‘My other half phoned to let me know there was a visitor on his way. You’re out of the force now, though?’
‘I do a bit of work as a civilian. How long since you left?’
‘Three years.’ Chatham broke off to hold open the door for a pair of new arrivals, allowing Rebus a glimpse of the bar’s interior. Too dark for his liking, and a pounding soundtrack.
‘Is that called techno?’ he asked.
‘I call it noise,’ Chatham replied. ‘So what is it I can do for you?’
‘You had a spell at SCRU.’
‘A short spell — Eddie Tranter was off sick.’
‘I worked SCRU myself not long after.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘There’s a case I’ve been looking at — Maria Turquand.’ Chatham nodded slowly, saying nothing. ‘You dusted it off after Vince Brady offered new evidence.’
‘Evidence?’ Chatham snorted. ‘It was his word against Bruce Collier’s. Collier got his lawyers on it PDQ. Threatened to sue Brady, Lothian and Borders, and any newspaper we talked to.’
‘You reckon he had something to hide?’
Chatham considered this. ‘Not really,’ he eventually conceded.
‘You think it was her lover all along?’
‘I take it you’ve seen the files — what do you think?’
‘Any chance we can discuss this somewhere that isn’t a pavement on Lothian Road?’
‘I don’t knock off till midnight. Only place I’m going after that is my kip.’
‘Tomorrow morning?’
The doorman stared at Rebus. ‘I really don’t think I’m going to be any help.’
‘I’d appreciate it all the same.’
‘There’s a café on North Junction Street,’ Chatham eventually conceded. ‘Best bacon rolls in the city. Ten o’clock do you?’
‘Ten’s fine.’ They shook again, and Rebus headed for his car. He turned his head for a final look at Chatham, but the man was busy with his phone, holding it close to his face as he tapped the screen. Texting or calling? Rebus had his answer as Chatham lifted the phone to his ear. He was staring in Rebus’s direction as his mouth started to move.
‘Lip-reading, John,’ Rebus muttered. ‘There’s a hobby you could take up.’ He unlocked the Saab and got in, turning up the heat. His Marchmont flat was only five minutes away. Brillo would be needing a walk.
Their meeting with Darryl Christie had been arranged for seven, but then changed by Christie to eight. When they’d arrived at his door, however, his mother was ready with an apology that Darryl was ‘a bit busy’ and could they come back in another hour?
They returned to their two cars, parked kerbside. Fox waited a minute or two before opening the passenger-side door of Clarke’s Astra.
‘Does it really make sense for us to sit in separate cars?’
‘Up to you,’ Clarke said. But she didn’t look exactly welcoming as he climbed in. She busied herself with her phone while Fox stared through the windscreen at his surroundings.
‘Thought I just saw my namesake,’ he eventually offered.
Clarke glanced up. ‘They do get foxes here.’ As if on cue, the security lights came on outside Christie’s neighbour’s house. A lean shape could be seen stalking past.
‘Why do you think they chose this spot? Whoever thumped Darryl, I mean — why outside his actual house?’
‘Doesn’t need to be any real reason.’
‘Is his address public knowledge?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’
‘Which might narrow things down a bit.’
‘It might,’ Clarke conceded. After a further fifteen seconds, she gave up the pretence of being busy on her phone, and half turned towards him instead. ‘But I’m more interested in why he was singled out in the first place.’
‘I went to his betting shops this afternoon.’
‘Oh?’
‘Just for a look-see.’
‘Christine told me she’d copied you in on his various businesses. Mind if I ask why you zeroed in on them rather than any of his other interests?’
‘Maybe they were at the top of the list.’
‘They weren’t, though, were they?’
Fox considered for a moment. ‘HMRC are interested in him. They think he’s laundering money.’
‘You mentioned that in Page’s office.’
‘If he’s cleaning up cash for various gangs from all over the country, any one of them could have taken against him.’
‘For short-changing them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What if I throw Cafferty’s name into the ring?’
‘Wouldn’t put anything past him. But he’d probably only make a move if he thought Darryl was weakened by something.’
‘Such as?’
Fox shrugged. ‘Maybe we’ll get an inkling when we talk to Darryl.’
‘I’ll be doing the talking, Malcolm. You’re there to listen.’
‘Understood.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Is this us thawing out here?’
‘Maybe a little. Have you asked Gartcosh about intelligence sharing?’
‘They’re mulling it over.’
‘Nice to feel we’re all part of the same big happy family...’ Clarke broke off and watched as Gail McKie padded down the path, opening the gate and making for the Astra. Clarke slid her window down, and McKie’s face appeared in the gap.
‘He’s ready for you,’ she said, turning back towards the house.
‘Right then,’ Clarke said to Fox, sliding the window closed and pulling the key from the ignition.
McKie was waiting for them inside the front door. ‘He’s in the living room,’ she said. ‘Told me not to bother offering a drink — you won’t be staying long.’
‘Are your other two sons around for a quick chat after?’ Clarke enquired. McKie shook her head.
‘Out with mates.’
‘That’s a pity.’
‘They’ve really nothing to say.’
‘They need to tell me that for themselves.’
Clarke pushed open the door and stepped into the living room. Flower-patterned sofa, almost the entire floor covered with a huge colourful rug, something Persian or Indian. Flowers in vases on occasional tables, and seated in the very centre of the room on a dining chair fetched from elsewhere, Darryl Christie. He was dressed in a shell suit and gleaming trainers, but looked stiff and pained. His nose had been strapped, the eyes still puffy and bruised.
‘How are you?’ Clarke asked.
‘I’ve felt better.’ He spoke quietly, as if each word hurt.
‘Cracked ribs, I hear.’
‘They’ve got me in some sort of corset thing.’ His eyes had settled on Fox, who stood hands in pockets at Clarke’s shoulder.
‘You’re looking a lot better than last time we met,’ Christie commented. Fox’s face remained stony. ‘If you’re wondering about the dining chair, it’s better for me than an armchair. But go ahead and make yourselves comfortable.’
They settled side by side on the sofa. Christie lifted a hand slowly, rubbing it across his hair, hair that needed a wash. There was stubble on his chin and cheeks, and the knuckles of his left hand were grazed.
‘Lost a tooth, too,’ he told them. ‘Hence the whistling.’ He tried for a grin, so they could see the gap.
‘We’ve asked up and down the street,’ Clarke said. ‘Nobody saw or heard anything, and the few bits of CCTV we’ve collected don’t seem to have caught whoever did it. That’s why we’re hoping you can help.’
‘Sorry to disappoint. Whoever it was, they were lying in wait, maybe round the back of the house or the side of the garage. Security light was triggered when I drove in, so that didn’t alert me. They came up behind me and hit me across the head. I went down and was in the Land of Nod before they got to work.’
‘You think it was a pro?’