‘Hammell? Shorter fuse than I like to see on a man. Never a great one for realising that actions have consequences.’
‘I forget, did he ever work for you?’
‘Back in the day.’ Cafferty’s phone, which had been sitting on the table, began to vibrate. He checked who the caller was but didn’t answer. ‘Is this about the missing girl?’
Rebus nodded.
‘Saw Hammell on TV,’ Cafferty continued. ‘That’s some reward he’s put up.’
‘Why do you think he did it?’
Cafferty considered this. He knew what Rebus meant: a man like Hammell could get information without needing to pay for it. ‘He loves her,’ he answered eventually. ‘The mother, I mean. This is his way of showing it. You know he put the frighteners on her husband?’
Rebus shook his head.
‘That’s why the poor sod scarpered to New Zealand.’
‘Australia, I heard.’
‘Same difference — other side of the planet. That’s how far he needed to be from Frank Hammell.’
‘What about the missing girl’s brother?’
Cafferty thought for a moment. ‘Enlighten me.’
‘His name’s Darryl Christie — kept his dad’s surname. He spoke at the press conference. Manages at least one of Hammell’s bars.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ Rebus could see Cafferty storing the information away.
‘Seems like a bright kid.’
‘Then he should get out while he can.’
‘How many places does Hammell own these days?’
Cafferty’s mouth twitched. ‘Hard to say, even for me. Half a dozen pubs and clubs. Fingers in a lot more pies than that, of course. He’s had meetings in Glasgow and Aberdeen.’
Meaning meetings with men like himself.
Rebus watched as Cafferty stirred his coffee. ‘You sound like you still take an interest,’ he commented.
‘Call it a hobby.’
‘Some hobbies end up all-consuming.’
‘Man’s got to have something to fill his retirement. That’s where you went wrong. Nothing to do with yourself all day, so you ended up back in the game.’ Cafferty scooped up some of the mousse from the surface of his drink and spooned it into his mouth.
‘Any idea who might bear a grudge against Hammell?’
‘Present company excepted?’ Cafferty smiled. ‘Probably too many to count, but I doubt they’d bring a kid into it.’
‘If they did, though. .?’
‘Then any day now they’ll get a message to Hammell, and that’s when he’ll go supernova. You’ll want to know about it if that happens.’
‘We should keep a watch on him?’
‘You should be doing that anyway. I seem to remember a fair few surveillance operations mounted against me in the dim and distant past.’
‘Caught you red-handed, too.’
Cafferty gave another twitch of the mouth. ‘Best not to dwell on it.’
‘Actually, I think we need to, just for a moment.’
Cafferty looked at him. ‘And why’s that?’
‘Because the Complaints are keeping tabs on me.’
‘Tut-tut.’
‘They know, for example, that we’ve been out a few times together.’
‘Someone must have told them.’
‘Wasn’t you, was it?’
Cafferty’s face remained a mask.
‘See, it makes sense to me,’ Rebus continued. His hands were wrapped around his own mug of coffee, but he hadn’t taken so much as a sip since sitting down. ‘In fact, I can’t think of a neater way of setting me up. You keep taking me out for these little drinks and chats, making everyone think we’re bosom buddies. .’
‘I’m insulted.’
‘Well, someone’s been talking to them.’
‘Not me.’ Cafferty shook his head slowly as he placed his spoon on the table. His phone was vibrating again.
‘Sure you don’t want to answer that?’ Rebus asked.
‘I can’t help it if I’m popular.’
‘You might want to look that word up in a dictionary.’
‘The shit I let you get away with. .’ Cafferty’s eyes were sudden dark tunnels, leading to darker places still.
‘There you are,’ Rebus said, giving a thin smile. ‘Knew you were still in there somewhere, waiting to come out and play.’
‘We’re finished,’ Cafferty stated, rising to his feet and snatching his phone. ‘You should try being nice to me, Rebus. Sometimes I think I’m the only friend you’ve got left.’
‘We’ve never been friends, and never will be.’
‘You sure about that?’ Rather than wait for an answer, Cafferty started threading his way between the tables, nimble for such a big man. Rebus sat back and looked around him, studying the cafe’s morning clients. He wished the Complaints had been watching and listening, just this one time; it might have put their minds at rest.
13
‘Did you miss me?’ Rebus enquired as he walked into the SCRU office.
‘Have you been somewhere? Can’t say I’d noticed.’ Peter Bliss was hauling files and folders from a large plastic container. Some sheets fell free, sliding across the floor. Elaine Robison helped pick them up.
‘How are things at Gayfield Square?’ she asked.
‘Coffee’s not a patch on here.’
‘I meant the case.’
Rebus shrugged. ‘I’m not sure anyone’s convinced about the links to the other MisPers.’
‘It was always going to be a hard sell, John.’
‘I seem to be in luck here, though — no Cowan to speak of.’
‘He’s at some meeting,’ Bliss explained, seating himself at his desk. ‘Huckling for a move.’
‘To the CCU,’ Robison added, resting her hands on her hips. ‘Seems there’s a vacancy at the top table.’
‘I was under the impression our dear leader hates cold cases.’
‘But the one thing he does like is advancement. They’d have to promote him DI.’
‘Fast track to DCI and above,’ Bliss said with a shake of his head.
‘Well, his wardrobe’s good and ready, even if he’s not.’ Rebus turned to leave.
‘Not staying for some of that famous coffee?’ Robison asked.
‘Places to go, people to see,’ Rebus said by way of apology.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she called to him as he headed out of the door.
ETHICS AND STANDARDS was what it said on the wall next to the office, but everyone called them the Complaints. Rebus tried the handle. It didn’t budge. Combination lock. He knocked, pressed his ear to the door, knocked again. Further along the corridor was the Deputy Chief Constable’s office, and the Chief Constable’s beyond that. Rebus hadn’t been hauled up here for a carpeting in quite some time. His years on the force, he’d seen the pen-pushers come and go. They were always full of new ideas, tweaks they were keen to make, as if you could change the job by means of strategy meetings and focus groups. The Complaints was part of that — every year or two, their name seemed to change — Complaints and Conduct; Professional Standards; Ethics and Standards. One cop Rebus had known, the Complaints had gone after him because a neighbour had complained about the height of his leylandii. The whole process had taken the best part of a year, after which the cop had decided he didn’t like the job any more.
Another result for the Complaints.
Rebus gave up and took the lift down to the cafeteria. Bottle of Irn Bru and a caramel wafer. He walked over to a table by the window. The window looked on to the sports field, where you could sometimes see off-duty officers playing rugby. Not today, though. The chair made plenty of noise as Rebus pulled it out from the table. He sat down and returned the stare of the man sitting there.
‘Malcolm Fox,’ he stated.
Fox didn’t deny it. He was twenty years younger than Rebus, and a stone and a half lighter. A bit less grey in his hair. Most cops looked like cops, but Fox could have been middle management in a plastics company or Inland Revenue.
‘Hello, Rebus,’ Fox said. There was a plate in front of him, nothing on it but banana peel. The glass next to it contained tap water from the jug by the cash till.
‘Thought maybe we should meet properly.’ Rebus took a mouthful of Irn Bru and stifled a belch.