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24
Rebus and Hogan sat in Hogan’s idling car. They’d been silent for a few minutes. The passenger-side window was open, and Rebus was smoking, while Hogan’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel.
“How do we play this?” Hogan asked. This time around, Rebus had an answer.
“You know my preferred technique, Bobby,” he said.
“Bull in a china shop?” Hogan guessed.
Rebus nodded slowly, finishing his cigarette and flicking the butt onto the roadway. “It’s served me well enough in the past.”
“But this is different, John. Jack Bell’s an MSP.”
“Jack Bell’s a clown.”
“Don’t underestimate him.”
Rebus turned to face his colleague. “Having second thoughts, Bobby?”
“I just wonder if we shouldn’t…”
“Cover our arses?”
“Unlike you, John, I’ve never been an aficionado of china shops.”
Rebus stared out through the windshield. “I’m going in there anyway, Bobby. You know that. Whether you’re with me or not is up to you. You can always call Claverhouse and Ormiston, let them know the score. But I need to hear it for myself.” He turned again to stare at Hogan, eyes shining. “Sure I can’t tempt you?”
Bobby Hogan ran his tongue around his lips, clockwise, then counterclockwise. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“Hell with it,” he said. “What’s a bit of broken crockery between friends?”
The door to the Barnton house was opened by Kate Renshaw.
“Hiya, Kate,” Rebus said, face stony, “how’s your dad?”
“He’s all right.”
“Not think you’d be better off spending a bit more time with him?”
She’d opened the door wide to let them in, Hogan having phoned ahead to say they were coming.
“I’m doing something useful here,” Kate argued.
“Bolstering a curb crawler’s career?”
Her eyes flashed fire, but Rebus ignored them. Through glass doors to the right, he could see the dining room, its table spread with the paperwork from Jack Bell’s campaign. Bell himself was descending the staircase, rubbing his hands together as though he’d just washed them.
“Officers,” he said, not bothering to sound welcoming. “I hope this won’t take long.”
“Same here,” Hogan countered.
Rebus looked around. “Is Mrs. Bell in the house?”
“She’s out visiting. Was there something in particular…?”
“Just wanted to tell her I saw Wind in the Willows last night. Cracking good show.”
The MSP raised an eyebrow. “I’ll pass on the message.”
“You told your son to expect us?” Hogan asked.
Bell nodded. “He’s watching TV.” He gestured towards the living room. Without waiting to be asked, Hogan walked over to the door and opened it. James Bell was lying along the cream leather sofa, shoes off, head resting on the hand of his good arm.
“James,” his father said, “the police are here.”
“So I see.” James swiveled his feet back onto the carpet.
“Hello again, James,” Hogan said. “I think you know DI Rebus…”
James nodded.
“Mind if we sit down?” Hogan asked, aiming the question at son rather than father. Not that Hogan was about to wait for permission. He made himself comfortable in an armchair, while Rebus was content to stand by the fireplace. Jack Bell sat down next to his son and placed a hand on James’s knee, which the young man swatted away. James leaned down and picked up a glass of water from the floor, lifted it to his lips and sipped.
“I’d still like to know what’s going on,” Jack Bell said impatiently: a busy man, a man who had better things to do with his time. Rebus’s mobile sounded, and he mouthed an apology as he brought it out of his pocket. Looked at the display and saw who was calling. Apologized again as he stood up and left the room.
“Gill?” he said into the mouthpiece. “How’s Bob coming along?”
“Since you ask, he’s a fund of good stories.”
Rebus looked into the dining room. There was no sign of Kate. “He didn’t know the chip pan was meant to catch fire.”
“Agreed.”
“So what else has he said?”
“He seems to have taken against Rab Fisher, without realizing how much he’s implicating his friend Peacock in the process.”
Rebus’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“The reason Fisher was walking up and down nightclub queues, letting people get a glimpse of the gun he was carrying…”
“Yes?”
“He was trying to sell drugs.”
“Drugs?”
“Working for your friend Johnson.”
“Peacock’s sold some hash in the past, but not enough to merit an assistant.”
“Bob’s not spelling it out, but I think we might be talking crack.”
“Jesus… so who was his source?”
“I’d have thought that was obvious.” She gave a short laugh. “Your other friend, the one with the boats.”
“I don’t think so,” Rebus stated.
“Remind me, wasn’t cocaine found on his boat?”
“All the same…”
“Well, someone else, then.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, it’s a good start, wouldn’t you say?”
“Must be the woman’s touch.”
“He just needs someone to mother him, John. Thanks for the tip.”
“Does this mean I’m out of the woods?”
“It means I need to bring Mullen in, let him hear what we’ve got.”
“But you don’t think I killed Martin Fairstone?”
“Let’s just say I’m wavering.”
“Thanks for backing me up, boss. Let me know if you get anything else, will you?”
“I’ll try. What are you up to? Anything new I should be starting to worry about?”
“Maybe… Watch the sky over Barnton for fireworks.” He cut the call, made sure his phone was switched off, and went back into the room.
“I assure you, we’ll be as quick as we can,” Hogan was saying. Then he looked up at Rebus. “Now I’m going to hand things over to my colleague.” Rebus pretended to take his time over forming his first question, then stared hard at James Bell.
“Why did you do it, James?”
“What?”
Jack Bell shifted forwards. “I think I must protest at your tone…”
“Sorry about that, sir. I get a bit agitated sometimes when someone’s been lying to me. Not just to me, but to everyone: the whole inquiry, his parents, the media… everyone.” James was staring back at him. Rebus folded his arms. “See, James, we’re begi
“What the hell are you saying?” Jack Bell snarled, face filling with blood. “Do you expect me to let you walk into my house and accuse an eighteen-year-old boy of…? Is that the way you work in the police force these days?”
“Dad…”
“It’s because of me, isn’t it? You’re trying to get at me through my son. Just because you made a horrific mistake that nearly cost me my job, my marriage…”
“Dad…” James’s voice had risen a fraction.
“Now this terrible tragedy occurs and all you can do is -”
“There’s no vendetta here, sir,” Hogan was protesting.
“Even though the arresting officer in Leith swears he had you dead to rights,” Rebus couldn’t help adding.
“John…,” Hogan warned.
“You see?” Jack Bell’s voice was a tremor of anger. “You see the way it is, and always will be? Because you’re too arrogant to -”
James leapt to his feet. “Will you shut the fuck up? For once in your bloody life, will you just shut the fuck up?”
Silence in the room, even though the words seemed to hang in the air, reverberating. James Bell sat back down again slowly.
“Maybe,” Hogan said quietly, “if we could let James have his say.” Directing his words to the MSP, who seemed stu