‘I say a spot of milk and no sugar, Detective Superintendent James.’
‘Please, call me Alvin.’ Then, turning to Fox: ‘One thing we forgot about, Malcolm. Can you rustle up the necessary?’
‘Me?’
‘You’re the one person here who’s already heard John’s story,’ James reasoned.
Grins were being hidden behind hands around the room as Fox stalked out, heading next door to where the support staff were gathering.
‘Is there a kettle anywhere?’
‘You’ll probably find one in Argos,’ he was told.
Muttering under his breath, he left the building and made for Leith Walk. An electric kettle and half a dozen mugs in one shop, supplies of coffee, tea, sugar, milk and plastic spoons in another. The whole sortie took no more than twenty-five minutes, just long enough for Rebus to get to the end of his tale. Thing was, Fox had no way of knowing what — if anything — he had held back. Rebus being Rebus, the truth would not have been the whole truth; the man always liked to know just a wee bit more than anyone else sharing the stage with him.
Fox dumped both bags on DC Oldfield’s desk.
‘You can be mother,’ he stated. Oldfield looked to James for advice, but James just nodded. With a scowl directed at Fox, Oldfield got up, lifting the kettle from its packaging and leaving to find running water.
‘So everyone’s in the loop now, yes?’ Fox enquired, slumping into his chair.
‘And highly intrigued,’ James said. He was seated behind his desk, tapping a biro against one cheek. He had jotted down notes on an A4 pad of lined paper in front of him and was studying them as he spoke.
‘Without discounting anything you’ve just told us, John,’ he said, ‘there are certain protocols that we’d be unwise to ignore. That means getting the results of the post-mortem examination, interviewing Mr Chatham’s partner, and doing a bit of digging at his place of work.’
‘Bouncers probably make more enemies than most,’ Glancey commented, refolding his handkerchief and beginning to dab again.
‘And he’ll have upset a few undesirables during his CID days,’ Briggs added, drumming a biro against her own notes.
‘So we’ll need to look at his record as a DI in Livingston,’ James agreed. ‘When you spoke with him, John, he seemed okay?’
‘He was fine.’
‘Didn’t say what else he was up to after your meeting?’
‘No.’
‘No phone calls or messages while you were in the café?’
‘I appreciate you have all these hoops you feel the need to jump through, but it can’t be coincidence, surely? The same day I get him talking about Maria Turquand’s murder, he ends up in the drink.’
James was nodding, but Fox could tell the man wasn’t completely sold — and that was starting to grate with Rebus.
‘You need to bring us all those files,’ Sharpe said quietly. ‘Files you shouldn’t have taken from SCRU in the first place.’
Rebus made brief eye contact with Fox, letting him know the score. He had fudged the truth to keep Siobhan Clarke’s name out of it. As far as James and his team were aware, Rebus had swiped Chatham’s review notes from SCRU during his tenure there.
Over in a corner of the room, Oldfield was making as much noise as possible while plugging in the kettle and sorting out the mugs.
‘Remember what I said about the playground, Mark?’ James scolded him.
There was a knock on the open door. Haj Atwal was standing there.
‘Finished dockside?’ James asked.
‘Done and dusted, as it were.’ Atwal ran a hand over his shaved head. ‘Everything I’ve got so far will be in your email folder by end of play.’
‘Thank you. And the divers?’
‘Had a quick look, but as there was no weapon as such...’
‘And he’d probably drifted along the coast anyway,’ Rebus couldn’t help adding.
‘You’re saying we shouldn’t have bothered?’ James seemed to require an answer, but all Rebus could do was shrug. ‘And what makes you so sure he didn’t enter the water where we found him?’
‘Big tall fences and surveillance.’
‘But then we’ve not checked the surveillance yet, have we?’
Fox saw where this was headed — James was wondering how far to trust Rebus: was he trying to misdirect them? He could see Rebus coming to the same conclusion, shoulders tensing, jaw clenching.
‘You about ready to interview me as a suspect, Alvin?’ Rebus asked.
James tried to look disbelieving. ‘Not at all,’ he offered.
‘Then we’re done here? I’m free to leave?’
‘Of course.’
Rebus headed for the door, managing a final glance towards Fox before brushing past Haj Atwal.
‘Victim’s clothing will be sent for analysis,’ Atwal was telling the room at large. ‘Autopsy’s the next step.’
‘Thank you,’ James said, busying himself until the crime scene manager had retreated into the corridor.
‘Should have asked who’s doing the autopsy,’ Sharpe commented. His voice still hadn’t risen much above a whisper — Fox wondered if it was a ploy; the man spoke so quietly, you had to give him your full attention.
‘Professor Quant,’ Fox answered. ‘Deborah Quant.’
Alvin James was giving him an appraising look. ‘And is there anything we should know about Professor Quant, Malcolm?’ he asked.
‘She’s highly qualified, personable, unshowy.’ Fox pretended to think for a moment. ‘Oh, and she and Rebus are an item.’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘Are they now?’
‘So if John Rebus is your killer, maybe she’s the one who’ll make sure he gets away with it.’
Alvin James threw back his head and laughed. ‘A bit of humour always helps defuse the tension, eh?’
Fox pretended to return the half-sincere smiles being directed at him.
‘I’ve got a question for you all,’ Oldfield interrupted.
‘What is it, Mark?’
‘Tea or coffee?’ Then, to Fox specifically: ‘And how do you take it?’
‘Without saliva, preferably,’ Fox said. ‘Though as I’m about to go for a slash, you might find yourself tempted beyond reason...’
Rebus was tugging the parking ticket from beneath one of the Saab’s wiper blades and looking up and down the street for the culprit.
‘Bad luck,’ Fox offered.
‘And me on a pension.’ Rebus stuffed the slip into his pocket. ‘You think this guy James is up to the task?’
‘Too early to say.’
Rebus had started chomping on a piece of chewing gum.
‘Does that help?’
‘Barely,’ Rebus stated. ‘Remember: you don’t let on Siobhan got me that file.’
‘Message received. Anything else you brushed under the carpet?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Then how will I know not to blurt it out?’
‘Maybe if you try keeping your trap shut for once.’ Rebus glowered at him. ‘Can’t say young Alvin fills me with confidence. Too shiny by half.’
‘His suit or his face?’
‘Everything about him, Malcolm. Only thing he’s got his sights on is the next rung of the ladder.’
Fox couldn’t disagree. ‘I don’t think he’s dismissing the Turquand connection out of hand.’
‘It’s the only connection there is.’
‘Then he’ll get round to probing it.’
‘Aye, once he’s been through his bloody “protocols”. Keep at him, Malcolm. You’ve got to make him see what’s going on.’
Fox nodded slowly. ‘Who else knew you’d started looking?’
Rebus considered this. ‘Deborah got a sneak preview. And Siobhan, of course.’
‘Plus whoever gave Siobhan the file.’
‘True.’
‘And anyone Robert Chatham might have gone running to.’