‘Now then,’ Rebus said. ‘Do you have a story for us, Hank?’
Shankley burped, nodded. ‘It’s like you said. He told me he was here to do a job. Said he had Glasgow connections.’
‘What did he mean by that?’
Shankley shrugged. ‘Never asked.’
‘Did he mention Aberdeen at all?’
Shankley shook his head. ‘Glasgow was what he said.’
‘Continue.’
‘He offered me fifty notes to find him a place where he could take someone. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said ask a few questions, maybe give them a doing. That was all. We waited outside this block of flats, quite posh.’
‘The Financial District?’
Another shrug. ‘Between Lothian Road and Haymarket.’ That was it. ‘Saw this young guy come out, and we followed him. For a while, we just watched, then Tony said it was time to strike up his acquaintance.’
‘And?’
‘Well, we got chatting to him, like. I got to enjoying myself, forgot what was happening. Tony looked like he’d forgotten, too. I thought maybe he was going to call it off. Then we went outside for a taxi, and when the young guy couldn’t see us, he gave me a look, and I knew it was still on. But I swear, I only thought the kid was for a kicking.’
‘Not so.’
‘No.’ Shankley’s voice dropped. ‘Tony had a bag with him. When we got to the flat, he brought out tape and stuff. Tied the kid to the chair. He had a plastic sheet, put a bag over the kid’s head.’ Shankley’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, took another swallow of cola. ‘Then he started taking stuff out of the bag, tools, you know, like a joiner would use. Saws and screwdrivers and that.’
Rebus looked to Jack Morton.
‘And that’s when I realised the plastic sheet was to catch the blood, the kid wasn’t just getting a kicking.’
‘Tony planned to torture him?’
‘I suppose so. I don’t know... maybe I’d’ve tried to stop him. I’ve never done anything like that before. I mean, I’ve doled it out in my time, but never...’
The next question used to be the one that counted; Rebus wasn’t so sure any more. ‘Did Allan Mitchison jump, or what?’
Shankley nodded. ‘We had our backs turned. Tony was taking the tools out, and I was just staring at them. The kid had a bag over his head, but I think he saw them. He got between us and went out the window. Must’ve been scared to death.’
Looking at Shankley, and remembering Anthony Kane, Rebus sensed again how bland monstrosity could be. Faces and voices didn’t give any clue; no one sported horns and fangs, dripping blood and all slouching malevolence. Evil was almost... it was almost child-like: naive, simplistic. A game you played and then woke up from, only to find it wasn’t pretend. The real-life monsters weren’t grotesques: they were quiet men and women, people you passed on the street and didn’t notice. Rebus was glad he couldn’t read people’s minds. It would be pure hell.
‘What did you do?’ he asked.
‘Packed up and shipped out. We went back to my place first, had a couple of drinks. I was shaking. Tony kept saying it was a mess, but he didn’t seem worried. We realised we’d left the hooch — couldn’t remember if our dabs were on it. I thought they were. That’s when Tony took off. He left me my share, I’ll give him that.’
‘How far do you live from the flat, Hank?’
‘About two minutes’ walk. I’m not there much; the kids call me names.’
Life can be cruel, Rebus thought. Two minutes: when he’d arrived at the scene, Tony El might have been only two minutes away. But they’d ended up meeting in Stonehaven...
‘Didn’t Tony give you any idea why he was after Allan Mitchison?’ Shankley shook his head. ‘And when did he first approach you?’
‘Couple of days before.’
Therefore premeditated. Well, of course it was premeditated, but more than that it meant Tony El had been in Edinburgh, preparing the scheme, while Allan Mitchison had still been in Aberdeen. The night of his death had been his first day of leave. So Tony El hadn’t followed him south from Aberdeen... yet he knew what Allan Mitchison looked like, knew where he lived — there was a telephone in the flat, but unlisted.
Allan Mitchison had been set up by someone who’d known him.
It was Jack Morton’s turn. ‘Hank, think carefully now, didn’t Tony say anything about the job, about who was paying him?’
Shankley thought, then nodded slowly. He looked pleased with himself: he’d remembered something.
‘Mr H.,’ he said. ‘Tony said something about Mr H. He clammed up afterwards, like he hadn’t meant to.’ Shankley almost danced in his seat. He wanted Rebus and Morton to like him. Their smiles told him they did. But Rebus was thinking furiously; the only Mr H. he came up with was Jake Harley. It didn’t fit.
‘Good man,’ Jack cajoled. ‘Now think again, tell us something else.’
But Rebus had a question. ‘Did you see Tony El jacking up?’
‘No, but I knew he was doing it. When we were following the kid, first bar we went in, Tony went to the bog. He came out, and I knew he was on something. Living where I do, it gets so you can tell.’
Tony El a shooter. It didn’t mean he wasn’t killed. All it meant was, maybe he’d made Stanley’s job easier. Tony El sky-high easier to murder than Tony El with defences up. Drugs to Aberdeen... Burke’s Club a magnet for them... Tony El using — and selling? He wished he’d asked Erik Stemmons about Tony El.
‘I need the toilet,’ Shankley said.
‘We’ll get a uniform to take you. Stay here.’ Rebus and Morton left the room.
‘Jack, I want you to trust me.’
‘How far?’
‘I want you to stay here and take Shankley’s statement.’
‘While you do what?’
‘Take someone to lunch.’ Rebus checked his watch. ‘I’ll be back here by three.’
‘Look, John...’
‘Call it parole. I go to lunch, I come back. Two hours.’ Rebus held up two fingers. ‘Two hours, Jack.’
‘Which restaurant?’
‘What?’
‘Tell me where you’re going. I’ll phone every quarter of an hour, you better be there.’ Rebus looked disgusted. ‘And I want to know who your guest is.’
‘It’s a woman.’
‘Name?’
Rebus sighed. ‘I’ve heard of driving a hard bargain, but you’ve got your HGV.’
‘Name?’ Jack was smiling.
‘Gill Templer. Chief Inspector Gill Templer. OK?’
‘OK. Now the restaurant.’
‘I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I get there.’
‘Phone me. If you don’t, Chick gets to know, OK?’
‘It’s back to “Chick”, is it?’
‘He gets to know.’
‘All right, I’ll phone.’
‘With the restaurant’s number?’
‘With the number. Know what, Jack? You’ve put me right off eating.’
‘Order plenty and bring me a doggie bag.’
Rebus went in search of Gill, found her in her office. She told him she’d already eaten.
‘So come and watch me.’
‘An offer I can’t refuse.’
There was an Italian restaurant on Clerk Street. Rebus ordered a pizza: he could take anything he couldn’t eat back to Jack. Then he phoned St Leonard’s and left the pizzeria’s number, told them to pass it on.
‘So,’ Gill said when he was seated again, ‘been busy?’
‘Plenty busy. I went to Aberdeen.’
‘What for?’
‘That phone number on Feardie Fergie’s pad. Plus a few other things.’
‘What other things?’
‘Not necessarily connected.’