‘Tell me, did the trip pass without incident?’ She picked up a piece of the garlic bread which had just arrived.
‘Not exactly.’
‘You surprise me.’
‘They say it keeps a relationship on its toes.’
Gill took a bite of bread. ‘So what did you find out?’
‘Burke’s Club is dirty. It’s also where Johnny Bible’s first victim was last seen alive. The place is run by two Yanks; I only spoke with one of them. I think probably his partner’s the grubbier of the two.’
‘And?’
‘And, also in Burke’s I saw a couple of members of a Glaswegian crime family. You know Uncle Joe Toal?’
‘I’ve heard of him.’
‘I think he’s delivering dope to Aberdeen. From there, I’d guess some of it goes to the rigs — a captive market; a lot of boredom on a rig.’
‘You’d know, of course?’ she joked. Then she saw the look on his face, and her eyes narrowed. ‘You went on a rig?’
‘Most terrifying experience of my life, but cathartic with it.’
‘Cathartic?’
‘An old girlfriend used to use words like that; they rub off on you after a while. The club’s owner, Erik Stemmons, denied knowing Fergie McLure. I almost believe him.’
‘Which puts his partner in the frame?’
‘To my mind.’
‘And that’s as far as it’s got — your mind? I mean, there’s no evidence?’
‘Not a shred.’
His pizza arrived. Chorizo, mushroom and anchovy. Gill had to look away. The pizza was pre-cut into six fat slices. Rebus lifted one on to his plate.
‘I don’t know how you can face that.’
‘Me neither,’ said Rebus, sniffing the surface. ‘But it’ll make a hell of a doggie bag.’
There was a cigarette machine. If he looked over Gill’s right shoulder he could see it there on the wall. Five brands, any of which would suffice. There was a book of matches waiting in the ashtray. He’d ordered a glass of house white, Gill spring water. The wine — ‘delicately bouqueted’ as the menu put it — arrived, and he gave it the nose test before sipping. It was chilled and sour.
‘How’s the bouquet?’ Gill asked.
‘Any more delicate and it’d need Prozac.’ The drinks card was in front of him, standing erect in its little holder, listing aperitifs and cocktails and digestifs, plus wines, beers, lagers, spirits. It was the most reading Rebus had done in a couple of days. As soon as he’d finished, he read it again. He wanted to shake the author’s hand.
One segment of pizza was enough.
‘Not hungry?’ Gill asked.
‘I’m dieting.’
‘You?’
‘I want to be fit for my walks along the beach.’
She wasn’t following him, shook her head clear of seeming non-sequiturs.
‘The thing is, Gill,’ he said after another sip of wine, ‘I think you were on to something big. And I think it can be salvaged. I just want to be sure it’s your collar.’
She looked at him. ‘Why?’
‘Because of all the Christmas presents I’ve never given you. Because you deserve it. Because it’ll be your first.’
‘It doesn’t count if you’ve done all the work.’
‘It’ll count all right, all I’m doing is reconnaissance.’
‘You mean you’re not finished?’
Rebus shook his head, asked the waiter to put the rest of the pizza in a box. He lifted the last piece of garlic bread.
‘I’m not nearly finished,’ he told her. ‘But I might need your help.’
‘Oh-oh. Here it comes.’
Rebus spoke quickly. ‘Chick Ancram’s got me set up for a series of grillings. I’ve already had one, and between ourselves he didn’t cook me more than medium rare. But they take up time, and I might want to head north again.’
‘John...’
‘All I need you to do... might need you to do, is telephone Ancram some day and tell him I’m working for you on something urgent, so we’ll have to reschedule the interview. Just charm the socks off him and give me some time. That’s all I need. I’ll try to keep you out of it if I can.’
‘So, to recap, all you need is for me to lie to a fellow officer who is carrying out an internal investigation? And meantime, lacking any physical or verbal evidence, you’ll be solving the drug-running case?’
‘Nicely summarised. I can see why you’re the CI instead of me.’ He shot to his feet, ran to the payphone. He’d heard it ringing before anyone in the restaurant. It was Jack, checking on him. He reminded Rebus about the doggie bag.
‘Being brought to the table as I speak.’
When he got to the table, Gill was checking the bill.
‘This is on me,’ Rebus said.
‘At least let me leave the tip. I ate most of the bread. And besides, my water cost more than your wine.’
‘You got the better deal. What’s it to be, Gill?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll tell him anything you like.’
25
Jack still had the power to surprise his old friend: wolfed the pizza. His only comment: ‘You didn’t eat much.’
‘Bit bland for me, Jack.’
Rebus was itching now: for a cigarette and Aberdeen both. There was something up there he wanted; he just didn’t know quite what it was.
The truth maybe.
He should have been itching for a drink too, but the wine had put him off. It slopped in his stomach, liquid heartburn. He sat at a desk and read through Shankley’s statement. The big man was in a cell downstairs. Jack had worked fast; Rebus couldn’t see anything missing.
‘So,’ he said, ‘I’m back from parole. How did I do?’
‘Let’s not make it a regular date, my heart couldn’t take it.’
Rebus smiled, picked up a phone. He wanted to check his machine at home, see if Ancram had plans for him. He did: nine tomorrow morning. There was another message. It was from Kayleigh Burgess. She needed to talk with him.
‘I’m seeing someone in Morningside at three, so how about four at that big hotel in Bruntsfield? We can have afternoon tea.’ She said it was important. Rebus decided to go out there and wait. He’d have preferred to leave Jack behind...
‘Know what, Jack? You’re severely cramping my style.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘With women. There’s one I want to see, but I bet you’re going to tag along, aren’t you?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I’ll wait outside the door if you like.’
‘It’ll be a comfort to know you’re there.’
‘It could be worse,’ stuffing his face with the last of the pizza, ‘just think, how do Siamese twins arrange their love lives?’
‘Some questions are best left unanswered,’ Rebus said.
He thought: Good question though.
It was a nice hotel, quietly upmarket. Rebus worked out a possible dialogue in his head. Ancram knew about the clippings in his kitchen, and Kayleigh was the only possible source. He’d been furious at the time, less angry now. It was her job after alclass="underline" information, and using that information to elicit other information. It still rankled. Then there was the Spaven-McLure connection: Ancram had picked up on it; Kayleigh knew about it. And finally, above all, there was the break-in.
They waited for her in the lounge. Jack flicked through Scottish Field and kept reading out descriptions of estates for sale: ‘seven thousand acres in Caithness, with hunting lodge, stabling, and working farm’. He looked up at Rebus.
‘Some country this, eh? Where else could you lay your hands on seven thousand acres at knockdown prices?’
‘There’s a theatre group called 7:84 — know what it means?’
‘What?’
‘Seven per cent of the population controls eighty-four per cent of the wealth.’