‘He pongs to high heaven,’ Clarke informed Fox, sucking in gulps of fresh air.
‘Vagrant?’
‘Not as such. Lives in Craigmillar. Unemployed. His name’s William Shand. William Crawford Shand.’
‘And he knows about the cracked ribs?’
Clarke glanced back at him. ‘News travels.’
‘Unless you happen to be Laura Smith.’
‘Laura can wait.’ Clarke walked into the office, met Ronnie Ogilvie’s eyes and stabbed a finger towards DCI Page’s door.
‘He’s not in,’ Ogilvie stated. He noticed Fox staring at his moustache.
‘Is that new?’ Fox asked. Ogilvie nodded. ‘Not sure it suits you, Ronnie.’
‘I hate to interrupt a burgeoning bromance,’ Clarke said, eyes fixed on Ogilvie, ‘but any idea where he’s gone?’
‘The DCI? Pen-pushers’ meeting at Fettes.’
Clarke sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘I need to get his okay,’ she muttered.
‘Okay for what?’ Fox asked.
‘There’s a civilian Shand wants us to hook him up with. Says he’s the one he wants to confess to. Bit of history between them, it seems. Not sure I can let that happen without the DCI’s say-so.’
Fox was staring at her. ‘Your tone of voice makes me think I know who the civilian is.’
Clarke raised her eyes to the ceiling as the name burst from Malcolm Fox’s lips.
‘Rebus.’
‘Tell me Laura isn’t still outside,’ Clarke said as she led Rebus along the corridor.
‘Of course she is.’
Clarke cursed under her breath. ‘What did you tell her?’
‘Said I was meeting an old friend.’ Rebus turned towards her. ‘How are you, anyway?’
‘I’ve been better.’
‘Two things you need to know, Siobhan.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘One, everybody knows him as Craw. I doubt he’s been called William by anyone other than sheriffs and bailiffs.’
‘He’s got previous?’
‘See, that brings me to my second point — you’ve been sold a pup. A cursory examination of the records would have told you that Craw’s notorious for handing himself in whenever something big hits the news.’
‘We ran him through the system — clean as a whistle the past five years.’
‘Then he’s slid back into his old ways.’ They had reached the interview room, where Fox waited. Rebus shook his hand. ‘What brings you here, Malcolm?’
‘Curiosity.’
‘Well, you’re in the right place — the gent behind that door is a one-man freak show.’ Rebus reached for the handle, then paused. ‘Best if I do this on my own.’
‘Are you forgetting you’re not CID any more?’ Clarke said.
‘Even so...’
‘It’s a deal-breaker, John. There has to be someone in there representing Police Scotland.’
Rebus looked from Clarke to Fox and back again. ‘Then I’ll let the pair of you toss a coin.’ Having said which, he pulled open the door and strode in.
Craw Shand was seated at the narrow table, toying with a sandwich consisting of two thin slices of white bread and a thinner layer of orange processed cheese. There was an inch of tea left in the polystyrene cup, a scum beginning to form on it. Rebus wafted a hand in front of him.
‘Jeezo, Craw. When was the last time you saw soap?’ He gestured for the uniformed officers to leave. Without bothering to ask who Rebus was, they did as ordered.
Still got it, John.
‘All right, Mr Rebus?’ Craw said. His teeth were blackened, his hair — what was left of it — thin and greasy against his scalp. ‘Been a while, eh?’
‘Best part of twenty years, Craw.’
‘Not that long, surely?’
Rebus dragged the metal chair out from the table and sat down. ‘Didn’t they tell you? I’m retired these days.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Reckoned it was safe to retreat from the fray — thought the likes of you had got tired of playing games.’
‘No games today, Mr Rebus.’
‘Then there’s a first time for everything.’
Craw Shand’s eyes were milky as he stared at the man across from him. ‘Remember Johnny Bible, Mr Rebus?’
‘Sure.’
‘Craigmillar cop shop. You were the one who interrogated me.’
‘We don’t interrogate these days, Craw — it’s called an interview.’
‘You were tough but fair.’
‘I’d like to think so.’
‘Right up to the point where you pushed me to the floor and half strangled me.’
‘My memory’s not so good these days, Craw.’
Craw Shand offered a grin. ‘You remember, though.’
‘Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. What’s that got to do with Darryl Christie?’
Both men turned as the door was opened again and Clarke stalked in. Fox could be glimpsed in the corridor, wanting a view of Shand. Clarke pulled the door closed just as Rebus was offering a wave.
‘You’ve not told me,’ Rebus continued, ‘why it was me you needed to speak to. As I’ve been saying, DI Clarke here is perfectly competent.’
‘It was that memory of Craigmillar. I just thought I’d like to see you again.’
‘In case I dished out more of the same? Sorry to disappoint you, Craw, but we’re both in our sixties now and the world’s got a new set of rules.’ Rebus made show of studying his watch. ‘I’ve a dominoes tournament starting in an hour, so I’d be obliged if we could keep this businesslike.’
‘I hit him.’
‘Hit who?’
‘His name’s Darryl Christie. He lives in a big house by the Botanic Gardens.’
‘That’s good, Craw. Matches every online article about what happened.’
‘He was getting out of his car — a white Range Rover. I snuck up behind him and hit him.’
‘With what?’
‘A length of wood. It was lying to the side of the garage. That’s where I waited.’
‘In the dark, aye?’
‘Security lights came on as I walked up the driveway, but nobody came out of the house.’
‘You weren’t worried about the CCTV?’
‘We all know those things are next to useless.’
‘Why did you do it, Craw? Why pick that particular victim?’
‘I was just angry.’
‘About what, though?’
‘People with money. People with too much — the big houses and everything. I’m just sick of them.’
‘So you’d done this before?’
‘I’d thought about it many a time.’
‘But never carried it through?’ Rebus watched as Craw Shand shook his head. He leaned back on the hard metal seat.
‘You’re sure the car was white?’
‘Lights went on again as it came up the drive.’
‘Were the gates locked when you got there?’
‘Gate to the footpath wasn’t. Driveway gates started opening as the car came near.’
Rebus looked to Clarke, who raised one eyebrow. So far, the man could not be faulted.
‘What did you do with the piece of wood?’
‘Tossed it.’
‘Where?’
‘Inverleith Park somewhere.’
‘That’s a fair stretch of land, Craw. Might take us a lot of man hours to find it.’
Shand perked up at this thought.
‘That’s supposing we were to believe you, of course. And I think you’re the lying toerag you always were.’ Rebus got up from his chair and walked around the table until he was standing behind Shand. He could feel the man tense.
‘Same fucking games you’ve always played,’ he growled. ‘Just because it gets that chipolata in your manky Y-fronts hard. Playtime’s over, pal. Time you headed back to your hovel and your online porn.’