The Hanging Garden

Rebus answered. `In the words of the song, you ain't seen nothing yet.’

`Look, it's clear to me that you -' Rebus ignored him, slapped the folder down on to the table, slid it towards Pretty-Boy.

`Take a look.’

Pretty-Boy was wearing a charcoal suit and purple shirt, open at the neck. No sunglasses or car-keys. He'd been brought in from his flat in the New Town. Comment from one of the men who'd gone to fetch him: `Biggest hi-fi I've seen in my life. Bugger was wide awake, listening to Patsy Cline.’

Rebus started whistling `Crazy': that got Pretty-Boy's attention and a wry smile, but he kept his arms folded.

`I would if I were you,' Rebus said.

`Ready,' Hogan said, meaning he had the tapes ru

`Know any Elton John, Brian?’

Rebus asked. `He's got this song: "Someone Saved My Life Tonight". You'll be singing it to me once you've looked inside.’

He tapped the folder. `Go on, you know it makes sense. I'm not playing some trick, and you don't have to say anything. But you really should do yourself a favour…’

`I've got nothing to say.’

Rebus shrugged. `Just open the folder, take a look.’

Pretty-Boy looked to his lawyer, who seemed uncertain.

`Your client won't be incriminating himself,' Rebus explained. `If you want to read what's in there first, that's fine. It might not mean much to you, but go ahead.’

The lawyer opened the folder, found a dozen sheets of paper.

`Sorry in advance for any mistakes,' Rebus said. `I typed it in a bit of a rush.’

Pretty-Boy didn't so much as glance towards the material. He kept his eyes on Rebus, while the lawyer sifted through the papers.

`These allegations,' the lawyer finally said, `you must realise they're worthless?’

`If that's your opinion, fair enough. I'm not asking Mr Summers to admit or deny anything. Like I said, he can do a deaf and dumb routine for all I care, so long as he uses his eyes.’

A smile from Pretty-Boy, then a glance towards his lawyer, who shrugged his shoulders, saying there was nothing here to fear. A glance back at Rebus, and Pretty-Boy unfolded his arms, picked up the first sheet, and started reading.

`Just so we have a record for the tape,' Rebus said, `Mr Summers is now reading a draft report prepared by myself earlier today.’

Rebus paused. `Actually, I mean yesterday, Saturday. He's reading my interpretation of recent events in and around Edinburgh, events concerning his employer, Thomas Telford, a Japanese business consortium – which is really, in my opinion, a Yakuza front – and a gentleman from Newcastle by the name of Jake Tarawicz.’

He paused. The lawyer said: `Agreed, thus far.’

Rebus nodded and continued.

`My version of events is as follows. Jake Tarawicz became an associate of Thomas Telford only because he wanted something Telford had: namely, a slick operation to bring drugs into Britain without raising suspicion. Either that or it was only later on, once their relationship had become established, that Tarawicz decided he could move in on Telford's turf. To facilitate this, he manufactured a war between Telford and Morris Gerald Cafferty. This was easily accomplished. Telford had moved in aggressively on Cafferty's territory, probably with Tarawicz egging him on. All Tarawicz had to do was make sure things escalated. To this end, he had one of his men attack a drug dealer outside one of Telford's night-clubs, Telford immediately placing the blame on Cafferty. He also had some of his men attack a Telford stronghold in Paisley. Meanwhile, there were attacks on Cafferty's territory and associates, retaliation by Telford for perceived wrongs.’

Rebus cleared his throat, took a sip of tea – a fresh cup, no sugar.

`Does this sound familiar, Mr Summers?’

Pretty-Boy said nothing. He was busy reading. `My guess is that the Japanese were never meant to become involved. In other words, they had no knowledge of what was happening. Telford was showing them around, easing the way for them as they tried to buy a country club. Rest and recreation for their members, plus a good way of laundering money – less suspect than a casino or similar operation, especially when an electronics factory is about to open, so that the Yakuza slip into the country as just a few more Japanese businessmen.

`I think when Tarawicz saw this, he began to worry. He didn't want to get rid of Tommy Telford just to leave the way open for other competitors to muscle in. So he decided they'd have to become part of his plan. He had Matsumoto followed. He had him killed, and in a nice twist made me the chief suspect. Why? Two reasons. First, Tommy Telford had me pegged as Cafferty's man, so by fingering me, Tarawicz was fingering Cafferty. Second, he wanted me out of the game, because I'd gone to Newcastle, and had met one of his men, a guy called William `The Crab' Cotton. I knew the Crab of old, and it so happened Tarawicz had used him for the hit on the drug dealer. He didn't want me putting two and two together.’

Rebus paused again. `How's it sounding, Brian?’

Pretty-Boy had finished reading. His arms were folded again, eyes on Rebus.

`We've yet to see any evidence, Inspector,' the lawyer said.

Rebus shrugged. `I don't need evidence. See, the same file you've got there, I delivered a copy to a Mr Sakiji Shoda at the Caledonian Hotel.’

Rebus watched Pretty-Boy's eyelids flutter. `Now, the way I see it, Mr Shoda is going to be a bit pissed off. I mean, he's already pissed off, that's why he was here. He'd seen Telford screw up, and wanted to see if he could do anything right. I don't suppose the raid on Maclean's will have given him any renewed sense of confidence. But he was also here to find out why one of his men had been killed, and who was responsible. This report tells him Tarawicz was behind it, and if he chooses to believe that, he'll go after Tarawicz. In fact, he checked out of his hotel yesterday evening – seems he was in a bit of a rush. I'm wondering if he was on his way home via Newcastle. Doesn't matter. What matters is that he'll still be pissed off at Telford for letting it happen. And meantime Jake Tarawicz is going to be wondering who shopped him to Shoda. The Yakuza are not nice people, Brian. You lot are nursery school by comparison.’

Rebus sat back in his chair.

`One last point,' he said. 'Tarawicz's base is Newcastle. I'm betting he had eyes and ears here in Edinburgh. In fact, I know he did. I've just been having a chat with Dr Colquhoun. You remember him, Brian? You'd heard about him from Lintz. Then when Tarawicz offered East Europeans as working girls, you reckoned maybe Tommy should have a few foreign phrases to hand. Colquhoun did the teaching. You told him stories about Tarawicz, about Bosnia. Catch was, he's the only person round these parts who knew the subject, so when we picked up Candice, we ended up using him, too. Colquhoun sussed straight off what was happening. He wasn't sure if he had anything to fear: he'd never met her, and her answers were reassuringly vague or he kept them that way. All the same, he came to you. Your solution: ship Candice to Fife, then snatch her, and take Colquhoun out of the game till the heat died.’

Rebus smiled. `He told you about Fife. Yet it was Tarawicz who got Candice. I think Tommy will find that a bit odd, don't you? So, here we sit. And I can tell you that the minute you walk out of here, you're going to be a marked man. Could be the Yakuza, could be Cafferty, could be your own boss or Tarawicz himself. You haven't got any friends, and nowhere's safe any more.’

Rebus paused. `Unless me help you. I've talked to Chief Superintendent Watson, and he's agreeing to witness protection, new identity, whatever you want. There may be a short sentence to serve – just so it looks right – but it'll be a soft option, room of your own, no other prisoners allowed near. And afterwards, you'll be home and dry. That's a big commitment on our part, and we'll need a big commitment from you. We'll want everything.’