Rebus offered another shrug. ‘We’ve only got your word for that, seeing how you’ve not been able to supply any paperwork.’
‘Maybe I could take another look.’
‘Maybe you could. Careful, though: the brain-boxes at the police lab are dab hands... they can pinpoint how far back something was written or typed — can you believe that?’
Mangold nodded to show that he could. ‘I’m not saying I will find anything...’
‘But you’ll take another look, and we appreciate that.’ Rebus lifted the chisel again. ‘And you don’t know Stuart Bullen... never met him?’
Mangold shook his head vigorously. Rebus let the silence lie between them, then turned towards Siobhan, signalling her turn to enter the ring.
‘Mr Mangold,’ she said, ‘can I ask you about Ishbel Jardine?’
Mangold seemed nonplussed. ‘What about her?’
‘That sort of answers one of my questions — you do know her then?’
‘Know her? No... I mean... she used to come to my club.’
‘The Albatross?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you knew her?’
‘Not really.’
‘Are you telling me you remember the name of every punter who came to the Albatross?’
Rebus snorted at this, adding further to Mangold’s discomfort.
‘I know the name,’ Mangold stumbled on, ‘because of her sister. She’s the one who killed herself. Look...’ He glanced at his gold wristwatch. ‘I should be upstairs... we’re due to open in a minute.’
‘Just a few more questions,’ Rebus said resolutely, still holding the chisel.
‘I don’t know what’s going on. First it’s the skeletons, then it’s Ishbel Jardine... what’s any of it got to do with me?’
‘Ishbel’s disappeared, Mr Mangold,’ Siobhan informed him. ‘She used to go to your club, and now she’s disappeared.’
‘Hundreds of people came to the Albatross every week,’ Mangold complained.
‘They didn’t all disappear, though, did they?’
‘We know about the skeletons in your cellar,’ Rebus added, letting the chisel drop again with a deafening clang, ‘but what about the ones in your cupboard? Anything you want us to know, Mr Mangold?’
‘Look, I’ve got nothing to say to you.’
‘Stuart Bullen’s in custody. He’ll be wanting to do a deal, telling us more than we ever needed to know. What do you think he’ll tell us about those skeletons?’
Mangold was making for the open doorway, passing between the two detectives as if starved of oxygen. He burst out into Fleshmarket Close and turned to face them, breathing hard.
‘I have to open up,’ he gasped.
‘We’re listening,’ Rebus said.
Mangold stared at him. ‘I mean I have to open the bar.’
Rebus and Siobhan emerged into daylight, Mangold turning the key in the padlock after them. They watched him march to the top of the lane and disappear around the corner.
‘What do you think?’ Siobhan asked.
‘I think we still make a good team.’
She nodded agreement. ‘He knows more than he’s telling.’
‘Just like everyone else.’ Rebus shook his cigarette packet; decided he’d save the last one for later. ‘So what’s next?’
‘Can you drop me at my flat? I need to pick up my car.’
‘You can walk to Gayfield Square from your flat.’
‘But I’m not going to Gayfield Square.’
‘So where are you headed?’
She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Secrets, John... just like everyone else.’
27
Rebus was back at Torphichen, where Felix Storey was in the midst of a heated debate with DI Shug Davidson over his urgent requirement for an office, desk and chair.
‘And an outside line,’ Storey added. ‘I’ve got my own laptop.’
‘We’ve no desks to spare, never mind offices,’ Davidson replied.
‘My desk’s going free at Gayfield Square,’ Rebus offered.
‘I need to be here,’ Storey insisted, pointing down at the floor.
‘Far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to stay there!’ Davidson spat, walking away.
‘Not a bad punchline,’ Rebus mused.
‘Whatever happened to cooperation?’ Storey asked, sounding suddenly resigned to his fate.
‘Maybe he’s jealous,’ Rebus offered. ‘All these nice results you’ve been getting.’ Storey looked as if he was getting ready to preen. ‘Yes,’ Rebus went on, ‘all these nice, easy results.’
Storey looked at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘Nothing at all, except that you owe your mystery caller a case or two of malt, the way he’s come through for you on this one.’
Storey was still staring. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Isn’t that what the bad guys usually tell us when there’s something they don’t want us to know?’
‘And what is it exactly that you think I don’t want you to know?’ Storey’s voice had thickened.
‘Maybe I won’t know till you tell me.’
‘And why would I do a thing like that?’
Rebus gave an open smile. ‘Because I’m one of the good guys?’ he offered.
‘I’m still not convinced of that, Detective Inspector.’
‘Despite me jumping down that rabbit-hole and flushing Bullen out the other end?’
Storey gave a cool smile. ‘Am I supposed to thank you for that?’
‘I saved your nice, expensive suit from getting scuffed...’
‘Not that expensive.’
‘And I’ve managed to keep quiet about you and Phyllida Hawes...’
Storey scowled. ‘DC Hawes was a member of my team.’
‘And that’s why the two of you were in the back of that van on a Sunday morning?’
‘If you’re going to start making allegations...’
But Rebus smiled and slapped Storey’s arm with the back of his hand. ‘I’m just winding you up, Felix.’
Storey took a moment to calm down, during which Rebus told him about the visit to Ray Mangold. Storey grew thoughtful.
‘You think the two of them connect?’
Rebus offered another shrug. ‘I’m not sure it’s important. But there’s something else to consider.’
‘What?’
‘Those flats in Stevenson House... they belong to the council.’
‘So?’
‘So what names are on the rent books?’
Storey studied him. ‘Keep talking.’
‘More names we get, the more ways we have of jabbing away at Bullen.’
‘Which means making an approach to the council.’
Rebus nodded. ‘And guess what? I know someone who can help...’
The two men sat in Mrs Mackenzie’s office while she laid out for them the convolutions of Bob Baird’s illicit empire, an empire which included, it seemed, at least three of the flats raided that morning.
‘And maybe more,’ Mrs Mackenzie stated. ‘We’ve found eleven aliases so far. He’s used his relatives’ names, ones he seems to have picked out of the phone book, and others belonging to the recently deceased.’
‘You’ll be taking this to the police?’ Storey asked, marvelling at Mrs Mackenzie’s paperwork. It was a huge family tree, comprising sheets of copy paper sellotaped together, and covering most of her desk. Beside each name were details of its provenance.
‘The wheels are already in motion,’ she said. ‘I just want to make sure I’ve done as much at this end as I can.’
Rebus gave a nod of praise, which she accepted with a reddening of the cheeks.
‘Can we assume,’ Storey was saying, ‘that most of the flats on the third floor of Stevenson House were being sublet by Baird?’