Authors: Ian Rankin
‘Any time you’re ready,’ Rebus told him.
Ancram was ready. Jack sat by the table on which the tape machine sat. Two mikes ran from it to the desk, one pointing towards Ancram, one towards Rebus. From where he was sitting, Rebus couldn’t quite see Jack. It was just him and Ancram, the chessboard set for play.
‘Inspector,’ Ancram said, ‘you know why you’re here?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m here because I’ve refused to give up an investigation into possible links between Glaswegian gangster Joseph Toal, the Aberdeen drug market, and the murder of an oil-worker in Edinburgh.’
Ancram flicked through the casenotes, looking bored.
‘Inspector, you know that interest in the Leonard Spaven case has been revived?’
‘I know the TV sharks have been circling. They think they can smell blood.’
‘And can they?’
‘Just a leaky old ketchup bottle, sir.’
Ancram smiled; it wouldn’t come over on the recording.
‘CI Ancram smiles,’ Rebus said, for the record.
‘Inspector,’ referring to his notes, ‘what started this media interest?’
‘Leonard Spaven’s suicide, added to his public notoriety.’
‘Notoriety?’
Rebus shrugged. ‘The media get a vicarious thrill from reformed thugs and murderers, especially when they show some artistic leaning. The media often aspire to art themselves.’
Ancram seemed to expect more. They sat in silence for a moment. Cassette whirr; motor noise. Someone along the corridor sneezed. No sunshine today: iron-clad skies forecasting rain; a bitter wind off the North Sea.
Ancram sat back in his chair. His message to Rebus: I don’t need the notes, I
know
this case. ‘How did you feel when you heard Lawson Geddes had killed himself?’
‘Gutted. He was a good officer, and a good friend to me.’
‘You had your differences though?’
Rebus tried to hold the stare; ended up blinking first. Thought: of such accumulated setbacks were battles lost.
‘Did we?’ Old trick, answer a question with a question. Ancram’s look said it was a tired move.
‘I’ve had my men talk to some serving officers from the time.’ A glance towards Jack, not even lasting a second. Drawing Jack in. Good tactics, sowing doubt.
‘We had minor disagreements, same as everybody else.’
‘You still respected him?’
‘Present tense.’
Ancram bowed his head, acknowledging this. Fingered his notes, like stroking a woman’s arm. Possessive. But doing it for comfort too, for reassurance.
‘So, you worked well together?’
‘Pretty well. Mind if I smoke?’
‘We’ll have a break at …’ checking his watch, ‘eleven forty-five. Fair enough?’
‘I’ll try to survive.’
‘You’re a survivor, Inspector. Your record speaks for itself.’
‘So talk to my record.’
A quick smile. ‘When did you find out that Lawson Geddes had it in for Leonard Spaven?’
‘I don’t understand the question.’
‘I think you do.’
‘Think again.’
‘Do you know why Geddes was kicked off the Bible John inquiry?’
‘No.’ It was the one question that had power, real power: it could
get
to Rebus.
Because he wanted to know the answer.
‘You don’t? He never told you?’
‘Never.’
‘But he talked about Bible John?’
‘Yes.’
‘See, it’s all a bit vague …’ Ancram went into a drawer, hefted two more bulging files on to the desk. ‘I’ve got Geddes’s personnel file and reports here. Plus some stuff from the Bible John inquiry, bits and pieces he was involved in. Seems he grew obsessed.’ Ancram opened one file, turned pages idly, then looked at Rebus. ‘Does that sound familiar?’
‘You’re saying he was obsessed with Lenny Spaven?’
‘I know he was.’ Ancram let that sink in, nodding his head. ‘I know it from interviews with officers from the time, but more importantly I know it because of Bible John.’
The bastard had hooked Rebus. They were only twenty minutes into the interview. Rebus crossed his legs, tried to look unconcerned. His face was so taut, he knew the muscles were probably visible beneath the skin.
‘See,’ Ancram went on, ‘Geddes tried to tie Spaven to the Bible John case. Now, the notes aren’t complete. Either they were destroyed or lost, or else Geddes and his superior didn’t write down everything. But Geddes was going after Spaven, no doubt about that. Tucked away in one of the files I found some old photographs. Spaven’s in them.’ Ancram held the photos up. ‘They’re from the Borneo campaign. Geddes and
Spaven were in the Scots Guards together. My feeling is that something happened out there, and from then on Geddes was out for Spaven’s blood. How am I doing so far?’
