‘What about the DCs?’
‘Mark Oldfield’s the one who seems intent on getting me wound up.’
‘Maybe because the first thing you did,’ Rebus reminded him, ‘was turn him into the tea boy.’
Clarke swivelled to face Fox. ‘Did you?’ He shrugged a response, attention still on Rebus.
‘Which leaves Anne Briggs. Like Oldfield, she’s west coast through and through. The pair of them talk in a code only they can decipher. Why the wry smile?’
‘There’s a folk singer called Anne Briggs.’ Rebus gestured towards the rack of LPs beneath his hi-fi. ‘One or two of her albums in there if I looked hard enough.’
‘Probably not the same person,’ Fox commented.
‘Probably not,’ Rebus agreed. ‘But it’s been my night for musicians.’
‘You went to see Bruce Collier?’ Clarke guessed.
‘He happens to live across the street from Anthony Brough’s office,’ Rebus said for Fox’s benefit, watching as Brillo curled up on the sofa in the gap between Fox and Clarke.
‘And?’
‘And he didn’t have much to add, though he did recall being interviewed by Chatham.’ Rebus paused. ‘So Malcolm and I have both been busy — how about you, Siobhan? Feeling a bit left out?’
‘This is the thanks I get for bringing you curry?’ She watched him hold up a hand in apology.
‘Malcolm says he’s put a good word in for you, though.’
She tried out a scowl, but Rebus only grinned and tipped another spoonful of rogan josh into his mouth. ‘I’ve been busy too,’ she eventually stated. ‘Went to check on Craw Shand, and he’s not budging from his house.’
‘That’s the last place he should be.’
‘I did try telling him that. And I was proved right when I saw Darryl Christie’s car cruising past.’ She saw she had both men’s full attention. ‘Darryl wasn’t driving, though; it was a guy called Harry, who supposedly manages the Devil’s Dram.’
‘Checking out the lie of the land?’
‘Looked like. I pulled him over for a word.’
‘No weapons on view? No smell of petrol?’
Clarke shook her head.
‘Why would there be...’ Fox broke off as comprehension dawned. ‘To pour through the letter box.’
‘With any luck, Darryl will surmise we’re watching Craw round the clock.’
‘We’re not, though, are we?’ Rebus said.
‘I’ve flagged the address up to the patrols — they might manage one pass every hour or so, unless something kicks off elsewhere. Pretty much the same coverage Darryl Christie himself is getting.’
‘Not much more we can do, then,’ Rebus commented. He caught the look from the sofa. ‘And by “we”, of course I mean “you”.’ Having finished the food, he placed the plate on the floor. Brillo had one eye open, watching. Rebus stifled a belch.
‘They say it’s toughest after a meal,’ Fox said. ‘Is that true?’
‘Depends what you mean.’
‘Nicotine craving.’
Rebus gave him a hard stare. ‘You’d make a good torturer, Malcolm, has anyone ever told you that?’
‘Someone I know,’ Clarke added, ‘says acupuncture can help. They just press their ear lobe whenever they feel the need.’
‘Well the pair of you are starting to give me the needle, which means it’s almost chucking-out time.’
Fox and Clarke finished their drinks and got to their feet.
‘Know what doesn’t quite compute?’ Clarke asked. ‘Darryl Christie’s reaction. I mean, if Craw turns out to be in the clear, then his attacker is still out there. Shouldn’t he be at least a little bit spooked?’
‘What makes you think he isn’t?’
She thought for a moment. ‘When I phoned him, he was at home listening to music. At least one of his brothers was there with him. It all sounds too normal, don’t you think?’
‘Maybe he’s got guards surrounding the place,’ Fox suggested.
‘Oh now you’ve done it,’ Rebus said. ‘You’ve planted a seed, which means Siobhan’s going to have to drive over there and take a look for herself. Am I right?’
Clarke considered this. ‘It’s practically on my way home,’ she eventually conceded.
The Christie house was in darkness by the time she reached it. No Range Rover visible in the driveway and no muscle securing the perimeter or parked kerbside, ready to spring into action. A typical suburban street in one of the wealthier enclaves of the city, places where crime remained rare. Clarke stopped her car across the road, the engine idling while she watched and waited. A single-word text arrived from Rebus.
Anything?
She typed in her own single-word reply — Nada — and, yawning, headed for home.
Day Five
10
Craw Shand wasn’t a complete idiot, despite what everybody seemed to think.
He checked the outside world from his upstairs bedroom, even opening the window so he could peer to left and right. Then another check from behind the downstairs curtains, just in case anyone was stationed on his doorstep. Having assured himself that the coast was clear, he shrugged into his coat, stuffed a shopping bag into one pocket and headed out.
He kept his collar up and his head down, offering little more than grunts to the few neighbours who greeted him. He was off to the Lidl, where his mission was to stock up for the next few days. He had twenty-six pounds in cash, which would be more than enough. Tinned soup and ravioli, bread, a few beers. Salted peanuts as a treat maybe. Not the big packets — he always seemed to finish those at one sitting and felt queasy after. And no wine — these days it furred his brain as well as his tongue. He had to stay sharp. So just the beers to complement the tablets stashed away at home. The tablets had come from a pal. Happy pills, doled out for depression. They got him nicely buzzing, washed down with a couple of beers.
Buzz, buzz, he said to himself as he entered the store. He’d be in and out in five minutes — knew the layout like the back of his hand. Unless they’d moved stuff around. They did that sometimes. He’d complained once at the checkout.
‘We call it a “refresh”,’ he’d been told.
‘I call it messing with my head,’ he’d retorted. But then the manager had come over and asked if there was a problem. So that had been that.
This morning was fine, though, everything in its right place. Five minutes in and out, like a pro. Craw was turning from a shelf when he bumped into the man.
‘Didn’t see you there,’ he apologised.
‘Problem with getting to my age,’ the man replied genially, ‘you mostly become invisible.’ He was smiling, his hands empty — no basket, no shopping. ‘How you doing, Craw?’
‘Do I know you?’ Shand looked around, but security was nowhere.
‘You might know the name — it’s Cafferty.’
Shand’s face couldn’t help registering surprise. ‘Mr Cafferty,’ he stuttered.
‘So you do know me then?’ The smile broadened.
‘I’ve heard plenty about you.’
‘And I’ve been hearing about you, Craw.’
‘Oh?’
‘Darryl Christie used to be someone I considered a friend. Well, maybe not a friend exactly, but someone I could do business with. That all changed, of course. Darryl started stepping on a lot of people’s toes, mine more energetically than most, if you take my meaning.’ Cafferty waited, but Shand had nothing to say. He gestured towards Shand’s basket. ‘Nearly done?’
‘Nearly.’
‘Maybe we could go back to yours and talk a bit.’