‘Still warm,’ he said.
‘Take him down the station,’ Wylie was telling the uniforms. Then, to the youth: ‘Anything sharp on you before we search your pockets?’
‘Telling you nothing.’
‘Get him into a car, lads.’
The youth was led away, cameras following him as he returned to his complaints. Rebus realised that the lawyer was standing in front of him.
‘You saved my life, sir!’ He clasped Rebus’s hands in his own.
‘I wouldn’t go that far...’
But Dirwan had turned to the crowd. ‘You see? You see the way that hate drips down from father to son? It is like a slow poison, polluting the very ground that should nourish us!’ He tried to embrace Rebus, but met with resistance. This didn’t seem to bother him. ‘You are a police officer, yes?’
‘A detective inspector,’ Rebus acknowledged.
‘Name’s Rebus!’ a voice called. Rebus stared at a smirking Steve Holly.
‘Mr Rebus, I am in your debt until we perish on this earth. We are all in your debt.’ Dirwan meant the immigrant group who stood nearby, apparently unaware of what had just happened. And now Shug Davidson was coming into view, bemused by the spectacle before him and accompanied by a grinning Rat-Arse Reynolds.
‘Centre of attention as usual, John,’ Reynolds said.
‘What’s the story?’ Davidson asked.
‘A kid was about to clout Mr Dirwan here,’ Rebus muttered. ‘So I stopped him.’ He offered a shrug, as if to indicate that he now wished he hadn’t. A uniform, one of the ones who’d taken the youth away, was returning.
‘Better take a look at this, sir,’ he told Davidson. He was holding a polythene evidence bag. There was something small and angular within.
A six-inch kitchen knife.
Rebus found himself playing babysitter to his new best friend.
They were in the CID office in Torphichen Place. The youth was being questioned in one of the interview rooms by Shug Davidson and Ellen Wylie. The knife had been whisked away to the forensic lab at Howdenhall. Rebus was trying to send a text message to Siobhan, letting her know they’d have to reschedule their meeting. He suggested six o’clock.
Having given his statement, Mohammad Dirwan was sipping sugary black tea at one of the desks, his eyes fixed on Rebus.
‘I never mastered the intricacies of these new technologies,’ he stated.
‘Me neither,’ Rebus admitted.
‘And yet somehow they have become imperative to our way of life.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You are a man of few words, Inspector. Either that or I’m making you nervous.’
‘I’m just having to re-jig a meeting, Mr Dirwan.’
‘Please...’ The lawyer held up a hand. ‘I told you to call me Mo.’ He grinned, showing a row of immaculate teeth. ‘People tell me it’s a woman’s name — they associate it with the character in EastEnders. You know the one?’ Rebus shook his head. ‘I say to them, do you not remember the footballer Mo Johnston? He played for both Rangers and Celtic, becoming hero and villain twice over — a trick not even the best lawyer could hope to accomplish.’
Rebus managed a smile. Rangers and Celtic: the Protestant team and the Catholic. He thought of something. ‘Tell me, Mr...’ A glare from Dirwan. ‘Mo... tell me, you’ve had dealings with asylum-seekers in Glasgow, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘One of the demonstrators today... we think he might be from Belfast.’
‘That wouldn’t surprise me. The same thing happens on the Glasgow estates. It’s a spill-over from the troubles in Northern Ireland.’
‘How so?’
‘Immigrants have begun to move to places like Belfast — they see opportunities there. Those people involved in the religious conflict are not so keen on this. They see everything in terms of Catholic and Protestant... maybe these new incoming religions scare them. There have been physical attacks. I would call it a basic instinct, this need to alienate what we cannot understand.’ He raised a finger. ‘Which does not mean I condone it.’
‘But what would bring these men from Belfast to Scotland?’
‘Maybe they wish to recruit the unhappy locals to their own cause.’ He shrugged. ‘Unrest can seem an end in itself to some people.’
‘I suppose that’s true.’ Rebus had seen it for himself: the need to foment trouble, to stir things up; for no other reason than a feeling of power.
The lawyer finished his drink. ‘Do you think this boy is the killer?’
‘Could be.’
‘Everyone seems to carry a knife in this country. You know Glasgow is the most dangerous city in Europe?’
‘So I hear.’
‘Stabbings... always stabbings.’ Dirwan shook his head. ‘And yet people still struggle to come to Scotland.’
‘Immigrants, you mean?’
‘Your First Minister says he is worried about the decline in the population. He is correct in this. We need young people to fill the jobs, otherwise how can we hope to support the ageing population? We also need people with skills. Yet at the same time, the government makes immigration so difficult... and as for asylum-seekers...’ He shook his head again, slowly this time, as if in disbelief. ‘You know Whitemire?’
‘The detention centre?’
‘Such a godforsaken place, Inspector. I’m not made welcome there. You can perhaps appreciate why.’
‘You’ve got clients in Whitemire?’
‘Several, all of them appealing their cases. It used to be a prison, you know, and now it houses families, individuals scared out of their wits... people who know that to be sent back to their native land is a death sentence.’
‘And they’re kept in Whitemire because otherwise they’d ignore the judgement and do a runner.’
Dirwan looked at Rebus and gave a wry smile. ‘Of course, you are part of the same apparatus of state.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Rebus bristled.
‘Forgive my cynicism... but you do believe, don’t you, that we should just send all these black bastards home? That Scotland would be a Utopia if only it weren’t for the Pakis and gypsies and sambos?’
‘Christ almighty...’
‘Maybe you have Arab or African friends, Inspector? Any Asians you go drinking with? Or are they just faces behind the till of your local newsagent’s...?’
‘I’m not getting into this,’ Rebus stated, tossing an empty coffee beaker into the bin.
‘It’s an emotive subject, to be sure... and yet one I have to deal with every single day. I think Scotland was complacent for many years: we don’t have room for racism, we’re too busy with bigotry! But this is not the case, alas.’
‘I’m not racist.’
‘I was making a point merely. Don’t upset yourself.’
‘I’m not upset.’
‘I’m sorry... I find it hard to switch off.’ Dirwan shrugged. ‘It comes with the job.’ His eyes darted around the room, as if seeking a change of subject. ‘You think the killer will be found?’
‘We’ll do our damnedest.’
‘That’s good. I’m sure you are all dedicated and professional people.’
Rebus thought of Reynolds, but said nothing.
‘And you know that if there’s anything I personally can do to assist you...’
Rebus nodded, then thought for a moment. ‘Actually...’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, it looks like the victim had a girlfriend... or at any rate a young woman he knew. We could do with tracing her.’