‘Filling the time nicely till the ciggie break. Can I see those photos?’
Ancram shrugged, handed them over. Rebus looked. Old black and whites with crimped edges, a couple of them no bigger than two inches by an inch and a half, the rest four by sixes. Rebus picked Spaven out straight away, the raptor grin hauling him into history. There was a minister in the photos, army uniform and dog collar. Other men posing, dressed in baggy shorts and long socks, faces sweat-shiny, eyes almost scared. Some of the faces were blurred; Rebus couldn’t make out Lawson Geddes in any of them. The photos were exteriors, bamboo huts in the background, an old jeep nosing into one shot. He turned them over, read an inscription – Borneo, 1965 – and some names.
‘Did these come from Lawson Geddes?’ Rebus asked, handing them back.
‘I’ve no idea. They were just in with all the other Bible John junk.’ Ancram slipped them back into the file, counting them as he did so.
‘They’re all there,’ Rebus said. Jack Morton’s chair scraped the floor: he was checking how long till the tape had to be switched.
‘So,’ Ancram said, ‘we’ve got Geddes and Spaven serving together in the Scots Guards; we’ve got Geddes chasing Spaven during the Bible John inquiry – and getting booted off the case; then we wind forwards a few years and what do we have? Geddes still chasing Spaven, but this time for the murder of Elizabeth Rhind. And getting booted off the case again.’
‘Spaven definitely knew the victim.’
‘No argument there, Inspector.’ Pause: four beats. ‘
You
knew one of the Johnny Bible victims – does it mean you killed her?’
‘Come up with her necklace in my flat and ask me again.’
‘Ah, well this is where it gets interesting, isn’t it?’
‘Oh good.’
‘You know the word serendipity?’
‘I pepper my speech with it.’
‘Dictionary definition: the ability to make happy chance finds. Useful word.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And Lawson Geddes had the gift, didn’t he? I mean, you get an anonymous tip-off about a consignment of stolen clock-radios. So you hoof it over to a garage, no search warrant, no nothing, and what do you find? Leonard Spaven, the clock-radios, and a hat and shoulder-bag – both belonging to the murder victim. I’d call that a
very
happy chance find. Except it wasn’t chance, was it?’
‘We had a warrant.’
‘Signed retrospectively by a tame JP.’ Ancram smiled again. ‘You think you’re doing all right, don’t you? You think
I’m
doing all the talking, which means you’re saying nothing incriminating. Well listen, I’m talking because I want you to know where we stand. Afterwards, you’ll have every opportunity for rebuttal.’
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
Ancram referred to his notes. Rebus’s mind was still half on Borneo and those photographs: what the hell could they have to do with Bible John? He wished he’d looked at them a bit harder.
‘I’ve been reading your own version of events, Inspector,’ Ancram went on, ‘and I begin to see why you had your pal Holmes take a good look at them.’ He looked up. ‘That
was
the idea, wasn’t it?’
Rebus said nothing.
‘See, you weren’t quite a seasoned officer back then, for all Geddes had taught you. You wrote a good report, but you were too conscious of the lies you were telling and the gaps
you were having to create. I’m good at reading between the lines, practical criticism if you like.’
Rebus had a picture in his mind: Lawson Geddes shivering and wild-eyed on his doorstep.
‘So here’s how I think it went. Geddes was following Spaven – out on a limb by this time; he’d been ordered off the case. He tracked him to the lock-up one day, waited until Spaven was gone and then broke in. Liked the look of what he saw, and decided to plant some evidence.’
‘No.’
‘So he breaks in again, only this time he has some of the victim’s stuff with him. Now, he didn’t get it from an evidence locker, because according to the records nobody removed a hat or a bag from the victim’s abode. So how did he get it? Two possibilities. One, he waltzed back into her home and took it. Two, he already had it on him, because right from the start he had the idea of fitting up Spaven.’
‘No.’
‘To the first or to the second?’
‘To both.’
‘You’ll stand by that?’
‘Yes.’
Ancram had been leaning further over the desk as he’d made each point. Slowly he sat back again, glanced at his watch.
‘Cigarette break?’ Rebus asked.
Ancram shook his head. ‘No, I think that’s enough for today. You made so many cock-ups in the course of that false report, it’s going to take me time to list them all. We’ll go through them next meeting.’
‘I’m excited already.’ Rebus got up and reached into a pocket for his cigarettes. Jack had switched off the recorder and ejected the tape. He handed it to Ancram.
