‘Fresh start all round,’ she replied, checking the time on her phone. ‘I’ve got a class to teach, John.’
‘I’ll get to the point then: I miss you a lot.’ He paused. ‘And I’m wondering how the Francis Haggard post-mortem went.’
She stared at him in silence as cars crawled past on Cowgate, some of them about to learn that access to Grassmarket had been blocked to allow Richard Branson to build a new hotel.
‘You’re unbelievable,’ she eventually stated. ‘How many years is it now since you left the force?’
‘I’m a private eye these days, though.’
‘A private eye?’ She was trying not to smile. ‘Working for who? The widow?’ She watched him shake his head. ‘You know I can’t tell you anything, John. It would be unprofessional.’
‘I know he was stabbed, so that’s the cause of death established, but was there anything else? Did he defend himself? Were there bruises? Was he even conscious when it happened?’
It took her a moment to decide to throw him a scrap. ‘There was a lot of alcohol in his system, lager and tequila mostly. As far as I know, no empty cans or beer bottles were found in the flat. There was one tequila bottle, mostly finished, only the victim’s fingerprints on it. He wasn’t a complete philistine, though — there was orange juice in both his fridge and his stomach.’
‘So the lager had been consumed elsewhere? A pub, maybe?’
‘Or a friend’s house. He hadn’t eaten at all that day, though.’
‘Nothing?’
Quant shook her head. ‘Then there were the narcotics in his system — cocaine and hash.’
‘What do you make of the stab wounds?’
‘Don’t get greedy, John.’ She opened her car and slung her bag in.
‘I’m serious, you know. I do miss you.’
‘We still speak on the phone.’
‘I get the feeling that’s just so you can reassure yourself I’m not yet ready to end up in one of these.’ Rebus slapped the side of the nearest van.
‘I’d be grateful if you kept it that way. Bye, John.’ She leaned towards him, pecking his cheek.
‘Bye, Debs,’ he said, watching her reverse out of her space and drive off.
15
Driscoll and Agnew knew the officer manning the cordon. There were a couple of ghouls on the opposite pavement, and Driscoll gave each of them a hard stare, as though committing their faces to memory. Neither tried snapping a photo. If they had, he’d have pounced. The uniform on guard duty was getting his clipboard ready. There was a list of visitors there. Agnew placed a meaty paw on it.
‘We don’t need to bother with that,’ he said.
‘It’s procedure,’ the officer managed to blurt out.
‘Not necessary, okay?’
Driscoll wrenched the clipboard from the officer’s hand and studied the names. ‘Anyone in there just now?’ he enquired, receiving a shake of the head in answer. ‘How about the flat — is it locked tight?’
The officer dug keys from his pocket and handed them over.
‘Good lad,’ Driscoll said. ‘Where do you normally drink?’
‘The Starbank.’
‘Nice place. There’ll be a few in the tap for you next time you visit. Our treat.’ He turned away, but then stopped. ‘Starbank’s not far from where Francis lived — he ever come in?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Fine,’ Driscoll said, filing the information away. He walked to the tenement’s main door, unlocked it, and held it open for Agnew.
‘Remind me what we’re doing here,’ Agnew said in a lowered voice.
‘Don’t tell me you’re not interested?’
‘Just feels a bit creepy.’
‘Afraid he’s going to fly through the walls at you and say boo?’ Driscoll started climbing, Agnew a few steps behind. Their blood was pumping by the time they reached Haggard’s landing. Driscoll unlocked the door to the flat and stepped inside. ‘In you come then,’ he said.
‘Is this by way of a punishment, Rob? For Newhaven, I mean?’
‘There’s nothing to be scared of, Chris.’ Driscoll walked into the living room and stared at the floor. ‘We’re just paying our respects to one of our own.’
He could sense that a death had taken place here. The whole aura had changed. It was the same out on the stairwell. He reckoned a few flats might end up going on the market, neighbours not happy sharing their lives with a news story. The room was freezing, the heating switched off — probably the landlord’s doing, eager to save a few quid. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and he thought about the downstairs neighbours. Had they heard anything? A body dropping to the ground, perhaps? Well, this was Edinburgh; nobody wanted trouble or to make a fuss. The shutters had been closed across the large window, deepening the gloom. Had they been open the night Francis had died? The building across the street looked lived in, making for yet more potential witnesses. He’d not bothered trying to access the statements gathered so far, knowing how it would look to the MIT if he were rumbled.
Interviews with the Crew would be in the offing, of course. Stories would need to be got straight.
His phone was vibrating, so he lifted it to his face.
‘I have to take this,’ he said, heading for the landing. ‘You stay here, maybe say a few words.’
‘Like what?’
Driscoll closed the door after him, pressing the phone to his ear as he descended half a flight. He took up a position that would alert him if Agnew emerged from the flat.
‘What’s up, Alan?’ he said.
‘You tell me, son. What the hell have you gone and done?’
‘Absolutely bloody nothing. How about you?’
‘That’s not the tone you should be using, Rob. I’m not the one Francis texted shortly before his demise — think MIT won’t pick up on that?’
‘Everything deleted, like you said.’
‘Just because it’s gone from your phone doesn’t mean it’s gone from Francis’s. We need another pow-wow.’
‘After getting papped at the last one?’
‘If I ever get my hands on whoever did that...’ Driscoll heard Fleck expel a breath.
‘Let’s leave the pow-wow one more day, wait to see if they come for us.’
‘Oh, they’re coming for you.’
‘Not “you”, Alan, us. You need to understand that.’
‘This is why we need a meeting. Has to be somewhere new, though.’
‘Why? I reckon the cat’s out of the bag there. Another photo would be stale news. Besides, we don’t have anything to hide, do we?’
‘I know I don’t.’
‘Unlike our anonymous blogger.’
‘Can we find out who it is?’
‘I’m working on it.’
Fleck seemed to calm. ‘You at work?’
‘In the office, aye.’ He checked that Agnew was still out of earshot.
‘Meet tomorrow, then?’
‘Same time, same place. Maybe I’ll send the Courant an invite. Set a trap and ID them.’
‘Not the worst idea you’ve ever had.’
‘Not that you know of.’ Driscoll managed the trace of a smile. Downstairs, a buzzer sounded, meaning one of the flats had unlocked the door to someone outside. The door clicked open, then clattered shut again.
‘You sure you’re at—’
Driscoll ended the call and listened as heavy footsteps started coming up the stairs. He could see a man’s hand on the banister, but nothing else until Malcolm Fox reached the landing below. Spotting Driscoll, he offered a brief nod.