarum plan, you suddenly didn’t want her found.’
‘I’ve told you, I’m saying nothing!’
‘In that case,’ Rebus said, ‘I won’t trouble you any further.’ He stood up. ‘I’m sure you’ve got plenty to keep you busy, such as writing your speech of resignation.’ He walked to the door.
‘Inspector …’ Rebus turned. ‘About Kirstie … as she all right?’
Rebus walked back into the room. ‘Would you like to see her?’ The Lord Provost seemed in two minds. Weakness was there to be exploited. ‘I could bring her here, but it would have to be a trade.’
‘You don’t “trade” with an innocent life!’
‘Not so innocent, sir. I could think up half a dozen charges against your daughter, and between you and me I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t apprehend her and put her in a cell.’
The Lord Provost turned away and walked to the window. ‘You know, Inspector, I’m no virgin, believe me. You want dirty tricks, underhand tactics, there’s a lot you can learn from politics, even at district level … especially at district level.’ Kennedy paused. ‘You say you can bring her here?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then do it.’
‘And we’ll have a little chat, you and me? You’ll tell me what I want to know?’
The Lord Provost turned to face him. ‘I’ll tell you,’ he said, his face ashen.
They shook hands on it, and the Lord Provost saw him to the door. Somewhere behind them in the bungalow, Mrs Kennedy was singing a hymn.
So all Rebus had to do now was persuade Kirstie Kennedy that east or west, home was still the best.
Rebus went to her flat first, but there was no one home. He tried a couple of the drop-in centres, including the one behind Waverley — no joy — then started on the burger bars on Princes Street before driving back to Leith and visiting three pubs where pushers and users were known to meet. Nothing. He took a breather in a bar where he was less likely to get himself stabbed, then went to have a word with the few chilled prostitutes plying their trade near the Inner Harbour. One of them thought she recognised the description, but she could have been lying: it was warmer in his car than outside.
Then Rebus remembered something Kirstie had said, about how Paul’s mum liked her. So he drove to Paul’s parents’ address. Duggan was embarrassed to see him, but his mother, a tiny, kindly woman, invited Rebus in.