Shug McAnally was dead, but no one was grieving: Tresa was spending his money, and having a good time with Maisie Finch. Audrey Gillespie, too, might start enjoying life for the first time in years, maybe with her lover. A man had died — cruelly and in terror — but he was all there was on Rebus’s side of the balance sheet. And on the other was everything else.
‘Well, Inspector?’ Mathieson could see something in Rebus’s eyes — a red light that had changed to amber. He rose from the throne. ‘Let’s have a drink.’
Rebus hadn’t noticed that the far wall was a series of recessed cupboards, their doors flush and handleless. Mathieson pushed the edge of one door and it opened automatically.
‘I hope malt whisky’s all right for everyone,’ Mathieson said, as lightly as if they’d just finished a few rubbers of bridge.
‘You don’t have a drop of gin?’ Joe Simpson squawked.
‘You’re right, Joe, I don’t.’
‘Then I’ll take whisky.’
‘Yes, Joe, you will.’
‘Inspector,’ Haldayne said in reasoned tones, ‘we’re in your hands. It’s your decision now.’
‘Let the man have a drink first,’ Mathieson chided.
Sir lain was staring levelly at Rebus, his mouth a moral pout. There was a line from a song stuck in Rebus’s head, just when he least needed it: you can’t always get what you want, but if you try some time, you’ll find you get what you need’.
I need a drink, he thought. And Robbie Mathieson — caring, smiling — brought him one.
‘You’re all right anyway,’ Rebus told Haldayne. ‘You’ll have diplomatic immunity, the Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Card.’
Haldayne snorted his porcine laugh. ‘I’m also the only one here who lost five grand to Derwood Charters over Albavise.’
‘And you should have stayed out of it,’ Sir Iain snarled.
‘Hey,’ Haldayne said, light glinting from his glasses, ‘it worked in the past, didn’t it?’
‘You know, Inspector,’ Mathieson said, rising above all this, ‘any other policeman, any other public official, I might have been tempted to try offering a financial incentive.’
They all shut up to listen. Rebus sipped from his crystal tumbler.
‘But with you,’ Mathieson went on, ‘I think that might have the opposite effect from the one intended.’
‘And how much cash would I be worth to you, Mr Mathieson?’
‘To me, nothing. But if it were a question of saving PanoTech … Well, it wouldn’t be a matter of actual cash, of course. Cash is messy, and you wouldn’t want any problems with the Inland Revenue.’
‘Perish the thought.’
‘But a new house with its own grounds, a trust fund for a daughter, shares in a company which is going to do extraordinarily well in the next few years … And then there are less tangible rewards — but no less valuable for that: friends in the right places, help when needed, a word in the right ear come promotion time …’ Mathieson’s voice died away as he handed out the final drink — a very mean whisky for Joe Simpson — and took one for himself. He stood behind his throne, a plane droning in the night sky behind him.
‘A little bit of bribery, eh?’ Rebus commented.
Sir Iain Hunter sat forward. He looked like he was losing patience fast. He tapped his stick on the floor as he spoke. ‘Is it wrong,’ he said, ‘to bribe rich foreign companies to come to a depressed region? I’d say, Inspector, that morally speaking, anyone who did that would be in the right.’
‘Blackmail’s blackmail,’ Rebus said.
‘I disagree.’
‘And tell me, is nobody lining their own pockets?’
Sir lain savoured his whisky. ‘There must needs be incentives,’ he said drily.
Rebus laughed. He felt a little looser after the drink. ‘Exactly. And all this love of country and duty to the workers stuff is just so much shite. Tell me, why did you bring the DCC and me together that day?’
Sir lain twisted in his chair. ‘I saw how dangerous Charters had become. I wanted him stopped, but my position would not allow me to … I felt it best to point you in the right direction rather than leading you there.’
Rebus laughed again. ‘You old fraud. We were there to put the wind up Mathieson, to stop him even thinking about talking.’ He turned to Mathieson. ‘You were sweating like a pig in the killing pen.’ Then back to Sir lain. ‘You used us the same way Charters used McAnally. And you’ve blackmailed Haldayne into helping bring firms here. What is it, is corruption part of the job description?’
Hunter said nothing. He was too angry to speak.
‘Answer me this. Charters had a client called Quinlon, a building contractor who’d made money illicitly through a deal with someone in the SDA. Charters shopped Quinlon to the authorities so they’d think more seriously about closing down the SDA. Now, you all knew Charters back then, didn’t you? You all knew that if the SDA disappeared, all accounts would be closed and the various frauds would remain undiscovered. So did you know about Quinlon?’ He looked at Sir Iain. ‘Did Charters maybe come to you with the story, and leave you to see that the right people heard about it?’
‘This is sheer paranoia,’ Sir Iain said. ‘I refuse to discuss it.’
‘OK, let’s try this — Charters made a couple of million through his paper companies. Enough to make a stint in jail worth while. That’s why he pled guilty. And when he gets out, the money’s waiting for him. You all know that, and you’re not going to do a thing about it. You know he’s a murderer, too, but you’ve kept quiet about that as well.’
‘Inspector,’ Haldayne said, ‘we’re not leeches.’
‘I know that — leeches are medicinal. You know something?’ He was talking to all of them now. ‘Tom Gillespie said something to me. He told me I was making a mistake. At the time, I took it as a threat, but it wasn’t — it was the literal truth. I thought because he had something to hide it must be something illicit. I was wrong about him all down the line; all he was was scared. He was terrified. Those last days of his life, all he felt was fear.’ And dear God, Rebus knew what that felt like.
‘Nobody’s mourning him!’ Sir Iain snapped.
Rebus turned to him. ‘Now how do you know that?’
‘What?’
‘He’s got a widow: you don’t think she’s in mourning?’
Sir lain studied the handle of his cane. ‘I forgot,’ he said.
‘No, you didn’t,’ Rebus said quietly.
‘So, what’s it to be, Inspector?’ Mathieson himself was beginning to look impatient. He knew he had won the argument, but might still lose the fight. He had his glass half raised, ready for a toast if Rebus gave the right answer, the answer everybody wanted. ‘Just remember, if you want it, there’s a place for you.’
Rebus was still staring at Sir Iain Hunter. He finished his whisky in one go and put the glass down. With his hands on the table, he pushed himself upright out of the chair.
‘Here’s my answer, Mr Mathieson,’ he said.
He walked out without saying another word.
38
Because he hadn’t decided.
His pride wouldn’t let him kowtow to people like Hunter and Mathieson — they were men, not gods. And he hated people putting one over on him, which was exactly what would be happening if he gave in. But … but … He kept seeing those hundreds of faceless workers, driving to work in their new cars, or signing on in a sweltering dole office. One man’s life against thousands … It wasn’t fair, it shouldn’t be down to him to decide.
Well, what was stopping him taking it elsewhere? He drove into town along Corstorphine Road, past the office suite used by Mensung, and decided to drop into Torphichen Place. Davidson probably wouldn’t be there at this hour, but he could find out what was happening with Gillespie’s files.