Which was only thirteen hours away …
Rebus and Flower spent the rest of the day watching Left Luggage, reading newspapers and magazines purchased from the station stall, eating overpriced sandwiches, drinking weak coffee, and generally learning a lot about the life of a mainline railway station.
The security cameras bothered Rebus, so he paid a visit to ScotRail’s security office and spoke to the staff, on the pretext of alerting them to a gang of pickpockets just up from Newcastle. It was warm in the security chief’s office, and the man was ex-CID, friendly. They traded stories, Rebus asked for a tour. Which was how he saw everything would be all right. The camera trained on Left Luggage was hazy, distant: they’d see anyone going in, but they wouldn’t get a good description. This was very much to Rico’s advantage.
Besides, no one watched after midnight. The camera would record, but that was all.
The station was locked overnight, but still open at one o’clock. There were weird night trains to deal with, freight-haulers, a sleeper bound for London. Rebus thought he’d probably caught something, he kept shivering at his core. He didn’t think it could just be nerves.
True to his word, but ten minutes late, Rico turned up.
‘I brought some balaclavas,’ he said.
‘We won’t need them.’ Rebus explained about the cameras. They’d taken their cars into Cockburn Street, parked them there. They had a quick discussion as they walked down Platform One towards Left Luggage. Rico had checked the office out earlier, and now carried the tools he needed, tiny picklocks which reminded Rebus of dental instruments. Instinctively, his tongue sought the hole, but there was no hole there, Dr Keene had seen to that.
It took Rico a very long minute, but at last they were in.
With the shutters down, the place was in utter darkness, but Rebus had a couple of torches and handed one to Flower.
‘Keep listening at the door, Rico,’ he ordered. Then they went to work.
There wasn’t much luggage to choose from, and the briefcase was just where Rebus knew it would be. Locked, but that didn’t matter. He lifted it up and walked to the door.
‘Here, Rico, see what you can do with this.’
He stood with his torch pointed at the case, while Rico brought out his picklocks. Flower, meantime, was moving luggage around, switching tags.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Rebus hissed.
‘Maximising confusion.’
‘Well stop it. Put everything back. We don’t want anyone knowing we’ve been in here.’
Rico made a clucking sound with his tongue. They switched the torches off and stood very still in the darkness, listening. Slow footsteps, coming nearer. A whistled pop tune. Rico rested his weight against the door. Someone tried the door, pushing it a couple of times. Then the shutters jumped a quarter-inch and fell back, then jumped again. If someone shone a torch through the crack, they’d see Flower standing not three feet from them like the last dummy in the shop window. The shutters clattered down again. The footsteps moved away.
Rebus started breathing again.
‘I’m glad I thought to wear my brown underwear,’ Rico whispered. Rebus shone the light back down on to the briefcase, and Rico tried the locks. They flipped open against his fingers.
Rebus lifted the lid of the case. Inside was a single fat document file and an audio cassette. Rebus lifted both out and instructed Rico to lock the case again.
‘Is that it?’ Flower said.
It took Rebus half a paragraph to be sure, then he smiled and nodded. He placed the evidence in a carrier-bag, put the case back on its shelf, and wiped it clean with the sleeve of his jacket. Rico was looking around at the other bags and cases.
‘No way,’ Rebus said, coming to wipe the door where Rico had held it shut. ‘And don’t even think of coming back here on your own, understand?’
They relocked the door behind them, and walked up the slope just before the gates were closed for the night.
41
Rebus couldn’t sleep.
He sat in his chair smoking a cigarette, reading the file the DCC had prepared — maybe ‘crafted’ was a better word. He’d done a good job of making it look so thorough while leaving so much out. He played part of the tape, using headphones so he could turn the volume up. Sir Iain was right about one thing — any lawyer listening to the tape would think that the police officer present hadn’t done very much. Rebus found that his hand was shaking. He hadn’t had a drink all day, and didn’t especially want one now. He was just a bit scared, that was all. He wasn’t sure he had enough, even now … especially now.
Then he thought of something, something he’d almost persuaded himself to forget, and reached for the phonebook, finding the page, running his finger down the names, then along to a particular address. A flat on Dublin Street.
It was past three o’clock when Rebus got there, the streets dead, not even any taxis rippling over the setts. Rebus pressed the buzzer and waited, then pressed it again. Then a third time, keeping his finger on it this time.
The intercom crackled into life. ‘What? What?’
‘Mr McAllister?’ Rebus inquired, as if it was the middle of the day.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Inspector Rebus. If you’re alone, I’d like to come up for a word.’
Rory McAllister was half dressed and less than half awake. He was on his own.
Rebus walked around the spacious living room, admiring the ornaments and books, while McAllister made them both a cup of coffee.
Then they sat down opposite one another. McAllister rubbed at his eyes and yawned.
‘So what is it, Inspector?’
Rebus put his mug down on the polished wooden floor. ‘Well, it’s just this, sir. That day we met for lunch, you were … well, how can I put it? It struck me afterwards that you were too enthusiastic, too willing to talk. Then I saw you going to see Audrey Gillespie and … well, I started thinking.’
McAllister tried to hide behind his steaming mug. ‘About what?’
‘You don’t deny you went to see Mrs Gillespie?’
‘Not at all. I know her, of course. I met her husband several times, professionally and socially. Mrs Gillespie accompanied her husband on those social occasions.’
Rebus nodded. ‘And the other occasions — there’s interaction between the district council and the Scottish Office?’
‘Of course, and both Councillor Gillespie and myself worked on an industry remit.’
‘Mmm,’ Rebus said. ‘And did the councillor know you were seeing his wife behind his back?’
‘Now hang on — ’
‘Let me finish. You see, Mr McAllister, all this stuff Tom Gillespie found out, is it possible he could have gleaned so much unaided? Someone had to be passing him the information, perhaps anonymously.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Never mind, you’ll catch up. I think you found out about Mensung and PanoTech and Charters’ other scams. Sir Iain trusted you, had you pegged as a possible successor. Maybe he had you go into Mensung to make sure there was nothing that could come to light.’ Rebus stood up. ‘Now, here’s where it gets interesting. Because you either passed the information on so you could scupper Sir Iain — in other words, for the public good. Or you did it to keep Gillespie busy and out of the way while you enjoyed a fling with his wife — which might be called the private good. Either way, I think you did it.’
‘And you were generous enough to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night to let me know your suspicions?’ McAllister sat back in his chair, hands pressed to his chin as if in prayer.
‘I came here,’ Rebus said, ‘because if you did it only to smooth your affair with Audrey Gillespie, then I’m sunk. Whereas, if you really did want to get at Sir Iain, then we could be of use to one another.’