‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Get to fuck.’
‘You’re Jude?’
She turned to examine him. ‘Do I know you?’
‘I met you at your dad’s funeral. I’m a friend of Malcolm’s.’
Jude Fox rolled her eyes. ‘Malcolm sent you?’ Rebus said nothing. ‘He never ceases to amaze. You supposed to warn me off? Send me on my merry way back to my living room and the daytime talk shows? He knows I can have a flutter there too, right? I mean — he does know that?’
‘He only wants what’s best for you, Jude,’ Rebus said slowly, trying to piece together what she was telling him.
‘Everybody seems to want what’s best for me — Malcolm, Darryl Christie, everybody.’ She slammed more coins into the machine.
‘How much do you owe?’ Rebus asked as the truth dawned.
She scowled at him. ‘Malky didn’t tell you?’
‘He said it was a lot,’ Rebus bluffed.
‘Everything’s a lot when you’ve not got much, though, eh?’ She started the reels turning, taking a deep breath and exhaling, trying to calm herself. She was concentrating on the machine when she next spoke. ‘Don’t tell me my brother doesn’t have that kind of money salted away. But will he bail out his sister? Will he hell. Because what’s in it for him? That’s the trade-off — there always has to be something in it for Malcolm Fox.’ She paused and turned to study Rebus again. ‘I do remember you. You were at the church but not the meal. Malcolm and whassername were talking about you.’
‘Siobhan Clarke?’
‘That’s the one. Malcolm was saying he tried drumming you off the force. And now suddenly the two of you are buddies? I swear to God this world makes no sense to me, none at all...’
‘Does Darryl Christie know you’re related to Malcolm?’
Her mouth formed a thin tight line.
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Does Malcolm know he knows?’
Her hand had paused over the array of flashing buttons. She was staring at the machine but not seeing it. ‘Go tell him I’m here doing my duty — he’s the one who asked. He’s the whole bloody reason...’ Tears were forming in her eyes.
‘You need to sort yourself out, Jude.’
‘Pot, meet kettle,’ she sniffled, looking him up and down again, but Rebus was already heading for the door.
He had driven quarter of a mile before he made the call. Traffic was at a crawl towards a junction. Fox picked up almost immediately.
‘Siobhan told me,’ he began. ‘She’s at the hospital waiting for—’
‘I know about Jude,’ Rebus interrupted. ‘How much does she owe Christie?’
The silence on the line stretched. ‘Twenty-seven and rising.’
‘And what does he want from you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t shit a shitter, Malcolm. He’s got something he can use against you, no way he’s not going to use it.’
‘He wanted everything HMRC has on Glushenko. Don’t worry — I took it straight to Gartcosh. We’re trying to decide if we can finesse it somehow.’
Rebus thought for a moment. ‘There’s no way you told them your sister’s in hock to him — if you had, they’d have had to pull you off the case.’
‘That’s true,’ Fox eventually conceded.
‘So when you say we’re trying to decide if we can finesse it...’
‘Okay, I mean me. Me on my own — unless you’re about to grass me up.’
‘Once Christie has a hold on you, he’s not going to let go.’
‘I can get the money. I just need to sell the bungalow. Until then, I’m stringing him along.’
‘You sure he’s the one on the end of the string, Malcolm?’ Fox made no answer. ‘How long has he given you?’
‘A couple of days.’
‘As from...?’
‘A couple of days ago.’
‘To give him the gen on the Ukrainian or pay off the twenty-seven K? Good luck with that.’
‘What’s your daily limit?’
‘At a cash machine? Two hundred.’
‘Pity.’
Rebus smiled despite himself. ‘Jesus, Malcolm — for a really careful guy, you do seem to get into a few holes.’
‘I like to think I learned from the best. How did you find out, anyway?’
‘I was at the flat above Klondyke Alley. Nipped in for a look-see and Jude thought you’d sent me.’
‘She was at Klondyke Alley?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Christie knows about her — he’s hardly likely to let anyone launder cash at the machines while she’s sitting there.’
‘Maybe it’s her way of trying to atone,’ Rebus speculated.
‘Aye, maybe.’ He heard Fox give a lengthy sigh. ‘So was there anything at the flat?’
‘Brough and Glushenko were drinking tea and playing cards.’
Fox gave a snort. ‘Siobhan says you were going to talk to Cafferty.’
‘Hasn’t happened yet.’
‘Losing your powers of persuasion?’
‘Maybe he just needed a rest after last night’s exertions.’
‘You don’t think Arnott will speak?’
‘Not a chance.’
‘What do you think he told Cafferty?’
‘Judging by the fact that he’s still alive, I’d lay odds he told him everything.’
‘Which would amount to what, exactly?’
‘Chatham got the job from Arnott. Got twitchy when he realised who it was he’d thumped. Put Craw in the frame as insurance...’
‘Arnott has to know who the original client was. And now Cafferty knows too. Which rules out Cafferty but nobody else.’ Fox paused. ‘Joe Stark?’
‘It had crossed my mind. But Joe has his own guys, why not use them?’
‘Because Darryl would know from the get-go who’d sent them,’ Fox speculated.
‘Maybe...’
‘I’m not convincing you, am I?’
‘Your persuasive powers seem to be matching my own today. Look, if Christie calls you or wants to meet...’
‘He’ll probably be taping it for future use. I’m not a complete thicko, John.’
‘That’s good to hear. We’ll maybe catch up later, aye?’
‘Say hello to Siobhan from me in the meantime.’
‘How did you know?’
‘You’re nothing if not predictable, John.’
‘I prefer “methodical”.’
‘Will you tell her about Jude and Christie?’
‘Not if you don’t want me to.’
‘Then I owe you one.’
The line went dead. Rebus placed the phone on the passenger seat and turned up the music. Three cars ahead of him, the lights were red again.
22
Siobhan Clarke was in a corridor of the Royal Infirmary, phone held up to her face, when she recognised Rebus making his way towards her.
‘You’re limping,’ she said.
‘Just to correct you, I’m actually walking like John Wayne.’
‘John Wayne had a limp?’
‘Technically it’s called “moseying”.’
‘So you didn’t hurt yourself kicking in a door?’ She waved her phone in front of him. ‘Patrol car dispatched to Great Junction Street. Someone broke into a certain flat of our acquaintance. Neighbour described the intruder as a heavy-built man in his sixties with a local accent.’ She paused. ‘So what did you find?’
‘Bugger all,’ Rebus admitted. ‘What about Kenny Arnott?’
‘He’s in the ward right behind me. They say he’ll be okay, though he may not get back the full use of either hand.’