“Spying on us, sir?”
Rebus could see Tennant considering his options.
“I’d probably do the same thing,” Rebus said into the silence, “under the circumstances.”
Tennant tilted his head upwards. “How many are in there?”
“All of us.”
“McCullough’s not bunked off home?”
“Not tonight.”
“In that case, I am impressed.”
“Why don’t you join us, sir? Couple of cans of beer left . . .”
Tennant made a show of checking his watch, wrinkled his nose. “Time I was turning in,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t . . .”
“Mention bumping into you? Wouldn’t that be going against the team ethos, sir?” Beginning to smile, enjoying Tennant’s discomfort.
“Just this once, DI Rebus, maybe you could play the outsider.”
“Step out of character, you mean?”
This elicited a smile from the older man. “Tell you what, I’ll leave it to your judgment, shall I?” He turned and pushed his way out of the college’s main doors. The path outside was well lit, and Rebus watched him all the way, then stepped beneath the staircase, where the public telephones were.
His call was answered on the fifth ring. Rebus kept his eyes on the stairs, ready to hang up if anyone came down.
“It’s me,” he said into the receiver. “I need a meet.” He listened for a moment. “Sooner if you can manage it. What about this weekend? It’s nothing to do with you-know-what.” He paused. “Well, maybe it is. I don’t know.” He nodded as he learned that the weekend was out of the question. After listening to a few more words, Rebus hung up and pushed open the door to the toilets. Stood there at the sink, running the water. It was less than a minute before someone else came in. Allan Ward offered a grunt before making for one of the cubicles. Rebus heard the door lock, Ward loosen his trouser belt.
“Waste of time and brain cells,” Ward’s voice bounced off the ceiling. “Complete and utter waste of manpower.”
“I get the feeling DCI Tennant has failed to sway you?” Rebus called.
“Fucking waste of time.”
Taking this as a yes, Rebus left Ward to his business.
3
Friday morning, they were back on the Lomax case. Tennant had asked for a progress report. Several pairs of eyes had gone to Francis Gray, but Gray himself stared levelly at Rebus.
“John’s put in more hours than any of us,” he said. “Go on, John, tell the man what we’ve found.”
Rebus took a sip of coffee first, gathering his thoughts. “Mostly what we’ve got is conjecture, not much of it new. The feeling is, someone was waiting for the victim. They knew where he’d be, what time he’d be there. Thing is, that alley was used by the working girls, yet none of them saw anyone hanging around.”
“Not the world’s most reliable witnesses, are they?” Tennant interrupted.
Rebus looked at him. “They don’t always want to come forward, if that’s what you mean.”
Tennant shrugged by way of an answer. He was circling the table. Rebus wondered if he’d noticed that there were fewer hangovers this morning. Sure, some of them still looked like their faces had been drawn by kids armed with crayons, but Allan Ward had no need of his designer sunglasses, and Stu Sutherland’s eyes were dark ringed but not bloodshot.
“You think it’s a gang thing?” Tennant asked.
“That’s our favored explanation, same as it was with the original inquiry team.”
“But . . . ?” Tennant was facing Rebus from the other side of the table.
“But,” Rebus obliged, “there are problems. If it was a gang hit, how come no one seemed to know? The CID in Glasgow have their informers, but nobody’d heard anything. A wall of silence is one thing, but there’s usually a crack somewhere, sometime down the road.”
“And what do you glean from that?”
It was Rebus’s turn to shrug. “Nothing. It’s just a bit odd, that’s all.”
“What about Lomax’s friends and associates?”
“They make the Wild Bunch look like the Seven Dwarves.” There were a couple of snorts from the table. “Mr. Lomax’s widow, Fenella, was an early suspect. Rumor was, she’d been playing around behind hubby’s back. Couldn’t prove anything, and she wasn’t about to tell us.”
Francis Gray pulled his shoulders back. “She’s since hitched her wagon to Chib Kelly.”
“He sounds delightful,” Tennant said.
“Chib owns a couple of pubs in Govan, so he’s used to being behind bars.”
“Do I take it that’s where he is now?”
Gray nodded. “A wee stretch in Barlinnie: fencing stolen goods. His pubs do more business than most branches of Curry’s. Fenella won’t be pining — plenty men in Govan know what she likes for breakfast . . .”
Tennant nodded thoughtfully. “DI Barclay, you don’t look happy.”
Barclay folded his arms. “I’m fine, sir.”
“Sure?”
Barclay unfolded the arms again while attempting to find space beneath the table to cross his legs. “It’s just that this is the first we’ve heard of it.”
“Heard of Mrs. Lomax and Chib Kelly?” Tennant waited until Barclay had nodded, then turned his attention to Gray.
“Well, DI Gray? Isn’t this supposed to be a team effort?”
Francis Gray made a point of not looking at Barclay. “Didn’t think it pertinent, sir. There’s nothing to show that Fenella and Chib knew one another when Rico was around.”
Tennant pushed out his lips. “Satisfied, DI Barclay?”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“What about the rest of you? Was DI Gray right to hold back on you?”
“I can’t see that it did any harm,” Jazz McCullough said, to nods of agreement.
“Any chance we can question Mrs. Lomax?” Allan Ward piped up.
Tennant was standing right behind him. “I don’t think so.”
“Not much chance of us getting a result then, is there?”
Tennant leaned down over Ward’s shoulder. “I didn’t think results were your forte, DC Ward.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ward was beginning to rise to his feet, but Tennant slapped a restraining hand on the back of his neck.
“Sit down and I’ll tell you.” When Ward was seated again, Tennant left his hand where it was for a few seconds, then moved away, once more circling the table. “This case might be dormant, but it’s not extinct. You prove to me that you need to check on something, maybe interview someone, and I’ll fix it up. But I will need to be persuaded. In the past, DC Ward, you’ve been a mite overenthusiastic as far as interview technique is involved.”
“That was a piece of lying junkie scum,” Ward spat.
“And since his complaint was not upheld, we must naturally concede that you did nothing wrong.” Though Tennant beamed a smile in Ward’s direction, Rebus had seldom seen a face look less amused. Then Tennant clapped his hands together. “To work, gentlemen! Today I’d like to see you get through the interview transcripts. Work in pairs if it makes it easier.” He pointed to where a clean white marker board had been placed against the wall. “I want the path of the original inquiry laid out for me, along with comments and criticisms. Anything they missed, all the side roads, especially ones you feel they should maybe have ventured down a little farther.” As Stu Sutherland let out a perceptible groan, Tennant fixed him with a stare. “Anyone who doesn’t see the point of this can head back downstairs.” He checked his watch. “The uniformed recruits will be starting their three-mile run in the next quarter of an hour. Plenty of time to change into your vest and shorts, DS Sutherland.”
“I’m fine, sir,” Sutherland said, making a show of patting his stomach. “Bit of indigestion, that’s all.”
Tennant glowered at him, then left the room. Slowly, the six men turned back into a team again, sharing out the piles of paperwork. Rebus noticed that Tam Barclay kept his head down, keen to avoid eye contact with Francis Gray. Gray was working with Jazz McCullough. At one point, Rebus thought he heard Gray say, “Know what ‘Barclays’ is rhyming slang for down south?” but McCullough didn’t take the bait.