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“That’s how you co
“Not very clever of you, Councilman, playing away from home. This is more a village than a city, bound to come out sooner or-”
“Christ, Rebus, it wasn’t like that!” Tench hissed.
“Not for me to say, sir.”
“And now I suppose you’ll go tell your employer? Well, let him do what he likes-I’m not about to bow down to his kind…or yours.” Tench gave a look of defiance. Rebus stood his ground a moment longer, then gave a smile and followed Siobhan back to the car.
“Special dispensation?” he asked, once he’d fastened his seat belt. She looked across, saw that he was waving a cigarette pack.
“Keep the window open,” she ordered. Rebus lit the cigarette and blew smoke into the evening sky. They’d only gone forty yards when a car pulled out in front of them, then braked, blocking half the road.
“Hell’s this?” Rebus hissed.
“Bentley,” Siobhan told him. Sure enough, as the brake lights dimmed, Cafferty emerged from the driver’s side, walking purposefully toward them, leaning down so his head was framed by Rebus’s open window.
“You’re a ways from home,” Rebus advised him.
“So are you. A wee visit to Gareth Tench, eh? I hope he’s not trying to buy you off.”
“He thinks you’re paying us five hundred a week,” Rebus drawled. “Made a counteroffer of two grand.” He blew smoke into Cafferty’s face.
“I’ve just bought a pub in Portobello,” Cafferty said, wafting his hands in front of him. “Come and have a drink.”
“Last thing I need,” Rebus told him.
“A soft drink then.”
“What is it you want?” Siobhan said. Her hands still gripped the steering wheel.
“Is it just me,” Cafferty asked Rebus, “or is she toughening up?” Suddenly, he reached a hand through the window, snatching one of the photos from Rebus’s lap. Took a couple of steps back into the road, holding it close to his face. Siobhan was out of the car in an instant, marching toward him.
“I’m not in the mood for this, Cafferty.”
“Ah,” he was saying, “I did hear something about your mother…And I recognize this little bastard.”
Siobhan stopped dead, hand caught in midgrab for the photo.
“Name’s Kevin or Keith,” Cafferty went on.
“Keith Carberry,” she told him. Rebus was getting out of the car, too, by now. He could see that Cafferty had snared her.
“Nothing to do with you,” Rebus warned him.
“Of course not,” Cafferty agreed. “I can understand it’s personal. Just wondered if I could help, that’s all.”
“Help how?” Siobhan asked.
“Don’t listen to him,” Rebus warned. But Cafferty’s gaze had her transfixed.
“Any way I can,” he said quietly. “Keith works for Tench, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t it be better to bring down both of them, rather than just the messenger?”
“Tench wasn’t in Princes Street Gardens.”
“And young Keith doesn’t have the sense he was born with,” Cafferty countered. “Tends to make lads like him suggestible.”
“Christ, Siobhan,” Rebus pleaded, gripping her by the arm. “He wants Tench taken down. Doesn’t matter to him how it happens.” He wagged a finger at Cafferty. “She’s not part of this.”
“I was only offering…” Cafferty held up his hands in surrender.
“What’s with the stakeout anyway? Got a baseball bat and a shovel in the Bentley?”
Cafferty ignored him, gave Siobhan back the photograph. “Pound to a pe
Her eyes were on the photo. When he said her name, she blinked a couple of times and focused on him instead. Then she shook her head.
“Later,” she said.
He gave a shrug. “Whenever you like.”
“You won’t be there,” she declared.
He tried to look hurt. “Hardly fair after everything I’ve told you.”
“You won’t be there,” she repeated. Cafferty turned his attention to Rebus.
“Did I say she was toughening up? Might have been an understatement.”
“Might have been,” Rebus agreed.
21
He’d been steeping in a bath for twenty minutes when the intercom buzzed. Decided to ignore it, then heard his cell ringing. Whoever it was left a message-the phone beeped afterward to let him know. When Siobhan had dropped him, he’d warned her to go straight home, get some rest.
“Shit,” he said, realizing that she might be in trouble. Got out of the bath and wrapped a towel around himself, leaving wet footprints as he padded into the living room. But the message wasn’t from Siobhan. It was Ellen Wylie. She was outside in her car.
“Never been so popular with the ladies,” he muttered, punching the call-back button. “Give me five minutes,” he told her. Then he went and changed back into his clothes. The intercom sounded again. He let her in and waited at the door, listening to the sand paper sound of her shoes as she climbed the two flights of stone steps.
“Ellen, always a pleasure,” he said.
“I’m sorry, John. We were all down at the pub, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
“The bombings?”
She shook her head. “Your case,” she clarified. They were in the living room by now. She walked across to where the paperwork lay; saw the wall and moved toward it, sca
“It was still the right thing to do, Ellen. Time like this, we need to feel we’re doing something.”
“Say they were bombers instead of rapists…”
“What’s the point in that?” he asked, waiting until she’d given an answering shrug. Then: “Anything to drink?”
“Maybe some tea.” She half turned toward him. “This is okay, isn’t it? Me barging in like this?”
“Glad of the company,” he lied, heading for the kitchen.
When he came back with the two mugs, she was seated at the dining table, poring over the first pile of paperwork. “How’s Denise?” he asked.
“She’s fine.”
“Tell me, Ellen-” He paused until he was sure she was giving him her attention. “Did you know Tench is married?”
“Separated,” she corrected him.
Rebus pursed his lips. “Not by much,” he added. “They live in the same house.”
She didn’t blink. “Why are all men bastards, John? Present company excepted, naturally.”
“Makes me wonder about him,” Rebus went on. “Why is he so interested in Denise?”
“She’s not that bad a catch.”
Rebus conceded the point with a twitch of the mouth. “All the same, I suspect the councilman is attracted to victims. Some men are, aren’t they?”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m not sure, really…just trying to work out what makes him tick.”
“Why?”
Rebus snorted. “Another bloody good question.”
“You think he’s a suspect?”
“How many do we have?”
She offered a shrug. “Eric Bain has managed to pull some names and details from the subscription list. My guess is, they’ll turn out to be the families of victims, or professionals working in the field.”
“Which camp does Tench fall into?”
“Neither. Does that make him a suspect?”
Rebus was standing next to her, staring down at the case notes. “We need a profile of the killer. All we know so far is that he doesn’t confront the victims.”
“Yet he left Trevor Guest in a hell of a state-cuts, scratches, bruises. Also left us Guest’s cash card, meaning we had his name straightaway.”
“You’re calling that an anomaly?”
She nodded. “But then you could just as easily say Cyril Colliar is the anomaly, being the only Scot.”
Rebus stared at a photograph of Trevor Guest’s face. “Guest spent time up here,” he said. “Hackman told me as much.”
“Do we know where?”
Rebus shook his head slowly. “Must be in the files somewhere.”