Mortal Causes

'No names,' Rebus, commented.

'I can give you a few, off the record.’

'Gavin and Jamesie MacMurray?’

'You're stealing my best lines. Do you have anything on them?’

'What do you think we'll find – a garden shed full of grenade launchers?’

'That could be pretty close.’

'Tell me.’

She took a deep breath. 'We can't put anything in print yet, but we think there's an Army co

'You mean stuff from the Falklands and the Gulf? Souvenirs?’

'There's too much of it for it to be souvenirs.’

'What then? The stuff from Russia?’

'Much closer to home. You know stuff walks out of Army bases in Northern Ireland?’

'I've heard of it happening.’

'Same thing happend in the '70s in Scotland, the Tartan Army got stuff from Amy bases. We think it's happening again. At least, Jump thinks it is. He's spoken to someone who used to be in American Shield, sending money over here. It's easier to send money here than arms shipments. This guy told jump the money was buying British armaments. See, the IRA has good links with the East and Libya, but the loyalist paramilitaries don't.’

'You're telling me they're buying guns from the Army?’

Rebus laughed and shook his head. Maine managed a small smile.

`There's another thing. I know there's nothing to back this up. Jump knows it too. It's just one man's word, and that man isn't even willing to go public. He's afraid American Shield would get to him. Anyway, who'd believe him: he's being paid to tell jump this stuff: He could be making it all up. Journalists like a juicy conspiracy, we lap them up like cream.’

'What are you talking about, Mairie?’

'A policeman, a detective, someone high up in The Shield.’

'In America?’

She shook her head. 'At the UK end, no name or anything. Like I say, just a story.’

'Aye, just a story. How did you find out we had a man undercover?’

'That was strange. It was a phone call.’

'Anonymous of course?’

'Of course. But who could have known?’

'Another policeman, obviously.’

Mairie pushed her plate away. 'I can't eat all these chips.’

'They should put up a plaque above the table.’

Rebus needed a drink, and there was a good pub only a short walk away. Mairie went with him, though she complained she didn't have room for a drink. Still, when they got there she found space for a white wine and soda. Rebus had a half-pint and a nip. They sat by the window, with a view out over the Forth. The water was battleship grey, reflecting the sky overhead. Rebus had never seen the Forth look other than forbidding.

'What did you say?’ He'd missed it completely.

'I said, I forgot to say.’

'Yes, but the bit after that?’

'A man called Moncur, Clyde Moncur.’

'What about him?’

'Jump has him pegged as one of The Shield's hierarchy in the US. He's also a big-time villain, only it's never been proven in a court of law.’

'And?’

'And he flies into Heathrow tomorrow.’

'To do what?’

'We don't know.’

'So why aren't you down in London waiting for him?’

'Because he's booked on a co

Rebus narrowed his eyes. 'You weren't going to tell me.’

'No, I wasn't.’

'What changed your mind?’

She gnawed her bottom lip. 'It may be I'll need a friend sometime soon.’

'You're going to confront him?’

'Yes… I suppose so.’

'Jesus, Mairie.’

'It's what journalists do.’

'Do you know anything about him? I mean anything?’

'I know he's supposed to run drugs into Canada, brings illegal immigrants in from the Far East, a real Renaissance man. But on the surface, all he is own a fish-processing plant in Seattle.’

Rebus was shaking his head. 'What's wrong?’

'I don't know,' he said. 'I suppose I just feel… gutted.’

It took her a moment to get the joke.

21

'Caro, thank God.’

Rebus was back in Fettes, at his desk, on the phone, having finally tracked Caroline Rattray to ground.

'You're calling off our drink,' she said coldly.

'I'm sorry, something's cropped up. Work, you know how it is. The hours aren't always social.’

The phone went dead in his hand. He replaced the receiver like it was spun sugar. Then, having requested five minutes of his boss's time, he went to Kilpatrick's office. As ever there was no need to knock; Kilpatrick waved him in through the glass door.

'Take a seat, John.’

'I'll stand, sir, thanks all the same.’

'What's on your mind?’

'When you spoke to the FBI, did they mention a man called Clyde Moncur?’

'I don't think any names were mentioned.’

Kilpatrick wrote the name on his pad. 'Who is he?’

'He's a Seattle businessman, runs his own fish-processing plant. Possibly also a gangster. He's coming to Edinburgh on holiday.’

'Well, we need the tourist dollars.’

'And he may be high up in The Shield.’

'Oh?’

Kilpatrick casually underlined the name. 'What's your source?’

'I'd rather not say.’

'I see.’

Kilpatrick underlined the name one last time. 'I don't like secrets, John.’

'Yes, sir.’

'Well, what do you want to do?’

'Put a tail on him.’

`Ormiston and Blackwood are good.’

`I'd prefer someone else.’

Kilpatrick threw down his pen. 'Why?’

'I just would.’

`You can trust me, John.’

'I know that, sir.’

`Then tell me why you don't want Ormiston and Blackwood on the tail.’

'We don't get on. I get the feeling they might muck things up just to make me look bad.’

Lying was easy with practice, and Rebus had years of practice at lying to superiors.

`That sounds like paranoia to me.’

`Maybe it is.’

'I've got a team here, John. I need to know that they can work as a team.’

`You brought me in, sir. I didn't ask for secondment. Teams always resent the new man, it just hasn't worn off yet.’

Then Rebus played his ace. 'You could always move me back to St Leonard's.’

Not that he wanted this. He liked the freedom he had, flitting between the two stations, neither Chief Inspector knowing where he was.

`Is that what you want?’ Kilpatrick asked.

'It's not down to me, it's what you want that matters.’

'Quite right, and I want you in SCS, at least for the time being.’

'So you'll put someone else on the tail?’

'I take it you've got people in mind?’

`Two more from St Leonard's. DS Holmes and DC Clarke. They work well together, they've done this sort of thing before.’

`No, John, let's keep this to SCS.’

Which was Kilpatrick's way of reasserting his authority. 'I know two good men over in Glasgow, no possible grudge against you. I'll get them over here.’

'Right, sir.’

'Sound all right to you. Inspector?’

`Whatever you think, sir.’

When Rebus left the office, the two typists were discussing famine and Third World debt.

`Ever thought of going into politics, ladies?’

'Myra's a local councillor,' one of them said, nodding to her partner.

'Any chance of getting my drains cleared?’

Rebus asked Myra.

`Join the queue,' Myra said with a laugh.

Back at his desk Rebus phoned Brian Holmes to ask him a favour, then he went to the toilets down the hall. The toilet was one of those design miracles, like Dr Who's time machine. Somehow two urinals, a toilet cubicle, and wash hand basin had been squeezed into a space smaller than their total cubic volume.

So Rebus wasn't thrilled when Ken Smylie joined him. Smylie was supposed to be taking time off work, only he insisted on coming in.

`How are you doing, Ken?’

`I'm all right.’

'Good.’

Rebus turned from his urinal and headed for the sink.

`You seem to be working hard,' Smylie said.