He gawped at her. ‘I’m trying to be nice here, Siobhan.’
‘That’s what’s making me nervous.’
‘Maybe a bit of a boogie later.’
‘I’m deleting “nervous” and adding “terrified”.’
‘Oh ye of little faith.’ Rebus picked up his lamb chop and bit into it. ‘So how pissed off with Malcolm are you right now — say on a scale of nine to ten?’
‘Maybe a three.’ She plucked a chip from her plate and bit it in half.
‘That’s pretty generous. Any progress with Craw?’
‘He’s still in one piece, as far as I can tell.’
‘When was the last time you checked?’
She made show of studying her phone’s screen. ‘I’m checking right now.’
‘Squad cars, though — someone could be bludgeoning him to death and they’d struggle to notice.’
‘I’m sure the lower ranks love you too.’
‘First time for everything,’ he said with a wink, tossing the bone on to his plate and sucking clean his fingers. ‘Another drink?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be going easy?’
He tapped his beer glass. ‘Low-alcohol.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Tastes like hell, but it’s got to be doing me good. Gin and tonic, yes?’
‘Just a tonic.’
‘Sure?’
She nodded, then watched him approach the bar. He held up a ten-pound note and soon had the attention of the staff. Clarke tapped her phone again: no new messages. She had driven down Craw Shand’s street herself just after 5.30. No sign of either Devil’s Dram Harry or Darryl Christie’s car. Curtains closed, house apparently unlit. She jabbed at a morsel of fish and popped it into her mouth. Rebus was in conversation with a man at the bar. He appeared to be offering to buy the stranger a drink, but was shown a nearly full pint of lager. The man was bald and overweight, dressed in faded denims, an unbuttoned leather waistcoat, and a black T-shirt featuring a band logo. Rebus nodded towards the table and gave a wave. Clarke nodded back, wondering what was going on. Eventually both men approached, one far less reluctantly than the other.
‘Dougie here,’ Rebus said, altogether too jovially, ‘won’t take my word for it that we’re CID. He wants to see some ID — would you credit that?’
Clarke was still chewing as she fished out her warrant card. Having placed their drinks on the table, Rebus clamped a hand around the man’s forearm.
‘Happy now?’ he enquired. Then: ‘Sit down, why don’t you?’
Clarke’s eyes were demanding answers as the two men slid on to the banquette, the visitor effectively trapped.
‘I’m on stage in quarter of an hour,’ he complained, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
‘This is Dougie Vaughan,’ Rebus announced by way of introduction.
‘What’s this all about?’ Vaughan asked. A tic had formed in one eyelid. He tried rubbing it away.
‘It’s just that there’s some renewed interest in the Maria Turquand murder,’ Rebus explained.
‘And what’s that got to do with me?’
‘You were there when she died, Dougie,’ Rebus stated.
‘Where?’
‘In the next room along.’
Vaughan shook his head. ‘Says who?’
‘You had a key to Vince Brady’s room, didn’t you?’
‘No.’
‘I heard differently.’
‘I crashed on Bruce’s bed. This was all in my original statement.’
‘But then Vince started letting a few things slip out...’
‘Because that writer paid him to. After he ripped Bruce off, nobody would work with him. He was skint, his health was ropey, and he had a wife and kids at home.’ Vaughan paused. ‘That’s the most generous interpretation, mind. Bruce would have another view.’
‘We know there was no love lost latterly.’
‘He ripped Bruce off, pure and simple.’
‘Money’s often at the root of it,’ Rebus seemed to concur. ‘But then there’s lust, too. And envy.’ He looked to Clarke. ‘Help me out here.’
‘Pride,’ she offered. ‘Sloth...’
‘Money isn’t one of the sins,’ Vaughan said. Rebus stared at him, then at Clarke.
‘Is that right?’
‘Could be,’ she shrugged.
‘Don’t suppose it matters,’ Rebus conceded. ‘Maria Turquand wasn’t killed for the contents of her purse.’ He had fixed his eyes on Vaughan. ‘Ever wondered why she was murdered that day, Dougie?’
Vaughan shrugged. ‘Crime of passion?’ he eventually offered.
‘Does look that way, doesn’t it? And one person we know she shared a bit of passion with was you.’
‘Hang on a second. That was strictly one night only. I was stoned and she was blootered — I’m amazed we managed to do anything. And I volunteered as much as I could remember to the original inquiry.’
‘That’s not quite true, is it, Dougie? You only went to the papers later with your wee kiss-and-tell — looks to me like Vince wasn’t the only one making money out of the poor woman’s demise...’
A man with a thinning silver ponytail stopped in front of the table.
‘You about ready, man?’ he asked Vaughan.
‘He’ll be there,’ Rebus said, his tone sending the ponytail on a hasty retreat to the ballroom. Then, to Vaughan: ‘You didn’t bump into her at the hotel that day?’
‘No.’
‘But your pal Bruce did.’
Vaughan was shaking his head. ‘Vince Brady’s lies again,’ he stated. ‘Unless there’s new evidence? Is that what this is all about?’ He tried hoisting his glass, but the tremble in his hand defeated him.
‘Bloody hell,’ Rebus said, ‘better get a steadier nerve before you have to pick up your axe. But now you’ve asked, I might as well tell you.’ He slid so close to Vaughan the two men looked joined at the hip. ‘Here’s the thing — a detective called Robert Chatham was in charge of the last review.’
‘I remember talking to him,’ Vaughan admitted.
‘Well, now he’s been done away with, and that’s put a whammy bar up all our jacksies. So let me ask you this — when did you last clap eyes on him?’
Vaughan’s shoulders twitched. ‘Must have been a couple of months back.’
Rebus managed to look as though he’d been expecting no less. ‘And where was that?’
‘Right here, I think. He was with Maxine.’
‘Maxine Dromgoole?’
Vaughan was nodding. Rebus looked to Clarke. ‘She’s the writer who got the whole case reopened.’
‘Right,’ Clarke said, clearly not having studied the file as closely as Rebus had.
‘Maxine knows her blues,’ Vaughan was saying. ‘After she’d talked to me for her book, we kept in touch. I mean, she’s on the mailing list for gigs.’
‘And she was here with Robert Chatham?’
‘Just that one time. They were at the back of the room, next to the door. I knew I knew him from somewhere, but it took me a day or two to remember.’
‘You didn’t talk to them that night?’ Clarke asked.
‘They were gone by the time we finished the first set.’
‘Did you think that was odd?’
‘What?’
‘The two of them being together.’
‘What’s odd about it?’
‘Did you ever see them together again?’
‘No.’
‘You never happened to mention to Maxine that you’d clocked who she was with?’ Rebus watched Vaughan nod slowly. ‘And what did she say?’
‘I don’t really remember. Maybe something about bumping into him on the street. Edinburgh’s that sort of place, isn’t it?’ Vaughan broke off. ‘I really need to go. Is that okay?’
Rebus made a gesture and slid from the booth, allowing the man to get out. Vaughan paused in front of the table. ‘I crashed out on the bed in Bruce’s suite,’ he repeated. ‘When I woke up, someone had taken all my cash.’