‘I hope to Christ you’re up to this, Malcolm,’ she stated.
‘Do we call him Glushenko or Nazarchuk?’
‘Glushenko.’
‘And what has Mr Glushenko done?’
‘He went to Anthony Brough for a shell company.’
‘And?’
‘And fed a chunk of money into it, some of which seems to have gone missing.’
‘Might explain why Brough made himself scarce.’
‘But if Brough has gone to ground...’
Fox nodded as the picture became clear. ‘This Glushenko character will be chasing his associates — including Darryl Christie.’ He grew thoughtful. ‘But the thing is, the way my source tells it, it’s actually Christie who’s looking for Glushenko.’
‘Maybe he has something to tell him.’
‘Such as Anthony Brough’s whereabouts?’
It was Graham’s turn to nod.
‘So where did this money come from?’
‘I’ll get to that in a minute. Two things first. Aleksander Glushenko is connected to the Russian mafia, and that means he’s somewhat dangerous.’ She waited for this to sink in.
‘And?’ Fox nudged her.
‘And the sum involved isn’t far short of a billion pounds.’
‘Did you just say billion?’
Graham slipped her phone into one of the pockets of her jacket. ‘Which reminds me — I forgot my purse today, so when we break for coffee, you’ll be the one buying.’
‘A billion pounds passed through that little flat above Klondyke Alley?’
‘Not in the form of notes and coins, but yes, that’s pretty much what happened. And somewhere along the line, someone decided that skimming a few million here or there wouldn’t be noticed.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Maybe we should get those drinks before I start. This story takes a while to tell...’
Cafferty was in the same Starbucks on Forrest Road. He signalled that he didn’t want a refill, so Rebus queued behind half a dozen students.
‘What’s quickest?’ he asked when his turn came.
‘Filter,’ the server announced.
‘Medium one of those, then.’
He added a splash of milk to the mug and joined Cafferty at a table just about big enough for the purpose. The newspaper Cafferty had been reading was lying there, folded in half so only the masthead and main story were visible.
‘You look like hell,’ Cafferty stated without preamble. Rebus took a sip of coffee in lieu of responding. ‘I know, I know — we all look like hell.’ Cafferty chuckled to himself.
Rebus tapped the newspaper just where the date was displayed beneath its masthead. ‘Is this today’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s good, otherwise I’d have missed my birthday.’
Cafferty chuckled again. ‘If I’d known, I’d have bought you something. How’s tricks anyway?’
‘Mustn’t grumble.’
‘You’d really forgotten your own birthday? No card from that daughter of yours?’
‘I’m not a great one for opening letters.’ Rebus took another slurp of coffee and lowered the mug to the table. ‘Reason I wanted to see you is I promised someone I’d do them a favour.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘Her name’s Maxine Dromgoole.’
‘If you say so.’
‘She’s tried contacting you about a book she wants to write. The subject of the book would be you.’
‘Me?’
‘I’m thinking the same as you — nobody in their right mind would want to read it. But anyway, I said I’d pass the message on.’
‘And what did she give you in return?’
‘Contact details for a couple of people even older than us.’
‘To do with the Turquand case?’
‘Yup.’
‘You’ve not given up on it, then?’ Cafferty watched Rebus shake his head. ‘Made any progress?’
‘Bits and pieces, maybe.’
Cafferty stared at him thoughtfully. ‘Today’s really your birthday? Maybe I will give you a present, gift-wrapped and everything...’
‘The Russian?’ Rebus guessed. Cafferty smiled and shook his head. ‘Craw Shand, then?’
‘Craw?’
‘I’m thinking maybe you’ve got him tucked away somewhere.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because he can probably point you in the direction of whoever attacked Darryl Christie. This is always supposing it wasn’t you. I reckon you’d want to know the who and the why. That way, you might have something you can use against Christie.’ Rebus paused, eyes locked on to Cafferty’s. ‘It’s only a guess, mind.’
‘Do you do palm-reading, too?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘So if not Craw or the mystery Russian, what am I getting?’
‘That day at the Caledonian Hotel, the day Maria Turquand was killed — not every visitor was accounted for.’
‘How do you mean?’
Cafferty leaned forward, elbows on knees. ‘I don’t suppose it can do any harm to tell you. In fact, maybe it’ll tickle you...’
‘You? You were there?’
‘A touring band needs stimulants — too risky to travel with them, so there’s usually a contact in each city they stop at.’
‘You were the delivery boy?’
‘Not quite a boy by that stage, but yet to scale the giddy heights. Actually, I’d probably have had someone else do it, but I wanted to meet him.’
‘Bruce Collier?’
‘Remember I told you I was at the Usher Hall show — Bruce himself put me on the guest list. Here’s the thing, though. I was supposed to hand the stuff over to the road manager in his room. So I knock on the door, but no one’s answering.’
‘Vince Brady’s room?’
‘Right next to Maria Turquand’s, though I didn’t know that at the time.’
‘Did you see her?’
Cafferty shook his head. ‘The door at the end of the hall was open and there was music coming from it, so I went along there and found Bruce Collier and a couple of his band-mates. There were a few young women dotted about — girlfriends, groupies, who knows? I told Bruce why I was there, but he didn’t know where Brady had gone — maybe to the venue or something. Bruce didn’t have enough cash on him to pay for the delivery — offered me a signed album instead, but I wasn’t having that. So he took me into the bedroom and there was a mate of his crashed out on the bed, reeking of booze. Bruce had a bit of a rummage and came up with all the money this guy had on him. It was just about enough, so that was that.’
‘The guy would have been Dougie Vaughan.’
‘Would it?’
‘Tallies with his version. So what happened next?’
‘I walked out of there with my money and the promise of a free ticket.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Such as?’
‘The key to Vince Brady’s bedroom — Vaughan says he lost it. Did you see it in his pocket?’
‘No.’
Rebus thought for a moment. ‘What about when the story broke?’
Cafferty held up his hands. ‘I was gobsmacked.’
‘You didn’t think about coming forward?’
‘To tell your lot I was selling drugs in the vicinity? Oddly enough, it never crossed my mind.’
‘And you could be pretty sure Collier and his entourage wouldn’t bring you into the story.’
Cafferty nodded slowly.
‘The photos in the papers at the time — her husband and lover — you must have seen them?’
‘I didn’t recognise anyone, John. Are they the OAPs you’ve just been speaking to?’
‘Yes. I’ve talked to Bruce Collier, too.’
‘And the mate with the emptied trouser pockets. You’ve been busy.’
‘What is it they say about the devil and idle hands?’
‘True enough.’ Cafferty smiled. ‘You don’t really think nobody would read my life story, do you?’