Fox checked his watch. ‘When and where?’
‘Right now would suit me.’
‘There’s a surprise.’
‘Unless I’m tearing you away from anything urgent...’
Fox sighed. ‘Not really. Okay, give me the address.’
‘I’m waiting outside.’
‘Of course you are,’ Fox said, ending the call.
He didn’t bother going back to explain or grab his coat. Rebus was double-parked across from the police station. Fox climbed in and Rebus put his foot down.
‘So where are we going?’
‘Rutland Square.’
‘Bruce Collier?’
‘Only fair I introduce you,’ Rebus said. ‘After all, you’ve met most of the other main players.’
‘I pitched an idea to Alvin James — one of them paying to have Rab Chatham done away with.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He didn’t seem keen.’
‘The man lacks vision.’
‘And yours is twenty-twenty?’
‘With hindsight sometimes,’ Rebus said with a smile.
‘James has got us retreading old ground, starting from the beginning.’
‘The mark of an inquiry that’s going nowhere.’
‘Exactly. So what’s Collier going to tell us?’
‘Wait and see.’ Rebus watched as Fox slid down his window, breathing deeply. ‘Too long behind a desk, Malcolm — it makes a man stale.’
‘We finally tracked down the calls he made from the phone box. Three pubs. His employer reckons he was touting for business — but at that time of night? I’m not so sure. And the calls were short — not one of them over three minutes.’
‘Telling you what exactly?’
‘He used the phone box because he didn’t want anyone to be able to check.’
Rebus nodded slowly. ‘Makes sense.’
‘And this was straight after you spoke to him, bringing up the Turquand case.’
‘Right.’
‘He told you he was going home straight after his shift, yes?’
‘Said our little chat would have to wait till morning.’
‘But according to his partner, there’s a gap of almost two hours between him finishing work and her hearing the front door close.’
‘Which pubs did he phone?’
‘Templeton’s, the Wrigley and the Pirate.’
‘Well, there’s not one of them couldn’t use a doorman.’
‘I felt sure you’d know them.’
‘Templeton’s is Gilmerton Road way, the Wrigley is in Northfield, and the Pirate is just off Cowgate.’
‘Anything you can tell me about them?’
‘Probably good places to do your Christmas shopping — hand any of the regulars a list of what you want, they’ll be back an hour later quoting a very reasonable price.’
‘Having just broken into someone’s house?’
‘Putting the “nick” into St Nick. Not too many places like that left in the city.’ Rebus was thoughtful. ‘So he talks to his boss, and then he starts phoning around.’
‘Hardly the sorts of place that would cater to the likes of Turquand, Attwood and Collier.’
‘True enough. And I don’t think any of them has live music, so we can probably rule out Dougie Vaughan.’ Rebus paused. ‘Cafferty was there that day, though.’
‘Where? In the hotel?’
Rebus nodded. ‘And that sort of bar might just appeal to him. He used to own a few that were of similar calibre. Come to think of it, Darryl Christie owned some too, before he moved on to better things...’
Fox’s phone buzzed and he looked at the screen. Speak of the bloody devil — a text from Christie. The clock’s ticking, don’t forget. He sent a three-word text in reply — I’m on it — and switched off the phone.
Rebus had pointed the Saab at Princes Street, then ignored the No Entry sign and kept on it where only buses, trams and taxis were allowed. ‘Pain in the arse having to go via George Street,’ he explained.
‘How many tickets do you average a month?’
‘Police business, Malcolm — you’ll back me up on that.’
They took a sharp left on to Lothian Road, then turned right almost immediately and passed the Waldorf Caledonian before stopping outside Collier’s house.
‘That’s his Porsche over there,’ Rebus announced, gesturing towards the line of cars parked across the street.
‘Very nice, too,’ Fox said. He watched as Rebus reached into the back seat of the Saab, bringing out a red polythene bag, then followed as Rebus rang the doorbell and waited.
Bruce Collier opened the door, squinting into the daylight. He hadn’t shaved, and looked as though he had slept in the black T-shirt and grey joggers.
‘Not you again,’ he barked.
‘Show him the card, DI Fox,’ Rebus said. Fox took out his warrant card, but Collier ignored it.
‘Ought to be a law against this,’ he complained instead.
‘A law against the law?’ Rebus pretended to muse. ‘Interesting thought. Mind if we come in? The hallway will do, we’re not staying.’
‘Make it quick, then.’ Collier ushered them in and closed the door, rubbing his hand through his hair. Rebus made show of sniffing the air.
‘Nice sweet aroma, isn’t it? Dope, I mean.’
Collier folded his arms and waited.
‘Bruce?’ A woman’s voice, wafting from somewhere upstairs.
‘Two minutes,’ Collier called back.
‘I thought your wife was in India, Mr Collier?’
‘Just get on with it,’ Collier snapped.
‘There used to be a sort of religious police force in Edinburgh, you know. Back in stricter times. They were called the Night Police. There to uphold the morals when the lights went out across the city.’
‘Fascinating.’
Rebus stared at him. ‘The day Maria Turquand was murdered, a delivery was made to your suite. Probably not dissimilar to what I’m smelling now, plus some cocaine and who knows what else.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘The man who delivered it was called Morris Gerald Cafferty. He became a big player — the biggest in these parts by a long shot. Do you remember him?’
‘Nope.’
‘Name doesn’t mean anything to you? You put him on the guest list for that evening’s concert.’
‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, or why you’re doing all the talking when you’re not even a bloody cop!’
‘Mr Rebus,’ Fox drawled, ‘is working with Police Scotland at this point in time, sir. You’d be advised to answer any questions he puts to you.’
Collier puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. He looked weary, clinging on by his fingernails to a lifestyle that should have said goodbye to him a decade or more back.
‘Anyway,’ Rebus continued, ‘the thing is this. You didn’t have enough cash on you to pay Cafferty, and your road manager was nowhere to be found, so you rifled Dougie Vaughan’s pockets while he was crashed out.’
‘So what?’
‘I’m just wondering if you happened to see the key to Vince Brady’s room. Mr Vaughan says he lost it at some point.’
‘You’re asking me if I took it — well, I didn’t.’
‘Could Cafferty have lifted it?’
‘He wasn’t anywhere near the bed.’
‘You do remember him, then?’
‘Maybe.’
‘When you handed the cash over, the key couldn’t have been tucked in between the notes?’
‘You’re trying to set up this gangster Cafferty? That’s what this is about? The key got mislaid, end of story. Now if you don’t mind...’ He had already opened the door and was gesturing towards the world outside.
‘Thought you’d like this,’ Rebus said, holding up the bag. The words ‘I Found It At Bruce’s’ were printed on it in black lettering.
‘I remember that place,’ Collier said. ‘Did signings there a few times. Rose Street, wasn’t it?’