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“Need to go easy on those steroids,” Rebus warned him. “Is your lord and master home?”
“Does it look like he’d want whatever you’re selling?”
“I’m selling salvation, son-everybody needs a taste of that, even you.” Over the man’s shoulder, Rebus could see a pair of female legs descending the staircase. Bare feet, the legs slim and ta
“You got a warrant?” the bodyguard was saying.
“The pe
“He’s busy,” the bodyguard said.
“Shagging one of his employees,” Rebus agreed. “Which means I may have to hang around for all of two minutes-always supposing he doesn’t have a coronary halfway through.” He stared at the hand pressed like a lead weight against him. “You sure you want this?” Rebus met the bodyguard’s stare. “Every time we meet from now on,” he said quietly, “this is what I’ll be remembering…and believe me, son, whatever failings people may tell you I have, I’ve got a whole fistful of gold medals in carrying a grudge.”
“And the booby prize when it comes to timing,” a voice roared from the top of the stairs. Rebus watched Big Ger Cafferty descend, tying his own voluminous bathrobe around him. What hair he still possessed was rising in tufts from his head, and his cheeks were red from exertion. “What the bloody hell brings you here?” he growled.
“It’s a bit lame as an alibi,” Rebus commented. “Bodyguard, plus some girlfriend you probably pay by the hour-”
“What do I need an alibi for?”
“You know damned well. Clothes in the washing machine, are they? Blood can be hard to get out.”
“You’re making no sense.”
But Rebus could tell that Cafferty had bitten down on the hook; time to reel him in. “Gareth Tench is dead,” he stated. “Stabbed in the back-which is probably just your style. Want to discuss it in front of Arnie here, or should we step into the parlor?”
Cafferty’s face gave nothing away. The eyes were small dark voids, the mouth set in a thin, straight line. He placed his hands in the pockets of his robe and gave a little flick of the head, a signal the bodyguard seemed to read. The hand dropped, and Rebus followed Cafferty into the huge drawing room. There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a baby grand piano taking up space next to the bay window, huge loudspeakers on either side of it and a state-of-the-art stereo on a rack by the wall. The paintings were brash and modern, violent splashes of color. Above the fireplace hung a framed copy of the jacket from Cafferty’s book. He was busying himself at the drinks cabinet. It meant his back was kept turned to Rebus.
“Whiskey?” he asked.
“Why not?” Rebus replied.
“Stabbed, you say?”
“Three times. Outside the Jack Kane Center.”
“Home turf,” Cafferty commented. “A mugging gone wrong?”
“I think you know better.”
Cafferty turned round and handed Rebus a glass. It was quality stuff, dark and peaty. Rebus didn’t bother offering a toast, just washed it around his mouth before swallowing.
“You wanted him dead,” Rebus went on, watching Cafferty take the smallest sip of his own drink. “I listened to you rant and rave on the subject.”
“I was a bit emotional,” Cafferty conceded.
“In which state I’d put nothing whatsoever past you.”
Cafferty was staring at one of the paintings. Thick blotches of white oil, melting into oozing grays and reds. “I won’t lie to you, Rebus-I’m not sorry he’s dead. Makes my life that bit less complicated. But I didn’t have him killed.”
“I think you did.”
Cafferty gave the slightest twitch of one eyebrow. “And what does Siobhan say to all this?”
“She’s the reason I’m here.”
Now Cafferty smiled. “Thought as much,” he said. “She told you about our little chat with Keith Carberry?”
“After which, I happened to catch him stalking Tench.”
“That was his prerogative.”
“You didn’t make him?”
“Ask Siobhan-she was there.”
“Her name’s Detective Sergeant Clarke, Cafferty, and she doesn’t know you the way I do.”
“Have you arrested Carberry?” Cafferty turned his attention back from the painting.
Rebus gave a slow nod. “And my money says he’ll talk. So if you did have a little word in his ear…”
“I didn’t tell him to do anything. If he says I did, he’s lying-and I’ve got the detective sergeant as my witness.”
“She stays out of this, Cafferty,” Rebus warned.
“Or what?”
Rebus just shook his head. “She stays out,” he repeated.
“I like her, Rebus. When they finally drag you kicking and screaming to the Twilight Benevolent Home, I think you’ll be leaving her in good hands.”
“You don’t go near her. You never speak to her.” Rebus’s voice had dropped to a near whisper.
Cafferty gave a huge grin and emptied the crystal tumbler into his mouth. Smacked his lips and exhaled loudly. “It’s the boy you should be worried about. Your money says he’ll talk. If he does, he could well end up dropping DS Clarke right in it.” He made sure he had Rebus’s full attention. “We could, of course, make sure he doesn’t get a chance to talk…?”
“I wish Tench was still alive,” Rebus muttered. “Because now I know I’d help him take you down.”
“But you’re changeable, Rebus…like a summer’s day in Edinburgh. Next week you’ll be blowing me kisses.” Cafferty puckered his lips for effect. “You’re already suspended from duty. Are you sure you can afford any more enemies? How long is it now since they started to outnumber your friends?”
Rebus looked around the room. “I don’t see you hosting too many parties.”
“That’s because you’re never invited-the book launch excepted.” Cafferty nodded toward the fireplace. Rebus looked again at the framed artwork from Cafferty’s book.
Changeling: The Maverick Life of the Man They Call Mr. Big.
“I’ve never heard you called Mr. Big,” Rebus commented.
Cafferty shrugged. “Mairie’s idea, not mine. I must give her a call…I think she’s been avoiding me. That wouldn’t be anything to do with your good self, I suppose?”
Rebus ignored him. “With Tench out of the way, you’ll be moving into Niddrie and Craigmillar.”
“Will I?”
“With Carberry and his ilk as your foot soldiers.”
Cafferty gave a chuckle. “Mind if I make some notes? I wouldn’t want to forget any of this.”
“When you talked to Carberry this morning, you were letting him know the outcome you wanted-the only outcome that would save his neck.”
“You’re assuming young Keith was the only person I spoke to.” Cafferty was dribbling more whiskey into his glass.
“Who else?”
“Maybe Siobhan herself flew off the handle. I assume the murder team will want to talk to her?” Cafferty’s tongue was protruding slightly from his mouth.
“Who else have you talked to about Gareth Tench?”
Cafferty swilled the liquid around his glass. “You’re supposed to be the detective around here. I can’t go fighting all your battles for you.”
“Judgment day’s coming, Cafferty. For you and me both.” Rebus paused. “You know that, right?”
The gangster shook his head slowly. “I see us in a couple of deck chairs, somewhere hot but with ice-cold drinks. Reminiscing about the sparring we used to do, back in the days when the good guys thought they knew the bad guys. One thing this week should have shown all of us-only takes a few moments for everything to change. Protests crumble, poverty returns to the back burner…some alliances are strengthened, others weaken. All that effort sidelined, the voices silenced. In the time it takes to snap your fingers.” He did just this, as if to reinforce his point. “Makes all your hard work seem a little bit petty and unimportant, wouldn’t you say? And Gareth Tench-a year from now, think anyone’s going to remember him?” He drained his glass for the second time. “Now I really have to get back upstairs. Not that I don’t always enjoy our little get-togethers, you understand.” Cafferty placed his empty glass on the coffee table and gestured for Rebus to do the same. As they left the room, he switched off the lights, said something about doing his bit for the planet. The bodyguard was in the hall, hands clasped in front of him.