‘I’ll have a copy made immediately and sent to you for verification,’ Ancram told Rebus.
‘Thanks.’ Rebus inhaled, wished he could hold his breath
for ever. Some people, when they exhaled no smoke came out. He wasn’t that selfish. ‘One question.’
‘Yes?’
‘What am I supposed to tell my colleagues when I drag Jack here into the office with me?’
‘You’ll think of something. You’re a more practised liar these days.’
‘I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, but thanks anyway.’ He made to leave.
‘A little birdie tells me you put the nut on a TV reporter.’
‘I tripped, fell into him.’
Ancram almost smiled. ‘Tripped?’ Waited till Rebus had nodded. ‘Well, it’s going to look good, isn’t it? They got the whole thing on video.’
Rebus shrugged. ‘This little birdie of yours … anyone in particular?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, you have your sources, don’t you? In the press, I mean. Jim Stevens for one. Nice little friendship the two of you have got.’
‘No comment, Inspector.’ Rebus laughed, turned away. ‘One more thing,’ Ancram said.
‘What?’
‘When Geddes was trying to pin the murder on Spaven, you interviewed some of Spaven’s friends and associates, including …’ Ancram made show of looking for the name in his notes. ‘Fergus McLure.’
‘What of it?’
‘Mr McLure’s recently deceased. I believe you went to see him the morning he died?’
Who’d been talking?
‘So?’
Ancram shrugged, looked satisfied. ‘Just another … coincidence. By the way, DCI Grogan called me this morning.’
‘It must be love.’
‘Do you know a pub in Aberdeen called the Yardarm?’
‘It’s down by the docks.’
‘Yes, it is. Ever been inside?’
‘Maybe.’
‘A drinker in there says definitely. You bought him a drink, talked about the rigs.’
The wee man with the heavy cranium. ‘So?’
‘So it shows you were at the docks the night
before
Vanessa Holden was murdered. Two nights in a row, Inspector. Grogan’s beginning to sound
very
edgy. I think he wants you back in his custody.’
‘Are you going to hand me over?’ Ancram shook his head. ‘No, you wouldn’t want that, would you?’
Rebus almost blew some smoke in Ancram’s face. Almost. Maybe he was more selfish than he thought …
‘That went as well as could be expected,’ Jack Morton said. He was in the driver’s seat, Rebus electing to sit in the front with him.
‘Only because you thought there’d be a bloodbath.’
‘I was trying to remember my first aid training.’
Rebus laughed, releasing tension. He had a headache.
‘Aspirin in the glove compartment,’ Jack told him. Rebus opened it. There was a little plastic bottle of Vittel there, too. He washed down three tablets.
‘Were you ever in the Scouts, Jack?’
‘I was a sixer in the Cubs, never made the transfer to Scouts. I had other hobbies by then. Are the Scouts still going?’
‘Last I heard.’
‘Remember Bob-a-Job week? You had to go round the neighbours, washing windows, digging their gardens. Then at the end, you handed all the cash over to Akela.’
‘Who promptly stuck half in his pocket.’
Jack looked at him. ‘There’s a touch of the cynic in you, isn’t there?’
‘Maybe just a touch.’
‘So where to now? Fort Apache?’
‘After what I’ve just been through?’
‘The Ox?’
‘You’re learning.’
Jack opted for tomato juice – watching his weight, he said – while Rebus had a half-pint and, after a moment’s thought, a nip. The lunchtime trade wasn’t in yet, but the pies and bridies were heating in preparation. Maybe the barmaid had been in the Girl Guides. They took their drinks through to the back room, settled at a corner table.
‘It’s funny being back in Edinburgh,’ Jack said. ‘Never used to drink here, did we? What was the name of the local along Great London Road?’
‘I don’t remember.’ It was true; he couldn’t even recall the pub’s interior, yet must have been in there two or three hundred times. It was just a place for drink and discussion; what life it had the drinkers brought with them.
‘Jesus, the money we wasted in there.’
‘There speaks the reformed drinker.’
Jack forced a smile, lifted his glass. ‘John, tell me though, why do you drink?’
‘It kills my dreams.’
‘It’ll kill
you
in the end, too.’
‘Something’s got to.’
‘Know what someone said to me? They said you were the world’s longest surviving suicide victim.’
‘Who said that?’
‘Never mind.’
Rebus was laughing. ‘Maybe I should apply to the
Guinness Book of Records
.’