‘I’m glad you came,’ Briggs had said at one point. ‘These streets are a bloody maze.’
‘Local knowledge is a wonderful thing, Anne.’
A sentiment Alvin James repeated almost word for word after Clarke had explained how she’d recognised Hodges. He even clasped her hand and gave it a shake.
‘Malcolm was right to sing your praises,’ he said. Then, looking around: ‘Where is he anyway?’
‘Nobody knows,’ Briggs piped up.
James fastened his eyes on Clarke again. ‘Well, since you’re here and acquainted with the gentleman...’
‘Happy to oblige,’ Clarke said, following him to the interview room.
Hodges didn’t look happy. He’d been stewing for the best part of an hour, and the club would be opening for evening business soon. Nobody had thought to tell him why he had been picked up. James dragged out the chair opposite and sat down, holding the photo so Hodges could see it.
‘And?’ Hodges said.
‘It’s you,’ James stated.
‘What if it is?’
‘Outside the Tomahawk Club, just off Lothian Road. Two Saturdays back.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Oh, it’s you all right, you and your mates having words with the doorman because he refused you entry.’
‘Is that what he says?’
‘It’s what one of his colleagues says. The man in the photo isn’t saying anything, Mr Hodges. Someone went after him and killed him. Big fit man he was, too, so we’re thinking maybe more than one assailant.’ James tapped the photo. ‘There are four of you here. Care to name the others, or do we find out the hard way?’
‘Did I hear you right? He’s dead? Rab’s dead?’ Hodges’ eyes had widened. ‘We used him at the club a few times ourselves. Just once or twice.’
‘You knew him?’
‘Hardly.’
‘But he was a bouncer at the Devil’s Dram?’ Clarke asked.
‘Just when we were short of a body. On the really busy nights — like the night you were there.’ Hodges fixed Clarke with a look.
‘If you knew him,’ James asked quietly, ‘what was the argument for?’
‘I’d stopped a bit further back along the pavement — had to make a call. The others are that bit younger, but they all had ID. Rab wasn’t convinced, said two could go in but not Cal. Words were being exchanged when I arrived, but it all calmed down.’
‘One of you — at least one of you — threatened to kill him.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ Hodges said with a shake of the head.
‘Quite an unusual name, Cal,’ Clarke interrupted. ‘Bit of a coincidence that your employer has a brother called that. And I’m thinking Cal Christie wouldn’t quite be eighteen yet.’ She pretended to study the photos. ‘Darryl had sent you out to babysit him, is that it? Him and a couple of pals and their fake IDs?’
Hodges glared at her. ‘You’ve lost me again.’
‘Let’s go talk to Darryl then.’ Clarke checked the time on her phone. ‘Cal’s probably home from college by now, too. We’ll take the security footage to show them. I’ll tell you something, though, Harry — Darryl’s not going to be happy with you. He’s not going to be happy at all.’
She knew she had got through to him when his shoulders sagged. He spoke with his chin tucked in against his chest. ‘Is there another option?’
‘You give us the other names so we can talk to all of them. Then, when we go to Darryl’s house, we keep your name out of it — we tell him it was Cal we recognised.’
‘He’ll still know I was there.’
‘You asked for options,’ James stressed. ‘That’s what’s on the table.’
Hodges thought for a few more seconds, then nodded.
‘Let me fetch my pad for those names,’ James said, exiting the room.
‘One more thing, Harry,’ Clarke said, once the coast was clear. ‘That photo really does come out of the gents’ toilet tonight. If it doesn’t, I tell Darryl how wonderfully cooperative you were when you grassed up his little brother. You got that?’
‘Got it, bitch.’
‘Good,’ said Clarke, as James walked back through the open door.
15
She was locking up for the evening when they arrived.
‘Molly?’ Fox asked, holding out his warrant card. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your surname.’
‘Sewell,’ she told him. ‘Do you want to come in?’
‘Thank you.’
She unlocked the door again and they followed her inside. She cancelled the alarm and switched on the lights. A small, tasteful waiting room led to a smaller office with no natural light.
‘This is where you work?’ Fox enquired.
‘That’s right.’
‘And Mr Brough?’
‘To the left as you come in the main door.’
‘Mind if we take a look?’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Just want to be sure he’s not hiding in one of the filing cabinets.’ Fox tried to make it sound like a joke, but her oval face had grown stony. Rebus reckoned she was in her early thirties. Cropped black hair and bright red lipstick. Elfin was the word that came to his mind, but there was a toughness to her, too.
‘You better tell me what this is about,’ she said coolly, sitting down behind her desk. There was one chair for visitors, but Rebus and Fox stayed on their feet.
‘Do you know the whereabouts of Anthony Brough, Ms Sewell?’
‘No.’
‘When was the last time you spoke?’
She had begun to tidy the surface of her already tidied desk, moving a stapler, a box of paper clips and a pen. ‘About a week ago.’
‘In person or by phone?’
‘It was a text actually. He wasn’t feeling great and wanted to cancel his morning meetings.’
‘And since then?’
‘I’ve texted and phoned, left messages...’
‘Where does he live?’
‘Ann Street.’
‘Very nice, too. Does he have a partner?’
‘Here, you mean?’
‘In his personal life.’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Big houses on that street — he must rattle around a bit.’
‘If you say so.’
‘You’re not worried about him?’
‘It’s only been a few days.’
‘All the same...’
She sighed and looked up from her desk, blinking back tears. ‘Of course I’m worried. I went to the house, but there was no one home.’
‘If he wasn’t well, he probably wouldn’t have gone far,’ Rebus commented.
‘I put a note through his door, but he still didn’t call.’
‘How well can you manage without him?’ Fox asked.
‘The paperwork is fine. I’ve rescheduled his meetings.’ She looked around her. ‘He’s not here to sign cheques, but other than that...’
‘How is business anyway?’
‘Thriving.’
‘That’s not quite what we hear, Ms Sewell.’
‘Then you’re talking to the wrong people.’
‘Do you know a gentleman called Darryl Christie?’
‘Should I?’
‘He’s either a client or an associate of Mr Brough’s — so yes, I’d say you should know him.’
‘Well, I don’t.’
‘How about a flat on Great Junction Street, above a betting shop called Klondyke Alley?’
She shook her head. ‘You’ve still not told me why you’re here.’
‘A few days after your boss went missing, someone attacked Darryl Christie.’
She gave a snort. ‘Anthony would never do anything like that.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘It’s preposterous. I doubt Anthony’s been in a fight since he left school.’
‘How long have you known him?’