“Where’s Cafferty?”
The tone of voice made the young man more nervous still. “Parked around the side.”
Rebus didn’t wait to hear more.
“He obviously thinks you’re one of Cafferty’s team,” Siobhan said. “And from the line of sweat on his top lip, I’d say he knows who Cafferty is.”
“Whatever he thinks, it’s good news he’s here.”
“Why?”
Rebus turned to her. “Makes it less likely we’re walking into a trap.”
Cafferty’s car was a dark blue Bentley GT. He was standing over it, pressing a plan of the site against the hood so it wouldn’t blow away.
“Here, take a corner, will you?” he said. Siobhan obliged. Cafferty gave her a smile. “DS Clarke. A pleasure as ever. Promotion can’t be too far off, eh? Especially when the chief constable’s trusting you with something this big.”
Siobhan glanced toward Rebus, who shook his head, letting her know he wasn’t Cafferty’s source.
“CID leaks like a sieve” was Cafferty’s explanation. “Always has, always will.”
“What do you want with this place?” Siobhan couldn’t help asking.
Cafferty slapped a hand against the unruly sheet of paper. “Land, DS Clarke. We don’t always realize how precious it is in Edinburgh. You’ve got the Firth of Forth to the north, North Sea to the east, and the Pentland Hills to the south. Developers are scrabbling about for projects, putting pressure on the council to free up the Green Belt. And here’s a twenty-acre plot only five minutes’ walk from the financial district.”
“So what would you do with it?”
“Apart,” Rebus interrupted, “from burying a few bodies in the foundations.”
Cafferty decided to laugh at this. “That book made me a bit of money. Need to invest it somehow.”
“Mairie Henderson thinks your share went to charity,” Rebus said.
Cafferty ignored him. “Did you read it, DS Clarke?”
She hesitated, giving Cafferty his answer. “Like it?” he asked.
“Don’t really remember.”
“They’re thinking of turning it into a film. The early chapters, at any rate.” He lifted the plan and folded it, tossed it onto the Bentley’s backseat. “I’m not sure about this place.” He turned his attention to Rebus. “You mentioned bodies, and that’s what I get a sense of. All the people who used to work here, all of them gone, and Scottish industry along with them. A lot of my family were miners-I’ll bet you didn’t know that.” He paused. “You’re from Fife, Rebus. I’m betting you grew up surrounded by coal.” He paused. “I was sorry to hear about your brother.”
“Sympathy from the devil,” Rebus said. “That’s all I need.”
“A killer with a social conscience,” Siobhan added in an undertone.
“I wouldn’t be the first…” Cafferty’s voice drifted off. He rubbed a finger along the underside of his nose. “In fact, maybe that’s what’s landed on your plate.” He reached into the car again, opening the glove box this time. Drew out some rolled-up sheets of paper and made to hand them to Siobhan.
“Tell me what they are,” she asked, hands on hips.
“They’re your case, DS Clarke. Proof that we’re dealing with a bad bastard. A bad bastard who likes other bad bastards.”
She took the papers but didn’t look at them. “We’re dealing with?” Quoting his own words back at him.
Cafferty’s attention turned to Rebus. “Doesn’t she know that’s the deal?”
“There was never a deal,” Rebus stated.
“Like it or not, I’m on your side in this one.” Cafferty’s eyes were on Siobhan again. “These papers cost me some substantial favors. If they help you catch him, I’ll accept that. But I’ll be hunting him, too…with you or without you.”
“Then why help us?”
Cafferty’s mouth twitched. “Makes the race that bit more exciting.” He held open the back door of the Bentley. “Bags of space in the rear…make yourselves at home.”
Rebus joined Siobhan on the backseat, while Cafferty sat in the front. Both detectives were aware of Cafferty’s gaze. He wanted them to be impressed.
Rebus, for one, was finding it hard not to give anything away. He wasn’t just impressed; he was amazed.
Keogh’s Garage was in Carlisle. One of the mechanics, Edward Isley, had been found murdered three months back, his body dumped on waste ground just outside the city. A blow to the head and a toxic injection of heroin. The body had been naked from the waist up. No witnesses, no clues, no suspects.
Siobhan met Rebus’s eyes.
“Does he have a brother?” Rebus asked.
“Some obscure musical reference?” she guessed.
“Read on, Macduff,” Cafferty said.
The notes were just that, culled from police records. Those same police records went on to report that Isley had been in employment only a little over a month, having been released from a six-year prison stretch for rape and sexual assault. Both Isley’s victims had been prostitutes: one picked up in Penrith and the other farther south in Lancaster. They worked the M6 motorway, catering to truck drivers. It was believed there might be other victims out there, scared either of testifying or of being identified.
“How did you get these?” The question burst from Rebus. It caused Cafferty to chuckle. “Networks are wonderful things, Rebus-you should know that.”
“Plenty of palms greased along the way, no doubt.”
“Christ, John,” Siobhan was hissing, “look at this.”
Rebus started reading again. Trevor Guest. The notes started with bank details and a home address-in Newcastle. Guest had been unemployed ever since being released from a three-year term for aggravated burglary and an assault on a man outside a pub. During one break-in, he’d attempted to sexually assault a teenage babysitter.
“Another piece of work,” Rebus muttered.
“Who went the same way as the others.” Siobhan traced the relevant words with her index finger. Body found dumped by the shore at Tynemouth, just east of Newcastle. Head smashed in, lethal dose of heroin. The killing had happened two months back.
“He’d only been out of jail for two weeks.”
Edward Isley: three months past.
Trevor Guest: two.
Cyril Colliar: six weeks.
“Looks like maybe Guest put up a fight,” Siobhan commented.
Yes: four broken fingers, lacerations to the face and chest. Body pummeled.
“So we’ve got a killer who’s only after scumbags,” Rebus summed up.
“And you’re thinking, More power to him?” Cafferty guessed.
“A vigilante,” Siobhan said. “Tidying up all the rapists.”
“Our burglar friend didn’t rape anyone,” Rebus felt it necessary to point out.
“But he tried to,” Cafferty said. “Tell me, does all of this make your job easier or harder?”
Siobhan just shrugged. “He’s working at pretty regular intervals,” she said to Rebus.
“Twelve weeks, eight, and six,” he agreed. “Means we should have had another one by now.”
“Maybe we just haven’t looked.”
“Why Auchterarder?” Cafferty asked. It was a good question.
“Sometimes they take trophies.”
“And hang them on public display?” Cafferty’s brow furrowed.
“The Clootie Well doesn’t get that many visitors.” Siobhan grew thoughtful, turned back to the top of the first sheet and started reading again. Rebus got out of the car. The leather smell was beginning to get to him. He tried to light a cigarette, but the breeze kept extinguishing the flame. Heard the door of the Bentley open and close.
“Here,” Cafferty said, handing him the car’s chrome-plated lighter. Rebus took it, got the cigarette going, gave it back with the briefest of nods.
“It was always business with me, Rebus, back in the old days…”
“That’s a myth all you butchers use. You forget, Cafferty, I’ve seen what you did to people.”
Cafferty gave a slow shrug. “A different world…”